Читать книгу Bound - Jen Colly - Страница 10

Balinese

Keir lifted a gnarled branch over his head and ducked beneath it. Not two feet past the branch, he stepped over a mass of dense underbrush intruding onto the narrow pathway. This was taking time, and sapping his sanity. Marching down the middle of the old country road and up to the front gate had been out of the question, but right now he’d gladly take the exposure over branches in the face and tree roots grabbing at his feet.

Needle sharp pain jabbed his outer ankle, whipped around the front of his leg. He gritted his teeth and looked down. Stopped by the reaching arm of a thorn bush. Again. His leg bled, and if he dislodged the thorns, he’d come away with sliced hands. Again. He’d survived his father, more than his fair share of combat, and his own execution, but this disaster of a forest might just kill him.

To hell with conserving energy for his return trip. Keir slipped into Spirit, leaving the thorny branch swinging in the air, grasping for something no longer in reach.

Speeding past the treacherous underbrush and through a tree or two, he crossed the length of forest and appeared at the edge, visible once more. The trees thinned here, and down the hill in a clearing rested the silhouette of an aging chateau. The towers jutted up like a fortress, blocked, dark, and imposing even in the night. Somewhere beneath it, Balinese hid from the world.

How had demons found the remote city? Whatever brought them back from their presumed extinction, Keir prayed they kept their focus on Balinese. Arianne didn’t need another problem stacked onto her shoulders.

“Don’t screw this up,” he muttered, pulling his hands from his pockets. The night had turned chilly, the dew outside the forest’s shelter had turned to frost, and the grass crunched under his boots with each step toward Balinese.

The sloping descent from forest to chateau stretched on, not exactly because of the distance, but from the illusion of not gaining any ground. As he approached, what he’d assumed was part of the main structure had separated into a knee-high stone wall surrounding the base of the chateau. Interesting.

Without the moon lending its glow tonight, it took time for his eyes to adjust and find the opening in the wall near the center. This was without a doubt the entrance, but he didn’t care for how it funneled him directly to the front gate. Smart move by Balinese, but it made him twitchy.

The path to the gate was wider than he’d expected. Water sloshed somewhere beneath him, not the sound of waves, but more like a fish had been startled. He crossed a bridge? Balinese had a moat? Wolfe would never believe this.

Keir stopped at the arched door. He took the silence as a cue to speak first. “I’m the emissary for Lady Arianne of Galbraith. I seek an audience with your lord.”

No answer, but the smallest whisper of movement from his right drew his expectant attention. The attack came from his left. A beefy hand clamped over his shoulder, slammed his face into the stone arched entry of Balinese. The collision momentarily jarred loose any coherent thought, and possibly a tooth. He tasted blood.

Keir spit the blood onto the wall. “That’s not legal.”

When he didn’t get a reaction, he craned his head back, trying to get a look at his assailant. The man pulled him from the wall only to smash him back against the stones. The brute had just violated every law pertaining to a messenger, twice. Not a great start.

Keir ignored the insult of his mistreatment, and made a conscious effort to relax muscles that had automatically primed for a counterattack. He was here on Arianne’s behalf and would represent her well, which meant controlling the urge to disarm these men and bleed them with their own weapons.

A set of fists punched into his back, pinned him against the cool stones. He bit down a growl, allowed a second pair of hands to check him for weapons. They recovered only his identification papers. The crisp papers unfolded behind him.

“See? I told you the truth. Mind easing up?”

A third man approached, wrenched Keir’s arms back, and tied his wrists together. Suddenly, he was a prisoner. One wrong word might give them a reason to execute him. Not that they could actually follow through, but the attempt would be amusing.

Something big must have happened here for them to perceive an unarmed messenger as a threat. Time to shut his mouth, play nice, and see what kind of information he could salvage from this mission.

A sword point pressed against his back, forcing him to move forward. Another Guardian took him by the elbow and led him inside, through a kitchen and down the cellar stairs. When they reached a thick wooden door in the midst of large wine barrels, he was shoved through.

His first peek into Balinese was unimpressive. Bare, bland walls seemed to stretch out forever in the dim light. Eventually the corridor curved left, then widened, morphing into a splendid hallway.

The Guardians kept a brisk pace, ushering him past elaborately framed paintings and lavish furniture. The right items were here to suggest life, but the city felt empty, abandoned. Few people traveled through the corridors, and those they did pass dashed away.

Keir wasn’t so sure he was who the people avoided. He’d caught a glimpse of his captors, and these guys were on the scary side. The cocky bastard on his right might not be large, but he moved like a predator. Certainly intimidating, but the guy on his left could have been pulled straight from a horror movie. With each step, his hair lifted off his cheek, rhythmically revealing some serious burn scarring. The damaged, puckered skin covered his ear, cheek, and trailed down his neck.

The horror film star pulled him to a halt in the center of an octagon-shaped foyer, and waited, but not for long. A man stalked toward them from another corridor, his expression more serious than the goons marching him through the city.

“Walk with me,” the new guy demanded. The Guardians released Keir, but followed behind them. They veered into another corridor before the man spoke again. “Ivan?”

The predator, Ivan, handed over his papers. “We found these on him.”

The man scanned the document as he walked, then tilted his head ever so slightly in Keir’s direction. “Am I to believe that Galbraith has woken up and joined the rest of the world?”

Keir shrugged as best he could in his uncomfortably bound position. “Believe what you want. I’m only here to deliver a message.” The hallway abruptly ended at a single door. He didn’t like this. One door and three trained men. The odds were not pretty. “Where are we going?”

The man in charge opened the door. “You wanted an audience with my lord.”

Keir studied him. It felt like a trap, but he couldn’t put a finger on why. It truly didn’t matter. He could escape easily and instantly if needed.

The two Guardians took a sentinel position on either side of the door, and when they did, he accepted his good fortune and entered the narrow room. He passed a powdery blue sofa set into the wall, surrounded by old mirrored panels, and nothing else. A waiting room.

Waiting rooms were a rarity, and never this nice. If this place had been set up at all like Galbraith, the council room should be on the other side of the door ahead. His escort opened the door, allowed Keir to enter ahead of him.

A large table in the center of the room confirmed his guess. Definitely the council room. He stood at the short end of a rectangular room. Inset mahogany bookshelves lined the walls to his right and left, separated by evenly spaced wooden pillars that rose to the ceiling, connected to a beam, and met a pillar on the other side of the room.

The door swung open behind them and Keir turned, expecting to find a somewhat altered version of the lord he’d seen from a distance many years ago. Not even close. The man who walked in was rather short, and though his face appeared incredibly young, his eyes said otherwise.

The man at Keir’s side stepped closer, clamped a hand down on his shoulder, and said, “Attempt to harm my lord and I will personally disembowel you.”

His typical try it made an effort to escape his lips, but goading wouldn’t be well received at this point, so Keir simply acknowledged the threat. “Noted.”

“I see you’ve met Soren.” As this new arrival strode toward them, his hair fell forward, brushing his bare cheeks.

Soren handed over his papers, the identification a requirement of emissaries and couriers. As soon as he walked away from Balinese, he would burn the document, leaving nothing to tie his name to Arianne.

“Welcome, Keir Falderra. I’m Captain Savard. Lord Navarre is unavailable at the moment,” the captain said smoothly. “Remove his bonds.”

A blade sliced though the ropes around his wrists so quickly it must have already been in position, waiting to stab him should he make the wrong move.

“You have a message for me?” Captain Savard prompted.

“My message is for Lord Navarre Casteel alone. It is not meant for you.” Keir braced his shoulders, prepared to make a quick escape. This had a good chance of ending badly.

The captain smiled tolerantly, and motioned for him to follow. He did, all the way to the other side of the room. Under a light mounted on the wall hung a framed document signed by Lord Navarre and stamped with the fleur-de-lis seal of Balinese.

Lady Arianne had a similar parchment in her council room. Not every city had a blood heir, and not every blood heir was competent. The title then temporarily fell to the captain until a noble could be elected to take his place. That is, unless the lord had appointed his successor. Lord Navarre had made it doubly clear that his city belonged to Captain Devlin Savard.

The situation wasn’t as simple as an attack on Balinese. “You said Lord Navarre is unavailable. Did you mean to say dead?”

Captain Savard suddenly seemed interested in him and supplied an answer. “Injured.”

“The messenger your city sent claimed a demon entered Balinese. He never mentioned your lord had fallen.”

“He didn’t know. Vidor left the city before Navarre was harmed. Shortly after we executed the demon Vidor mentioned to you, dozens attacked our city. We’re recovering from several deaths and injuries.” Captain Savard halted his explanation. “My messenger, is he safe?”

The captain had intentionally breezed past the topic of his lord’s condition, redirecting their discussion. Keir shrugged. “He was, last I knew.”

“Have demons entered Galbraith?”

Keir laughed. “Not a chance. Galbraith is surrounded by farmland. We don’t have enough life in the country to sustain a demon, unless they’re interested in bleeding dry the local sheep. Not to mention our gate is damn hard to find.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” An amused smile made a brief appearance on Captain Savard’s face before he squelched it. “Do you have a message for me?”

“I suppose I do.” He may have forgotten the exact words, but the meat of the message remained the same. “Lady Arianne shares your concerns regarding demons gaining entry to your city, and for the return of their kind. My lady freely offers aid in any way, should it be needed.”

“I fear bringing unfamiliar faces into the city won’t help at this point. Balinese appreciates the offer and concern, but we are fully functional, though overly cautious, as you discovered.” Captain Savard paused, looked him in the eye. “I do apologize for your treatment.”

“I’ll live,” Keir said with a lopsided smile that stung his split lip.

“Surely you were aware that demons ran free, yet you still brought this less-than-critical message across Paris? Why?”

“My lady asked me.” Keir knew instantly what the captain was implying, and he wouldn’t let it stand. Arianne was not careless with the lives of her people. “And she didn’t send me directly through Paris.”

“Good.” The captain nodded, then after a deep breath, continued with a lighter tone in his voice. “Will you stay with us through the daylight hours?”

“No. Let’s not keep this unfamiliar face in your city longer than needed,” Keir said, satisfied with getting one last dig in regarding his treatment. “I need to go. My lady awaits your response.”

Two full hours of darkness remained, and he craved movement. Nowhere near enough time to make it back, but he wasn’t going home just yet. He had to make a stop in Paris.

* * * *

Keir had taken a slight detour on his way home and drove into the heart of Paris to seek out another vampire city. Talvane. Arianne hadn’t asked him to stop, and he’d probably catch hell when he got back, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to return home with news of her brother. The delay had cost him time, but home was within reach, though the drive to Galbraith would take what was left of the night.

A stillness enveloped him here in Paris, a strange sense of being visible, and yet invisible, as he walked to the speedy little car he’d borrowed. Keir had parked it several blocks away from Talvane on a quiet street. No need to draw attention, to him or a city full of his kind.

He caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows between the widely spaced streetlights. He’d stirred up enough stray cats tonight to know that whatever lurked was fairly large. Scanning the stretch of sidewalk, he crossed the street. Nothing.

Then a shadow shifted to his left, and the soft scrape of boots gained ground from his right. Two of them. Great. They hunted him, and he carried no weapons. Had he been mistaken for a human by fellow vampires in search of sustenance? This made the most sense considering his close proximity to Talvane. They could be Stalkers, vampires bent on keeping knowledge of their kind from humans, enforcing law and order above ground and eliminating demons. But they never traveled in pairs.

Keir stopped and turned, his only choice to face them head on. “What do you want from me?”

A man stepped from a hidden alcove onto the street a dozen feet away. Keir studied him, trying to get a sense of his species; then suddenly the man’s eyes illuminated into an uncanny dark red that flared with each approaching step.

Keir recoiled. Everything he’d been taught claimed demons maintained a sallow and ghoulishly melting face of a man paired with eerie red eyes. Whatever this was, it shouldn’t exist, and yet it was undeniably demon.

A second demon emerged onto the street, followed by a third. This sucked. Give him a weapon and he could take down an army, but he didn’t have one, and he wasn’t a brawler. Three demons and a nasty round of hand-to-hand combat didn’t make for pretty odds.

No doubt, they’d win, but if they wanted to shred him to pieces and drink him dry, they’d have to work for their dinner. On the back of a deep breath, he let out a chilling cry and charged straight into the midst of red eyes and bared fangs.

He hit the first demon low, jarring its center of balance. It fell hard, its heavy body doing all the work for him. The splitting smack of its head hitting the road brought a nasty grin to Keir’s face. They hadn’t expected his army of one to attack. One demon down.

He rolled away and popped back to his feet, then dropped into a crouch. The two remaining demons were already in motion. They pounced, dropping him back to the ground. He howled. A sickening crack in his arm radiated pain from somewhere below his elbow. Fractured, maybe broken. He wouldn’t last long.

Trapped under their crushing weight, he fought, wrestled away from teeth. Not fast enough. He yelped and twisted sharply. One had bit him but missed the intended target and gashed his collarbone.

The familiar and horrifying icy sharpness of a knife slid into his ribcage. Gasping through gritted teeth, he dug his fingers into anything at hand to escape the demon dog pile. The knife disappeared before he could track which demon held the weapon. If he could take it, he could end this.

Once again the knife sailed in his direction, and in the tangle of bodies it sank into his thigh. Torn and burning muscles throbbed around the knife, a beacon of hope. He gripped the hilt protruding from his leg, yanked it free, and prayed he hadn’t lost too much strength or blood. Clamping his teeth tight, he sucked in a deep breath and centered his focus. Time to do what he did best. Kill.

He neatly sliced deep into the delicate skin of one demon’s inner arm. It reared up, and he used the advantage to lodge the knife through the side of its neck, severing the tendons and veins as he ripped it away. The demon fell, its hands clawing at its neck.

Keir quieted his mind, focused on the last demon. One arm free, he cracked the hilt into the demon’s temple, its balance thrown enough to leave a small window of opportunity. Weapon now between them, he drove the knife up, deep into the demon’s heart. The poor creature never had a chance. One little six-inch blade in his hand made a world of difference.

Three demon bodies lay in a broken mess on the road. Not his problem. The sun would return them to ash, destroying the evidence. He’d lost precious time and blood. Tucking his throbbing arm close to his body, he limped away from the grisly scene.

Two streets down, he hopped inside the car and locked the damn doors. Gingerly, he tested his arm from elbow to wrist. It hurt like hell, but nothing felt broken. His leg bled heavily, the warmth seeping over his thigh. Neither had healed, which told him every effort his body made toward survival focused on the hole in his side.

Could his body heal a gushing leg? No problem. A fractured arm? Easily. Internal injuries? Doable. All three? The combination was fatal.

He turned the key, threw the little car into gear, and sped off. Blood-slicked fingers gripped the wheel, and he pushed the car hard to wedge a good distance between him and Paris.

For nearly an hour, he steered with one hand and worked the pedals with the wrong leg. Maneuvering the last few city streets had been tricky, but the awaited ease of the country drive brought a new set of problems. Hours of effort to keep the car on the road over the long trip left his body stiff and sore even in undamaged places.

Almost home. The widow’s house lay at the end of the long lane just ahead, bringing on the intimidating challenge of parking her car. Keir drove slowly down the lane to the barn’s overhang and used the weight of his body to turn the wheel. He braked, and quickly pulled out the keys. The engine shuddered into silence.

He’d borrowed this car in the past, always leaving it with a full tank of gas, but not this time. Didn’t matter. The widow wouldn’t care about the missing gas when she saw the buttery cream leather interior smeared with blood. If he made it home, Wolfe should be able to take care of the mess, but at the moment he wasn’t sure it was possible.

After nudging the door open, he stumbled out, his arm numb and weak at his side. His sluggish muscles protested any motion. Slipping behind the barn, he headed for a gently swelling hill. Home lay just on the other side. Dew-slicked grass didn’t help, but it could hardly be blamed for his struggles, not when his body made every effort to shut down and heal. His lungs burned with each breath. He fought desperately to keep his body from slipping into sleep. If he slept now, the morning sun would fry him.

His legs buckled, and he grunted as he fell to his knees. Holding his useless arm tight against his bleeding ribs, he crawled. His leg muscles cramped, the pain thrumming down to his toes. His damaged leg faltered, no longer responding to his will.

Keir hit the ground hard, gasping, attempting to breathe through the agony. He’d landed on his injured arm, and each frantic breath for oxygen triggered a new torture with each expansion of his ribcage.

He shoved his broken body away from the sweet smell of earth and crushed grass and flopped onto his back. Stars dotted the clear night sky, but then his vision blurred, and the sky went black. A few deep breaths and the stars blinked back. He had to stay conscious. Without immediate access to blood for a speedy recovery, the healing sleep would take him against his will. He’d heard those who fought the healing sleep endured all manner of hallucinations before getting sucked in, anyway. He might just find out the truth of it tonight.

If he died, Arianne wouldn’t know about the demons, which would hardly matter because without him she wouldn’t have long to live. He couldn’t physically make it to the entrance, but he had to get inside Galbraith before the sun rose.

The city lay somewhere below him. He had one shot. His body would probably shut down on impact, but he’d be inside. At the very least, the teeth marks on his neck would give her evidence of demons. Keir lost his vision completely as he took Spirit, falling through soil and rock to the city below.