Storm's Heart

SEVEN

She had lain on the bed staring at the ceiling for long moments after Tiago left the room. Without the vitality of his presence stimulating and supporting her, the lethargy from the cleansing spell stole through her body again. At first she wasn’t sure if she could get her shaky limbs to support her.

Finally she managed to find the strength to push herself to an upright position. She thought about trying to change into more public attire, but that sounded like more than she could handle, let alone trying to deal with Elder politics. She should send messages out to everyone that she needed at least another day to recuperate.

Like Tiago said, let the world wait for you. Pleh. She wondered how he would like it if she applied that to him. But no, she already knew how he would like it—Mr. Bulldozer would push through every objection she might make, so she supposed they were going to have that talk he wanted to have. Then maybe she could lie down and watch old movies on the TCM channel. She could eat the box of chocolates he had given her in between naps and pretend for a little while that the outside world didn’t exist.

When she thought she could stand without falling down, she pushed to her feet with a pained grunt.

That was when the cyclone entered the room.

From one step to the next she was standing in the middle of a maelstrom of energy. She threw a hand over her eyes, staring through her fingers, as a man formed in front of her. Long raven-black hair whipped around an elegant, spare, pale inhuman face. Narrowed crystalline diamond eyes showed through the strands. The rest of his body solidified. He was as tall as Tiago, but he had a lean, graceful frame that matched his face. He wore a linen tunic and trousers that, while simple, seemed foreign. When he saw her, one corner of his mouth lifted in a triumphant smile.

It was a smile that looked all too much like it might say gotcha.

She backed up sharply, bumped into the bedside table and knocked over a lamp. She sucked in a breath to scream. The male grabbed her, moving so fast. He clapped a hand over her mouth while wrapping the other around her waist. He held her in a steely grip. She squealed and clawed at the back of his hand.

The howling windstorm rose again, and this time the world fell away as the cyclone swallowed her whole.

Terror rampaged through her mind. The only thing solid or stable was the creature that held her prisoner against a hard, lean-muscled body. Then the world began to reappear around her: walls, ceiling, furniture, and a floor beneath her feet.

She didn’t wait to look around or get oriented. As soon as those steely arms loosened and she had enough freedom of movement, she pushed away from him, pivoted and punched her kidnapper in the face as hard as she could.

She threw the punch right-handed, from her dominant side, which also was her uninjured side. She got lucky. She felt the male’s nose crunch as his head snapped back.

Those strange diamond eyes flared. She panted and staggered back a couple of steps, hand pressed again to her wounded side. Champagne-colored liquid trickled from one fine-etched nostril. The crooked break in his nose straightened back into place as she watched.

“You’re Gumby Man,” she said in awe, and with not a little resentment. Did all his other body parts straighten into place like that when he got injured? How could you fight and win against a creature that wouldn’t stay broke when you broke him?

He didn’t bother to reply. He wiped his face with the back of one hand as he regarded her with a lazy malevolence.

“I should have warned you to take care,” a woman said from behind her. “The Dark Fae heir apparent is small and cute, but like a Tasmanian devil, she can be vicious when cornered.”

Niniane knew that voice. It was one of the most beautiful voices in the world, and also one of the deadliest. Eyes widening, she turned to face Carling Severan, Councillor of the Elder tribunal, sorceress and Vampyre Queen.

The speaker was as beautiful as her voice, with a heartbreaking, life-threatening loveliness. Clad in a classic black Chanel suit and about average height for a modern woman, Carling Severan was slender with an exquisite bone structure. She had a patrician Nefertiti-like neck, long almond-shaped dark eyes, shining black hair that fell in a heavy curtain to her waist, high cheekbones, smooth luminous skin the color of honey and a treacherously sensual mouth. She had been ancient when Rome was born, but she still bore the face and figure of a thirty-year-old woman.

The Vampyre Queen was one of the oldest recorded surviving Nightkind, if not the oldest. Even at rest her Power filled the room, until Carling did something either to rein it in or camouflage it somehow, so that it receded like a tide flowing away from shore and she resembled a simple ordinary, beautiful human woman.

She was a poisonous king cobra that masqueraded as an innocent, bright green garden snake.

That was so not right.

“Councillor,” Niniane whispered, through numb lips.

The illusion of innocuousness vaporized as the Vampyre walked over to her with a swift, fluid, inhuman grace that was as terrifying as everything else was about her. Carling stopped just in front of Niniane, dropped a slender hand onto her shoulder and looked at the male creature. “That will be all for now, Khalil.”

The male creature’s nostrils flared. He said, “I have paid in full one of the three favors I owe you.”

Niniane could still hear the wildness of the cyclone in his deep voice. She shivered, and the unbreakable hold on her shoulder tightened. The Councillor said, “You have indeed. Until the next time, Djinn.”

A howling wind rose and died. Niniane looked down again and cupped her eyes to protect them from the whipping ends of her hair. That was when she noticed a bright yellow band of sunlight from a nearby window that slanted across both of her legs and also those of the Vampyre’s. Niniane stared. Carling wore no shoes, and her slender, beautiful honey-colored feet were limned in light. Such contact with direct sunlight would have reduced a lesser Vampyre to ash within seconds. Niniane’s shivering increased. Even for a creature that many regarded as unnatural, Carling was unnatural.

The Councillor said, “This is where you may ask whether I am a good witch or a bad witch.”

Niniane looked up, into that gorgeous, ancient smiling gaze. She said as steadily as she could, “I’m not sure I would want to hear your reply.”

Carling said, “It is a wise little heir. I heard you had been injured. I can smell the blood from your wound, and a Demonkind prince is not the most beneficent of taxis. Sit.”

Carling’s hand on Niniane’s shoulder compelled her toward an armchair and supported her as her shaky legs threatened to give out. Grateful to ease into the support of the chair, she sank down, although she was far from relaxing.

Carling flowed into a nearby armchair. By the simple act of sitting she turned it into a throne. Niniane watched her sidelong, envious of the other woman’s imperial grace even as she kept her wary dial turned on high, the needle squarely pointed to emergency red. She had interacted in a cordial fashion with the Councillor several times over the years but always in a public, formal setting. Although not Wyr, Carling was every inch a predator, and Niniane would do well to remember it.

Strictly speaking, Carling was no longer Queen of the Nightkind. In an unprecedented move, she had formally abdicated when she became Councillor of the Elder tribunal. Carling had taken advantage of a legal loophole that had existed when the U.S. Elder tribunal had been created in the 1790s, which had barred any Elder ruler from holding office but had neglected to forbid such a position from former rulers. At Carling’s abdication, her progeny Julian Regillus had become Nightkind King. While the legal loophole had since been closed, it was long accepted that Regillus acted upon his progenitor’s orders and that Carling remained the de facto ruler of the Nightkind while also holding the power of her seat on the Elder tribunal.

Niniane became aware that they were not alone in the room when Carling gestured and an attendant, a blonde, pale, pretty woman with downcast eyes, left silently. Niniane looked around. She noted the similarities this hotel suite shared with the one she and Tiago occupied. She also noted the changes that had been made in furniture and decor, such as the exquisite damask silk draped over the coffee table and the antique inlaidmahogany chest that had been set against one wall. The television console and hotel paintings had been removed, making the room feel larger, more spacious and alien.

She kept her breathing unhurried and her hands folded together in her lap as she absorbed the silent message written in the space all around her, that she was now within Vampyre territory.

She said, “Having a Demonkind prince indebted to one must be quite a rarity. It seems an extravagant use of a Powerful favor to use him just to transport me up a single flight of hotel stairs.”

“Your Wyr was being obstructive and disrespectful,” said Carling. The Vampyre’s expression turned into an exquisite ice sculpture. “He needed to be taught a lesson.”

Niniane’s hands tightened on each other as she fought an upsurge in anger. Her Wyr. It was almost as if Carling had called Tiago “her pet.” A part of her noted Carling’s subtle, inexplicable smile. Curious. She wondered what that smile meant, even as she said with a careful lack of emphasis, “I would like to believe that no one intends disrespect, Councillor.”

Niniane paused to let the multiple meanings of her statement settle into the silence of the room. The Vampyre sat across from her, exhibiting a patience that was as inhuman as the rest of her. Carling’s inexplicable smile widened as she said, “I am sure Dragos will miss having you as one of his diplomatic resources, although it must be said—you are not Dark Fae Queen yet.”

What did Carling mean by that? It was clearly a warning of some kind. Niniane couldn’t tell if the warning was a friendly one or not. Her tension increased. If she didn’t understand, then it was best to ignore it for the moment, at least in conversation. She said in apparent agreement, “There have already been a number of challenges, and I’m sure there are more to come. I am grateful that the warlord sentinel Tiago came to my aid when he did. You may not yet have heard that he was in time to stop another assassination attempt.”

Carling’s graceful eyelids lowered. For a moment the Vampyre maintained a perfect stillness, an incomparably beautiful woman set against a backdrop of ancient silk and mahogany. The tableau was so vivid and anachronistic that Niniane felt a ripple of disorientation, as if she stared upon a painting crafted by one of the European Old Masters or as if time itself had opened up to give her a glimpse into the distant past. Then the hotel air-conditioning came on. The cold air curled against her bare ankles like an invisible snake and dispelled the illusion.

Carling asked, “Another assassination attempt. When was this?”

Niniane could tell nothing from the Councillor’s face. For all she knew, Carling had already heard of the second attempt and merely wanted her to tell the story. She shifted in an attempt to become more comfortable, her wound and fatigued muscles aching, the return of stress making her head pound. “It happened early yesterday morning when I was returning to the hotel. It was another triad. None of them survived for questioning. I didn’t recognize them, although that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t close enough to get a good look.”

“Curious, when the Dark Fae need you so badly,” said Carling.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

The Vampyre lifted an elegant shoulder. “Ultimately the Dark Fae did not fare well under Urien’s rule. Elder historians will eventually concur on that point, although his isolationist policy did allow him a great deal of control over trade and business agreements. I’m sure his personal fortune has become quite extensive.”

“I’ll bet it has,” Niniane said between her teeth.

Carling continued, “But Urien closed off Dark Fae society at a critical juncture in this country’s development. With the Dark Fae talent for metallurgy, they could have become a much more powerful and prosperous demesne than they are. I believe certain intelligent people among the Dark Fae will have realized this by now.”

Old fury surged at Carling’s words. Niniane pressed her lips together to keep it contained. She had raged at just such a fact many a time throughout the Industrial Revolution. “Despite the political rhetoric he spouted, Urien never did act in the Dark Fae’s best interests,” she growled. “He only acted in his own.”

“Indeed,” Carling said. “Urien was a metallurgist of some significant talent himself, and a Powerful sorcerer. I suspect you will find that while his fortune increased, the rest of Dark Fae society has grown stagnant economically and politically. As a people their numbers are too small for them to have thrived under such a separation from general trade and interaction with other societies, which is why they need you so badly. As heir, you will satisfy traditionalists like Justice Trevenan. You also have important ties with all the other Elder demesnes, which will appeal to the progressive-minded like Chancellor Riordan, and you have an unprecedented popularity with the general American population. You are a unique gift to the Dark Fae.”

She snorted, and it caused her side to twinge. “All of that sounds good in theory, Carling, but I have to tell you, right now I’m not feeling the love.”

The blonde Vampyre attendant entered the room again, carrying a tray. She set a wineglass filled with some kind of dark liquid on the table near Niniane’s chair and set a sealed bottle of chilled water beside it. Carefully skirting the line of sunshine on the carpet, the attendant set another wineglass near Carling’s chair, bowed her head to her mistress and backed out of the room.

Niniane’s brows contracted. She lifted her glass to sniff gingerly at the contents. Power was steeped into the rich, dark red liquid, which emitted a gentle radiance against her hand. Herbs floated on the surface. She smelled cinnamon and cloves.

“It is a 1962 Rothschild,” Carling murmured as she sipped from her own glass. “Yours is bastardized with a healing potion that will ease your discomfort, should you care to drink it.”

Niniane kept her gaze downcast. She tried to think past the pounding in her head. She would not put Carling past anything in pursuit of her goals, including poison, but why would Carling bother to poison her? Carling and Urien had hated each other, which had only served to strengthen the Vampyre’s alliance with Dragos and the Wyr. Niniane couldn’t see Carling backing any other potential Dark Fae contender for the throne, especially anyone who might have been a supporter of Urien’s when he had been alive.

On a personal note, Niniane and Carling had always been cordial. And the Vampyre was here in an official capacity as a representative of the Elder tribunal. Niniane needed allies, and Carling, if she were so inclined, was in an excellent position to make a friend and ally of the next Dark Fae Queen.

Also, the Power imbued in the concoction was a warm, gentle glow against the palms of her hands. It felt good to her, in the way chicken soup smelled good when she was sick. She raised the wineglass and took a cautious sip. Her eyebrows went up. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” she said. “It’s delicious.”

Carling drank wine and watched her from under lowered lids. Niniane came to a sudden decision. She threw back her head and drank the healing potion down to the last drop.

A Powerful glow filled her body. She felt like she was an empty vessel being filled to the brim with rich golden light.

“Whoa-kay,” she muttered. Her head lolled against her chair. She had to struggle to remember to lock her fingers around the stem of her wineglass and not just let it fall to the carpeted floor. A moment later she felt her fingers fall open and she lost hold of her glass. She tried to peer at the floor through the golden light that filled her head.

Then the diffuse Power concentrated on the wound at her side. As it ebbed from the rest of her body, she could feel the area around her wound grow brighter and hotter, until it shone in her mind like an internal star.

The star began to burn, as if someone laid a hot clothes iron along the puncture wound. It hurt. It hurt so much. Ow ow ow. She gasped and wrapped her arms around her middle. She could feel the torn flesh knitting itself together. You’re not supposed to feel something like that. It was a thousand times worse than the internal itching caused by the cleansing spell.

She gasped, “A little warning would have been nice.”

“You surprised me. I didn’t expect you to just toss the potion back.” Carling’s beautiful voice penetrated her misery. “I’m told deep breathing helps.”

Was that amusement in Carling’s voice? Damn Vampyre. Niniane threw a glare in Carling’s general direction as she tried the deep breathing. She couldn’t tell how much it helped with the actual pain, but it focused her attention. She ended up panting through the pain.

After what felt like forever, the hot star dimmed until it died out. The pain and disorientation slid out of her body as if they had never existed.

She straightened with caution and pressed light fingers against the bandage. No pain. She took a deep breath, expanding her torso. Not even a twinge. Overcome with curiosity, she lifted the bottom of her shirt and peeled away the edges of the bandage to peer underneath. The only blood left was what had soaked into the cotton pad over the wound—or rather, over where the wound had been. All that remained was a small silvery scar, along with two stitches.

“Get out of town,” she said. She poked the scar. “It’s completely healed. I’ve never heard of a healing potion that strong.”

“I am not surprised,” Carling replied, “as I don’t often stir myself to make them.”

Niniane looked at her. “Okay, I totally buy that. Thank you so much, and I really mean it, but I’m mad at you too because that hurt a lot.”

The Vampyre lifted an eyebrow. Still sounding amused, she said, “I expect you’ll find a way to get over it.”

She grinned. “Yeah, I expect I will too.”

Niniane took another deep, pain-free breath. The potion had more than just knitted the puncture wound together. It had healed her bruises and contusions. She felt like she had before the attack, infused with a sense of vitality and wellness. Carling’s healing potion was as far removed from Dr. Weylan’s healing spells as the space shuttle was from a 1972 Toyota Celica. While there might be nothing wrong with a well-maintained Celica, it sure as hell couldn’t defy gravity and fly.

She looked down at the bandage she had already half removed. She yanked it off the rest of the way, grimacing as her skin protested.

Carling’s blonde attendant stood by her chair. Niniane managed to control her startled urge to shrink away. She watched as the pretty, young-looking Vampyre retrieved the glass she had dropped and placed it on her tray. The Vampyre held the tray out to her, head inclined, as she murmured, “If her highness wishes, I would be happy to dispose of the bandages.”

She looked down at what she held. The cotton pad was blood-soaked. As well as she seemed to be getting along with Carling, giving a sample of her blood over to the Vampyre attendant of one of the most Powerful sorceresses in the world didn’t seem like the best of ideas. She cleared her throat with a delicate cough and said, “Er.”

“Of course Rhoswen will burn the bandages properly in the fireplace,” Carling said, as she finished her wine.

She didn’t bother to dissemble or apologize for her caution. “Thank you,” she said. She dropped the bandage on the tray.

Rhoswen turned to take Carling’s glass and place it on the tray, her expression the blank smoothness of the perfect servant. Both Niniane and Carling watched as Rhoswen placed the bandages in the fireplace and lit them with a taper. They watched in silence as the small flame flared and died.

Freed from pain and lethargy, Niniane’s thoughts arrowed back to Tiago. He had to be worried about her, unless he had some way to track the direction of the Djinn’s transport. She didn’t have any idea about Tiago’s capabilities as a tracker, other than Dragos always swore Tiago was the best at what he did. It was possible Tiago already knew she was safe with Carling (and she was, wasn’t she?).

Maybe Tiago was relieved to be rid of her. And why wouldn’t he be? He had made it clear from the moment he arrived that he considered the whole trip to be a pain in the ass. She bit her lip as she fought the urge to squirm.

Whether he was relieved or not, she knew the obsessive nature of a Wyr sentinel. She had been taken on his watch. He wouldn’t rest until he got her back, which meant—

She sucked in a breath as certainty settled into place. He didn’t know where she was.

“I’m sure Tiago has learned his lesson,” she said to Carling. With an effort she kept her voice steady and devoid of all urgency. “Now I would like to let him know that I’m with you and that I’m all right.”

A shadow of ugliness crossed Carling’s lovely features. The Vampyre said in a smooth voice, “Why don’t I just send one of my attendants with a message?”

Niniane looked at her. “Because we both know he might be too distracted to listen to anything your attendant might say. Then you could continue to take your revenge on him for blowing off your earlier message.”

“Distracted,” said Carling, dark eyes glittering. “I like that.”

Whatever else might be communicated, one overall particular message was coming in loud and clear. You ignored the Vampyre Queen very much at your own peril. Carling wasn’t going to budge on this unless she was pushed.

Niniane sighed and said, point-blank, “Give it up, Carling. You and I have a terrific chance right now to develop a good alliance. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a good alliance with the Dark Fae. But it isn’t going to happen if you insist on tormenting Tiago with my disappearance—or if you insist on tormenting him for any other reason.”

“How interesting. You would put a potential Nightkind–Dark Fae alliance in jeopardy over one bad-mannered, bad-tempered Wyr.”

Niniane tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. It wasn’t wise to lose your temper with the Vampyre Queen either. After a moment, she kept her voice measured as she said, “I will remind you that Tiago followed me to Chicago after I went missing, and he saved my life. This is after the Wyr provided me with shelter and protection from my uncle Urien for almost two hundred years. Don’t force me to choose between you, because you won’t win.”

Carling gave her a faint smile and conceded the point. “Fair enough.”

Something crashed nearby. This time Niniane couldn’t control her jump. She heard a sharp shout down the hall, a growl, and another booming crash. It sounded like a door had been slammed off its hinges. The Vampyre turned her head toward the hall. Carling remarked, “Apparently choosing a method of communication with your Wyr has become a moot point.”

TIAGO! Oh gods, no. He couldn’t attack the Vampyres or, with the mood Carling was in, she might very well have him killed.

Niniane bolted out of her chair and ran to the suite door. Somehow Carling was right beside her, long graceful fingers curling around the door handle. It seemed to take the Vampyre forever to open the door. As soon as she could, Niniane slipped through the opening and darted into the hall.

She took a mental snapshot of the scene in one horrified glance.

A heavy fire door lay on its side against a wall thirty feet away. Tiago’s massive figure filled an open doorway that led to a stairwell. Three male Vampyres stood in a semicircle in front of him, each one a beautiful, lethal weapon. The blonde Vampyre Rhoswen had positioned herself between Tiago and her mistress. Several humans stood in open doorways, and some of them had guns. All of the guns were pointed at Tiago.

And Tiago—he was something out of a nightmare. He had weapons: a sword strapped to his back, guns in holsters. He had partially shapeshifted, a clear indicator of a Wyr caught in some kind of extreme emotion such as fear or rage. The bones of his face were alien, shifted into wrongness. His chest, arms and legs were wider and rippled with muscles where muscles weren’t supposed to be. Talons tipped his powerful hands.

When Niniane appeared in the hall, Tiago’s dark, savage face turned to her.

His eyes.

Their normal obsidian color and sardonic expression were gone. They blazed with white fire.

Niniane whispered, “Call off your people if you want them to live.”

“My people will do their job,” Carling said.

The Vampyre sorceress had lost her habitual amused detachment. Instead she stared at Tiago with a combination of anger and fascination. She also shimmered with vitality, her skin, eyes and hair more lustrous than ever.

After one quick, incredulous glance, Niniane dismissed the enigma that was Carling. She turned back to the tableau. Tension trembled in the air like the shiver of an avalanche before it crashed down a mountain range. She held a hand out and tried to smile at the monster down the hall as she walked toward him.

“It’s okay now, Tiago,” she said. She tried for gentle and soothing. Instead she got scared and shaky. Crap. She forced a false sense of conviction into her voice. “Listen to me. Everything’s okay.”

The monster’s blazing gaze fixed on her. Tiago started toward her, and the avalanche came down.

The dark-haired Vampyre nearest Tiago moved to attack so fast he was a blur. If Niniane had been human, she might have missed it.

Tiago’s enormous fist pistoned. He punched the Vampyre, whose body shot through the air and slammed through a wall. Tiago kept moving forward.

The other two Vampyres attacked. Tiago grabbed one. He spun on his heel and threw the Vampyre into the stairwell. With a wicked slash of fangs and talons, the third Vampyre leaped on him. Crimson blood spurted from wounds that appeared on Tiago’s face and neck.

A blinding white-hot sear of flame flashed out of Tiago’s eyes. Every light in the hall exploded as the lightning bolt struck the third Vampyre in the chest. The Vampyre flew back fifteen feet and slid along the ground to lie motionless. Thunder exploded in a rolling boom. It sounded like a rocket launcher had been fired in the hall. All the while, Tiago continued to plow toward her, an unstoppable juggernaut.

The humans armed with guns chambered rounds. They were far too slow for this kind of fight. Niniane would have called them cannon fodder except they were in addition to the Vampyres who were already occuping Tiago’s attention. So many stood against Tiago, including Rhoswen, who hung back and stood in readiness to protect her mistress. Then there was the immovable object, Carling, the king cobra of the nest, who watched the conflict and waited in the background with all of her considerable venom at full strength.

Tiago against Carling. If those two came head-to-head, if they actually fought each other, neither would stop until one was dead. Between the two of them they could raze Chicago to the ground.

No.

For the second time in one day, terror mowed down her reasoning skills.

She didn’t think. She didn’t calculate risk or odds. She acted.

She flung herself forward and shrieked, “STOP!”

Niniane may not have much in the way of size or strength, but as a Dark Fae, she was slippery-fast. She was much faster than any of the humans. She was certainly faster than Rhoswen, who flung out a hand to stop her but acted far too late.

At her scream, Tiago spun from the fallen Vampyre. She leaped for him with her arms outstretched, blindly trusting him to catch her. She caught a blurred glimpse of that monstrous savage face and the white blaze in eyes, which were overcome with astonishment. He snatched her out of the air and whirled to place his body between hers and the others. One tremendous hand covered the back of her head as he jammed her face into his chest.

She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, still wet from her earlier outburst of temper. The ferocious engine in his chest hammered against her cheek. His heavily muscled arms wrapped tight around her. He shoved her against the wall and covered the top of her head with his.

He sacrificed his ability to fight in order to protect her.

She had time to think, no, this wasn’t what I meant. This is a unilateral disarmament.

They’ll kill him.

She opened her mouth to scream.

Then in one of the most beautiful voices in the world, and one of the deadliest, the king cobra spoke a quiet foreign word filled with Power.

Everything stopped.