Читать книгу Bound - Jen Colly - Страница 9

Balinese

Captain Devlin Savard moved briskly down the corridor, unsure of how he accomplished the feat. He was exhausted. Sleep had always been elusive, and often unwanted, but now that he needed it, he had no time.

Seven days ago dozens of demons attacked Balinese. The creatures had been spotted in Paris, so far away that they’d never expected to see one up close. Yet, the demons had broken through the gates, challenging their defenses head on. No one could have guessed that they’d also been waiting inside Balinese.

The demons had spilled blood, and not at random. They’d targeted Lord Navarre, council members, and Guardians, the intent to eliminate any line of succession and leadership. They’d nearly succeeded. A handful had survived, him included. Everything changed in an instant.

Lord Navarre, though conscious when first found, had taken only a small amount of blood. Not enough to heal the wound in his chest, but he lived and had slipped into a healing sleep. He had yet to wake, but Savard checked on him every day and night, anticipating his recovery. Until then, Navarre’s absence left the duties of both captain and lord on his shoulders.

His transition to acting lord had been difficult, and in some instances, nonexistent. The city had been betrayed from within, and having a hand in everything around him felt like his best defense. This kept him, for the most part, running the city as a captain and not a lord. However, with each passing day, his position as lord felt less temporary.

The night after the attack, he’d done nothing but move bodies with the help of what few Guardians could be spared. Deceased vampires had been brought above and laid out in the courtyard behind the chateau that hid the underground city. When the sun rose, they’d combusted, their ashes becoming part of the earth. The ageless ritual honored the sun, the earth, and the dead.

Then came the disposal of the demon bodies. In the lowest depths of Balinese, each demon had been encased in a coffin and buried. A handful of men had protested his decision to bury the demons amongst their own, but in the end, those buried vampires had been executed for horrible deeds. Evil knew no boundaries of race, and they’d been sealed away from the earth to prevent their murderous evil from becoming part of the life-giving soil.

Captain Savard passed the dining hall. The handful of men who had gathered in the foyer stepped back, clearing a path and sharing uneasy glances amongst themselves. He didn’t blame them. They’d be foolish not to be uncertain of their captain turned lord.

Because Lord Navarre had no heir, no blood family, the line of succession automatically fell to the captain…a captain Navarre had pulled off the streets of Paris. There had been protests, mainly from the nobleman who had originally opposed his instant promotion to captain. They could not, however, argue with a signed and sealed document that appointed Devlin Savard as the sole heir to Balinese.

Savard hadn’t known the document existed, and neither had the council. Lord Navarre had risked his life the night of the attack to get to the council room. What Savard hadn’t known at the time was why. Navarre had named his heir. They’d discovered the document days later, shoved into the safe hidden in the walls of the council room.

Savard didn’t want the job. Hell, he’d never wanted to be captain. Navarre had a way of making things happen his way. The proof was in the legal document naming him heir of a whole damn city. When the facts of his ruling status had finally sunk in, he’d quickly turned his position as captain over to Soren Rayner, but it was hard to let go of his old job, and he often found himself trying to function as both lord and captain.

Thank God for Soren. Soren’s job had always been to train new Guardians, weed out those incapable of the lifestyle, and hone the abilities of those who qualified. Now that the needs of the city had changed, the impressive man dedicated any spare time to training even the poorly suited would-be Guardians.

By some miracle, Savard had relinquished a majority of his former responsibilities as captain. Soren now coordinated patrol shifts, studied city statistics, and even policed the corridors as a Guardian when necessary. He did it all selflessly when he would no doubt rather be home with his newly acquired mate, who despite having once been human, was adapting to the current turmoil of their city rather well.

In theory, the shifting of titles and obligations should have lasted a handful of days. After a full week, he’d grown concerned. Soon Navarre would either wake, or die.

The radio at his hip crackled and Ivan’s sturdy voice came through. “Captain? Dyre and Titus are back.”

He snatched the radio off his belt before bringing it to his lips. “Where?”

“I sent them to the briefing room.”

Savard took a left down the next corridor. He’d sent those men, less than a week into their new rank of Guardian, to warn the city of Talvane about the demon threat. They’d been gone long enough for him to consider adding their names to the list of casualties.

He pushed open the briefing room door. Titus and Dyre scrambled from their chairs to stand at attention before him. These men were polar opposites. Wealthy and refined, Dyre maintained an aristocratic look even while working as a Guardian. Long, well-kept hair, impeccable speech, and a serious respect for his elders. Titus was a beast. He got the job done hard and fast, never backing down from using sheer strength and intimidation to diffuse a situation. It was a wonder they got along so well.

“What took so long?” Savard asked before the door had even shut behind him. “Was Paris as bad as we thought?”

“In spots,” Dyre admitted. “It took time to avoid the small packs of demons in the city. We were forced to seek shelter above through the daylight hours.”

“And Talvane?” Savard prompted.

Dyre bowed his head respectfully. “They’ve been warned. No demon has entered their city.”

“Good. Very good,” Savard said.

The door opened again, and all three turned to see the man who made Guardians. Soren Rayner crossed the threshold, his gun holster slung across his broad shoulders. He was still on duty.

“Captain,” Soren said, fully entering the room. “Sorry, I meant to say my lord. You still want me answering the calls for captain, right?”

“Absolutely,” Savard said with a sharp nod. He’d done it again, falling into his old job while attempting to navigate his new title of lord. “The change in title is temporary. I happened to be close, and we need answers.”

Soren nodded, seeming to buy his story, then turned to the young men. “You got inside Talvane? Lord Gregor gave you an audience?”

“He nearly didn’t.” Dyre shared a short glance with Titus. “His captain put forth a generous argument on our behalf.”

Titus remained silent, an unusual and nearly impossible feat that made Savard suspicious. “Titus. Anything you want to add?”

“Lord Gregor is a pompous ass,” Titus said.

Dyre hung his head and sighed, his long hair falling over his shoulder. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t call Lord Gregor an ass.”

“Pompous ass,” Titus corrected.

A deep laughter rumbled from Soren, then grew until a wide smile spread across his face.

“You think this is funny?” Savard asked. “You’re the one who promoted them.”

“I said they were ready to serve as Guardians, not messengers. And Lord Gregor is an ass. Always has been,” Soren said with a short nod to Titus.

“Have I missed something?” Savard asked. “Is insulting the Lord of Talvane suddenly acceptable?”

“No.” Shaking off his amusement, Soren said evenly, “Insulting a lord is never acceptable, but nothing will come of the instance. Luckily, in Gregor’s case, I believe he likes his ogre image.”

That was a surprise. “You know Lord Gregor?”

“I know of him,” Soren said with a shrug, then turned to Titus and Dyre. “You two look worn out. Clean up and rest. You’ll be briefed and given posts tomorrow.”

Titus and Dyre nodded and headed for the door, shoulders slumped and feet dragging. Sleep was in their near future, and their bodies seemed to have a head start.

Soren rested his hip against the table and leaned toward Savard. “You don’t look so good yourself.”

Rubbing his hands over his bare cheeks, Savard let out a heavy sigh. “I haven’t slept.”

“That’ll do it.” Soren crossed his arms over his chest, shifting back into serious mode. “What did I miss?”

He’d been so used to taking information and running with it, fixing problems without Lord Navarre ever having known they’d existed. Sharing this responsibility was strange. As acting captain, Soren needed this information. “Demons in Paris. None in Talvane.”

“How can that be? Talvane is actually in Paris.”

“None in Valenna, none in Talvane, and Galbraith is the only city left. I don’t like the odds.” Savard swept his hair off his face, combing the straight mass back over his head where it belonged. “If demons have not entered Galbraith, then we have a bigger problem.”

“How long has Vidor been gone?”

“Nine, ten days.” He didn’t care for these figures, either.

“He should have been back days ago,” Soren said, his voice flat.

The councilman had ventured to Galbraith out of concern for his niece’s safety, not a diplomatic mission. His timetable deserved some leeway. “True, but he left prior to the attack. He wouldn’t have a reason to rush home. He may only be visiting.”

“Maybe.” Soren pondered the thought for a moment; then his eyes lifted, sharp and focused. “Captain, I didn’t stop by to chat.”

“What is it?”

“Steffen is causing problems in the clinic.”

“I’ll take care of it now,” Savard said, squaring his shoulders and marching out of the room.

This is how his life progressed lately. The second a problem was resolved or questions answered, another issue arose. Once more, he was on the move, this time to an injured Guardian.

The demons had left their mark on Steffen. Jagged, silvery scars scattered across his back, some thick knots beneath his flesh left behind from where a demon had twisted a knife. The fact that the Gatekeeper had been stabbed and weakened hadn’t been a surprise to anyone. The strategy itself was calculated and logical, but Savard couldn’t get over the brutality of what they’d done. Demons hadn’t just weakened him beyond the point of putting up a fight. They’d sliced through his hamstrings, rendering his legs completely useless.

Help hadn’t reached the Gatekeeper in time, and once it had arrived, Steffen was not the first priority. Lives were saved first, broken bodies salvaged second. In the time it took to tend to him, his wounds had closed over and mended, his badly damaged tendons fusing together incorrectly. Steffen limped and would likely do so for the remainder of his life.

Savard stepped through the doorway of the clinic’s rehabilitation room. Mousy, sweet Elin sat on the floor facing Steffen, coaching him as he looped a stretching band around his foot and wrapped the ends around his wrists.

Elin was the closest thing they had to a doctor. Her father, Dr. Murrell, had been killed in the attack, and she’d stepped in without being asked. Several citizens had opposed her filling the gap, not because she was a woman, but because she’d been a respectable woman who’d known how to use a sword and had killed at least one demon in the attack. Unacceptable to the aristocracy, shocking to everyone else.

With her parents dead and society shunning her, she had nothing left but the clinic. Thankfully most of the Guardians didn’t seem to care one way or the other about her ability to use a weapon. As long as she could patch them up and keep them going, they were happy, but then came the problem of Steffen. Every night she diligently worked with him to stretch and strengthen his marred tendons. Every night, Steffen fought her, just as he did now.

Steffen pulled his body forward and his face contorted with the effort, but he only pulled harder. Elin caught that same reaction and knelt at his side, facing him.

“You can stop,” she said gently. When her persuasion failed to make an impact, she tried again. “Steffen, that’s enough.”

Steffen refused to look at her, or obey. Instead he twisted the bands tighter around his hands, increasing the tension. Elin’s eyes widened, and she drove her shoulder into his. Her knees dug into the mat as she surged forward.

Steffen grunted, her strength an unexpected surprise. She nearly had him sitting upright, completely out of the stretch, but then he regained his balance and pushed back.

“Are you trying to land in my lap?” Steffen snapped.

“I don’t like you that much.” Elin kept him propped upright as best she could, her shoulder still wedged under his. “You push too hard and you’ll split your hamstrings wide open again.”

Steffen clenched his teeth, unwilling to give up the fight. Time to end this.

“Steffen,” Savard called from the doorway. His presence startled them both, but neither relented. “Let her do her job.”

“I don’t want to be here, Captain,” Steffen said, his jaw clenched.

“But you are.” He dropped to a crouch before Steffen’s hunched body.

Steffen glared at him. “I want Ivan away from my gates.”

He’d reached his limit of what he’d take from Steffen, just as Elin had. “Work with Elin. Until she clears you, Ivan is my Gatekeeper.”

Steffen’s lip twitched, but he didn’t speak. He suddenly straightened, forcing Elin to reach out for the ground to catch her balance.

Elin rolled her shoulder, worked out her stressed muscles as she stepped between them and faced Steffen.

“Wait in the office. I’ll be right in to wrap your knees. We’re done for today,” she said quietly. Steffen struggled to his feet, then limped into the next room. The door slammed shut, and Elin spun to face Savard. “You shouldn’t have done that, not with me here. He has so little, at least give him his pride.”

“So I should give him his pride and leave him with no legs, or worse, no life?” He paused, lowering his voice, but not the intensity. “He’s my Guardian and I want him back. That gate is the only leverage I have, and I’ll use it any way I must to save his life.”

“He’d really go into the sun over his legs?”

He nodded. “I’ve nearly lost him in the past over less.”

Elin brushed back a mess of stray hairs dangling loose from her braid. “I’ll do what I can for him.”

“I’m certain you will.” He glanced around the room, making certain they were alone. “How’s Navarre?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.” Elin plunked down on a nearby bench and rubbed her forehead, trying to hide the sudden pang of sorrow at the mention of her father, but Savard had noticed her drawn eyebrows and quivering chin. She took a long breath, then cleared her throat. “Dad taught me to pull out what didn’t belong, sew up anything gaping, set bones immediately, and that tendons are a bitch. The rest I’m making up as I go.”

“I’m not asking for a miracle, just your best guess. Will he live?”

“He’s nowhere near conscious. Blood pressure is crazy low. The skin hasn’t healed. I don’t think it’s even trying.” Elin lifted her shoulder slightly. “If I had to guess, I’d say Navarre hadn’t fed regularly, or recently. His body pulled him into a healing sleep with so little blood in his system that I didn’t expect him to live this long. But if his heart healed correctly with what he did get, he might survive.”

“I’ll take might. Thank you, Elin.” He gave her a short nod and left the room.

Several feet from the clinic door, his radio crackled. Ivan’s voice broke through for the second time in an hour. “Savard?”

“Go ahead,” he said into the radio.

“I’ve got one guy in the trees,” Ivan said, his voice steady.

“Ours?”

“Not sure. He’s hesitating.” A breath later, Ivan changed his tone. “I don’t like it.”

“Who’s with you?”

“Osric,” Ivan said.

“Good. Call in Nico and Tarmon to cover the gate. You and Osric bring our visitor to the council room.” He was already on the move. “If he doesn’t come to the gates, then go get him.”