Awakened (8 page)

He opened his eyes to find himself standing in an amazing meadow at the base of a tree that looked exactly like the one Kalona had shattered, only this tree was whole and green, and beside it was a woman dressed in glowing silver robes. She was so lovely Jack thought he could stare at her forever.

He knew her instantly. He’d always known her.

“Hello, Nyx,” he said softly.

The Goddess smiled. “Hello, Jack.”

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Nyx’s smile didn’t waver. “You are, my wonderful, loving, untaintable child.”

Jack hesitated, then said, “It doesn’t seem so bad, this being dead thing.”

“You’ll find it isn’t.”

“I’ll miss Damien.”

“You’ll be with him again. Some souls find each other again and again. Yours will; you have my oath on it.”

“Did I do okay back there?”

“You were perfect, my son.” Then Nyx, the Goddess of Night, opened her arms and enfolded Jack, and with her touch the last remnants of mortal pain and sadness and loss dissolved from his spirit, leaving love—only and always, love. And Jack knew perfect happiness.

The moment before his father appeared the consistency of the air changed.

He’d known Father had returned from the Otherworld the instant it had happened. How could he not have known it? He’d been with Stevie Rae. She’d felt Zoey become whole again just as the knowledge of his father had come to him.

Stevie Rae … It had been less than a fortnight since he’d been in her presence, spoken with her, touched her, but it seemed that their time together had been an eternity ago.

If Rephaim lived for another century he would not forget what had happened between them just before Father had returned to this realm. The human boy in the fountain had been him. It hadn’t made rational sense, but that didn’t make it any less true. He’d touched Stevie Rae and imagined, for just a heartbeat in time, what could have been.

He could have loved her.

He could have protected her.

He could have chosen Light over Darkness.

But what could have been was not reality—was not to be.

He’d been born of hate and lust, pain and Darkness. He was a monster. Not human. Not immortal. Not beast.

Monster.

Monsters didn’t dream. Monsters didn’t desire anything except blood and destruction. Monsters didn’t—couldn’t—know love or happiness: they weren’t created with that ability.

How then was it possible that he missed her?

Why this terrible hollowness in his soul since Stevie Rae had been gone? Why did he feel only partially alive without her?

And why did he long to be better, stronger, wiser, and
good, truly good
for her?

Could he be going mad?

Rephaim paced back and forth across the rooftop balcony of the deserted Gilcrease mansion. It was past midnight and the museum grounds were quiet, but since the cleanup after the ice storm had begun in earnest, the place was becoming busier and busier during daylight hours.

I’m going to have to leave and find another place. A safer place. I should leave Tulsa and make a stronghold in the wilderness of this enormous country.
He knew that was the wise thing to do, the rational thing to do, but something compelled him to stay.

Rephaim told himself it was simply that he hoped now that his father had returned to this realm, he would also return to Tulsa, and he was waiting here for him to come back—to give him a purpose and a direction. But in the deepest recesses of his heart he knew the truth. He didn’t want to leave this place because Stevie Rae was here, and even though he couldn’t allow himself to contact her, she was still near, reachable, if only he dared.

Then, in the middle of his pacing and his self-recriminations, the air around him became heavy, thick with an immortal power that Rephaim knew as well as his own name. Something tugged within him, as if the power that floated in the night had attached itself to him and was using him as an anchor to pull itself ever nearer.

Rephaim braced himself, physically and mentally, concentrated on the illusive immortal magick, and willingly accepted the connection, not minding that it was painful and draining and filled him with a suffocating wave of claustrophobia.

The night sky above him darkened. The wind increased, battering Rephaim.

The Raven Mocker stood his ground.

When the magnificent winged immortal, his father, Kalona, deposed Warrior of Nyx, swooped down from the heavens and landed before him, Rephaim automatically dropped to his knees, bowing in allegiance.

“I was surprised to feel that you remained here,” Kalona said without giving his son permission to rise. “Why did you not follow me to Italy?”

Head still bowed, Rephaim answered. “I was mortally wounded. I have only just recovered. I thought it wise to await you here.”

“Wounded? Yes, I recall. A gunshot and a fall from the sky. You may rise, Rephaim.”

“Thank you, Father.” Rephaim stood and faced his father, and then was glad his face didn’t betray emotions easily. Kalona looked as if he had been ill! His bronze skin had a sallow tint to it. His unusual amber eyes were shadowed by dark circles. He even looked thin. “Are you well, Father?”

“Of course I am well; I am an immortal!” the winged being snapped. Then he sighed and brushed a hand wearily across his face. “She held me within the earth. I was already wounded, and being trapped by that element made my recovery before my release impossible—and since then it has been slow.”

“So Neferet did entrap you.” Carefully, Rephaim kept his tone neutral.

“She did, but I could not have been so easily imprisoned had Zoey Redbird not attacked my spirit,” he said bitterly.

“Yet the fledgling lives,” Rephaim said.

“She does!” Kalona roared, towering over his son and causing the Raven Mocker to stumble backward. But just as quickly as his rage exploded, it fizzled, leaving the immortal looking tired again. He blew out a long breath, and in a more reasonable voice repeated, “Yes, Zoey does live, though I believe she will be forever changed by her Otherworld experience.” Kalona stared off into the night. “Everyone who spends time in Nyx’s realm is altered by it.”

“So Nyx did allow you to enter the Otherworld?” Rephaim couldn’t stop from asking. He steeled himself for his father’s reprimand, but when Kalona spoke, his voice was surprisingly introspective, almost gentle.

“She did. And I saw her. Once. Briefly. It was because of the Goddess’s intervention that that gods-be-damned Stark is still breathing and walking the earth.”

“Stark followed Zoey to the Otherworld, and he lives?”

“He lives, although he shouldn’t.” As Kalona spoke he absently rubbed a spot on his chest, over his heart. “I suspect those meddling bulls have something to do with his survival.”

“The black and white bulls? Darkness and Light?” Rephaim tasted the bile of fear at the back of his throat as he remembered the slick, eerie coat of the white bull, the unending evil in his eyes, and the white-hot pain the creature had caused him.

“What is it?” Kalona’s perceptive gaze skewered his son. “Why do you look thus?”

“They manifested here, in Tulsa, just over a week ago.”

“What brought them here?”

Rephaim hesitated, his heart beating painfully in his chest. What could he admit? What could he say?

“Rephaim, speak!”

“It was the Red One—the young High Priestess. She invoked the presence of the bulls. It was the white bull who gave her the knowledge that helped Stark find the way to the Otherworld.”

“How do you know this?” Kalona’s voice was like death.

“I witnessed part of the invocation. I was wounded so badly that I did not believe I would recover, that I would ever fly again. When the white bull manifested, it strengthened me and drew me to its circle. That was where I observed the Red One getting her information from it.”

“You were healed, but you didn’t capture the Red One? Didn’t stop her before she could return to the House of Night and aid Stark?”

“I could not stop her. The black bull manifested and Light banished Darkness, protecting the Red One,” he said honestly. “I have been here since, regaining my strength and, when I felt that you had returned to this realm, I have been awaiting you.”

Kalona stared at his son. Rephaim met his gaze steadily.

Kalona nodded slowly. “It is good that you awaited me here. There is much that is left undone in Tulsa. This House of Night will soon belong to the Tsi Sgili.”

“Neferet has returned, too? Is the High Council not holding her?”

Kalona laughed. “The High Council is made up of naïve fools. The Tsi Sgili blamed me for recent events, and has punished me by publically lashing me and then banishing me from her side. The Council has been pacified.”

Shocked, Rephaim shook his head. His father’s tone was light, almost humorous, but his look was black—his body weakened and wounded. “Father, I do not understand. Lashed? You allowed Neferet to—”

With immortal speed, Kalona’s hand was suddenly around his son’s throat. The huge Raven Mocker was lifted off the ground as if he weighed no more than one of his slim, black feathers.

“Do not make the mistake of believing that because I have been wounded I have also become weak.”

“I would not do that.” Rephaim’s voice was little more than a choked hiss.

Their faces were close together. Kalona’s amber eyes blazed with angry heat.

“Father,” Rephaim gasped. “I meant you no disrespect.”

Kalona dropped him, and his son crumpled at his feet. The immortal lifted his head and threw his arms wide as if he would take on the heavens. “She still imprisons me!” he shouted.

Rephaim drew in air and rubbed his throat, then his father’s words penetrated the confusion in his mind and he looked up at him. The immortal’s face was twisted as if in agony—his eyes were haunted. Rephaim slowly got to his feet, and approached him carefully. “What has she done?”

Kalona’s arms fell to his sides, but his face remained open to the sky. “I pledged to her my oath that I would destroy Zoey Redbird. The fledgling lives. I broke my oath.”

Rephaim’s blood felt cold. “The oathbreaking held a penalty.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question, but Kalona nodded. “It did.”

“What is it you owe Neferet?”

“She holds dominion over my spirit for as long as I am immortal.”

“By all the gods and goddesses, we are both lost then!” Rephaim couldn’t stop the escaping words.

Kalona turned to him and his son saw that a sly glint had replaced the rage in his eyes. “Neferet has been immortal for less than a breath of this world’s time. I have been so for uncountable eons. If there is one lesson I have learned over several lifetimes, it is that there is nothing that is unbreakable. Nothing. Not the strongest heart, not the purest soul—not even the most binding of oaths.”

“You know how to break her dominion over you?”

“No, but I do know that if I give her what she most desires, she will be distracted while I discover how to break the oath I made her.”

“Father,” Rephaim said hesitantly, “there are always consequences for an oathbreaking. Will you not simply incur another if you break this second oath?”

“I cannot think of a consequence I would not gladly pay to rid myself of Neferet’s domination.”

The cold, deadly anger in Kalona’s voice caused Rephaim’s throat to go dry. He knew when his father got like this, the only thing he could do was to agree with him, to aid him in whatever he sought, to ride the storm silently, mindlessly, at Kalona’s side. He was used to Kalona’s volatile emotions.

What Rephaim was not used to was feeling resentful of them.

Rephaim could sense the immortal’s gaze studying him. The Raven Mocker cleared his throat and said what he knew his father expected to hear. “What is it that Neferet most desires and how do we give it to her?”

Kalona’s expression relaxed a little. “The Tsi Sgili most desires lording power over humans. We give it to her by helping her begin a war between vampyres and humans. She means to use the war as an excuse for the destruction of the High Council. With them gone, vampyre society will be in disarray and Neferet, using the title of Nyx Incarnate, will rule.”

“But vampyres have become too rational, too civilized, to war with humans. I think they would withdraw from society before they would fight.”

“True enough for most vampyres, but you’re forgetting the new breed of bloodsucker the Tsi Sgili created. They do not seem to have the same scruples.”

“The red fledglings,” Rephaim said.

“Ah, but they aren’t all fledglings, are they? I hear another of the boys has Changed. And then there is the new High Priestess, the Red One. I am not so sure she is as dedicated to Light as is her friend Zoey.”

Rephaim felt like a giant fist was closing around his heart. “The Red One evoked the black bull—the manifestation of Light. I do not think she can be swayed from the Goddess’s path.”

“You said she also conjured the bull of Darkness, did you not?”

“I did, but from what I observed she did not call upon Darkness intentionally.”

Kalona laughed. “Neferet has told me that Stevie Rae was quite different when she first was resurrected. The Red One reveled in Darkness!”

“And then she Changed, like Stark. They’re both committed to Nyx now.”

“No, what Stark is committed to is Zoey Redbird. I do not believe the Red One has formed any such attachment.”

Carefully, Rephaim remained silent.

“The more I think on it, the more I like the idea. Neferet gains power if we use the Red One, and Zoey loses someone close to her. Yes, that pleases me. Very much.”

Rephaim was trying to sift through the mixture of panic and fear and chaos in his mind and conjure a response that might distract Kalona from his pursuit of Stevie Rae when the air around them rippled and changed. Shadows within shadows appeared to quiver briefly but ecstatically. His questioning eyes went from the Darkness lurking in the corners of the rooftop, to his father.

Kalona nodded and smiled grimly. “The Tsi Sgili has paid her debt to Darkness; she has sacrificed the life of an innocent who could not be tainted.”