Keystone (Gatewalkers) (31 page)

Maelyn’s blazing eyes shot to Charlie. “You knew,” she spat with unerring venom.

Charlie nodded shallowly.

“You knew, and yet insisted upon his rescue.” Maelyn’s tongue cut as deeply as her blade. “You have cost us precious time for the sake of a – ”

“Shut up, princess!” Charlie burst out, surprising herself. She clenched her fists. “
What
he is doesn’t change
who
he is.”

Charlie tried to shake her sudden lightheadedness, taking deep breaths and making sure that her knees weren’t locked. Maybe the adrenaline had gone to her head. Her mouth felt strange, burning as if she’d eaten an entire plate of spicy peppers and the taste refused to go away.

***

Sun sick. Rhys recognized the symptoms. He could hardly see, hardly think, his dry skin cracked with every motion, unable to heal, his mouth sticky and sour. Alternating heat and chills wracked his body and his stomach cramped in an unyielding knot. Breathing took conscious effort. Rhys needed blood. A lot of it. Soon.

“I’ll stay here with him a minute.” Charlotte’s voice, painfully weary. “You parlay and decide if the fellowship is breaking. Quick so we can get out of here.”

There was a brief shuffle of footfalls and a door opened and closed.

Rhys pressed himself back against the cool stone wall, dispersing the heat in his flesh.

“Rhys?” Burning fingers touched his shoulder. Living fingers with hot blood pulsing through them.

He yanked her down to him before the thought completed. His arms crushed her to him, one hand coming up to anchor in her hair and tug her head to one side. His lips found the pulse at her neck, the easiest major artery to reach. His bared fangs pressed against her flesh.
 

Stop!

Rhys froze, becoming a steel statue. Charlotte’s panicked breathing fought against his immobile ribcage and fluttered in his hair, her heartbeat pounding through his senses. He held her pinioned, his fangs resting on her pulse, healing and life to him.

If he ripped open her artery it would kill her.

He shuddered, struggling on the precipice. The blood flowing under the skin against his lips called to him desperately.
 

“Rhys,” she said. “William. Stay with me.”

His lips slowly closed around his fangs. Rhys forced his fingers to release her hair and tilted his head back, prying his eyes open to look at her. To
look
at her, the life he had nearly taken without a thought. All he ever had a skill for was destroying things.

Charlotte’s eyes were wide with fear, her mouth pressed tight. She looked pale as the moon to his damaged vision, her eyes deep and dark. Her head bowed to touch his forehead. It felt like a branding iron.

Rhys pulled air into his lungs in an uneven breath. His own words came to haunt him.
On that day, I pray that someone will destroy me quickly, because if I am that lost, there will be nothing left to save.
He had nearly fallen over that precipice. He had nearly lost himself.

“I am still here,” Rhys whispered. If barely.

She sagged against him, relief turning her almost limp in his grip.

The heat burning in his blood seeped away, leaving him icy cold. Holding Charlotte in his arms felt like holding a live flame.
 

Rhys turned his head and captured her mouth, moist and searing against his icy lips, and she leaned into it. Into
him.
If he had breath it would have been taken away. It was too much of an intimacy. He should not allow anyone so close, but she….

She was sweating. In the cold of this room she was sweating.

Rhys pulled back, his heart giving an odd sideways jolt. He touched her damp cheeks and Charlotte turned her face into his hand, her skin blazing hot.
 
Feverishly hot.
 
Rhys pressed his mouth to hers, this time with a purpose. His tongue slipped past her lips to probe the inside of her cheek. Sour. Bitter.
Her
mouth, not just his.

Blood taint.

She’d been bitten. She would become like him.
 

Rhys felt a strange flutter. Suddenly, a part of him wanted it. He wanted her to be like him, to understand. He wanted her to feel what he did with his enhanced senses, see what he could even in the deepest black, to be stronger and faster than she could imagine. In two days she could experience it for herself.

After two days feeling like she’d burned to ashes from the inside out. Surviving that, she would have to adapt to a vampire’s life. Could she do that?

No. She would not survive as a vampire.

Rhys caught her face again. “When were you bitten?” They had a day to cleanse her blood. But no Healer.

“Bit me?” Confusion washed over her. “No, you didn’t bite me. I’m fine.”

Did she deliberately misunderstand? Or did she not realize she was infected? Rhys checked her wrists for fresh marks but found none. Same with her shoulders and upper arms. Her neck, of course, was smooth and untouched. “Charlotte, do you feel dizzy? Confused?”

Her brows furrowed. “Dizzy. Sort of lightheaded.” This time he detected a faint slur to her words that he would have missed had he not been paying attention. “I just need more sleep. Lots of adrenaline. Starting to crash, I think.” She leaned forward to rest her forehead on his shoulder.

Adrenaline. Her pounding heart speeding the spread of the poison. If she were already loosing consciousness she should have been feeling the effects of the transformation by now, but she did not seem to be in pain. She could die if the transformation took her body too quickly.

Alarmed, Rhys pushed her back upright. “Listen, you must stay awake. Understand?” She should not be to the stage of unconsciousness yet; not nearly so. He clasped the back of her neck, helping to hold it straight. Her dark eyes were dull.

“I’m awake,” she said slowly, taking his wrist. “What’s wrong? Why the questions?“

 
“Listen to me. Have you eaten or drunk anything here?
Anything?
”

She shook her head, wobbling like an old sot. “No, nothing. Getting really thirsty, though. My mouth is all sticky.” She rubbed the corner of her jaw. “Tooth is on fire. Jammed it.”

“Can you stand?” Rhys had to fetch the others. They must find Jack’s bag and the vial inside it immediately.
 

Charlotte nodded, but Rhys had to pull her to her unsteady feet. He was not entirely steady himself. Her blood called to him, but he could not allow himself to listen.

Door. He had heard the sound of a door opening and closing when Jack and Mae left the room.

Charlie leaned heavily against him. Rhys wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling. “Stay awake, Charlotte. I am here with you; you must hold on as well.”

Charlie nodded against his shoulder.

Rhys sought out the door and pulled it open. Light sliced in, digging into his eyes. “Mae! Jack! Help me!”

A solid figure broke the light. Hands took Charlie from him. Rhys pulled back into the shadows, holding up a hand to shield his eyes.

“What have you done?” Mae demanded. “What did you do to her?”

“Did you bite her?” Jack said.

“He didn’t do anything,” a new, young voice spoke out of the shadows.

“Gwynne?” Jack said.

“He didn’t bite her, though he could have. Never seen a vamp act like that,” Gwynne said in a low voice.

Rhys had not even noticed the boy in the room.

“She bit the Mara,” Gwynne said quietly. “Knew it turned vamps, didn’t know it could turn humans. She’s going fang faced too.”

“It may be too late for me,” Rhys said, “but it is not too late for her. Her blood may still be cleansed, and I know the means to do it without a Healer.”

“I have never heard of such a thing,” Mae said suspiciously.
 

“Nor I,” said Jack, but thoughtfully so.

“Bloodgrass. It is an herb with properties that cleanse the blood, combined with certain other elements. There is a vial of it in your bag, Jack. I had Charlie place it there for safekeeping.”

“In my bag? But I’ve lost my bag. It’s probably back at the encampment.”

“Goblins have first shot at loot,” Gwynne said, “but only after they pass it by the Blood Prince. Anything special, he takes.”

Jack nodded slowly. “He may have appropriated it then. If he did, where would he keep it?”

Gwynne shrugged. “His tower.”

“Unfortunately, it would seem that the simplest way to invade the Blood Prince’s tower without detection is to return the way we came, via rooftop,” Jack said. “Which by necessity involves exposure to the sun.”

Rhys flinched at the thought. Back in the sun. “I need blood to heal.”

“No,” Mae said flatly.

“I’m with her,” Gwynne said, jerking his thumb at Mae.

Jack did not answer immediately.
 

“Do not consider it,” Mae said.

“I am considering,” Jack said. “I am considering the fact that Rhys never tried to harm us, despite many opportunities. That he chose to be our guide, and fought for us when the Blood Prince’s creatures attacked the encampment. He was one of our number before we knew he was a vampire. I have seen nothing to suggest we should exclude him now. If he says there is a means to cleanse Charlie’s blood, then we should pursue it.”

Jack pushed back his sleeve and offered Rhys his wrist. After one stuttering heartbeat of hesitation, Rhys took it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Monster

Gwynne slid the point of the dagger into the crack between the tower window and the shutter, feeling for the lift latch he knew would be there. The dagger point found the latch with a faint chime of metal. Gwynne eased the latch upward, freeing the shutter, and pushed it open.

Nothing pounced from the dark room beyond, but Gwynne took the precious moments to allow his eyes to adjust to the shadows. “No one’s there.” Without wasting another minute talking, Gwynne shimmied through the Blood Prince’s window.

He dropped to the smooth wooden floor and crouched. He let his mouth fall open so his breath didn’t hiss across his teeth. He made his entire presence as small and silent as he could manage, while his eyes slid across the room, open to the smallest movement. He didn’t feel any vampires nearby but Rhys. He couldn’t always rely on that sense, but it was more sure than listening or watching, because a hunting vampire only moved when it struck.

Gwynne cautiously straightened. When no vampire pounced on him, he knew the room was really empty.

He felt a crawling chill. This was the one room in the castle that he’d never been inside before. The only ones who came out alive were the Mara, the Blood Prince, and his commanders.

The room itself was nearly empty, which narrowed down any hiding places. There was a desk, a cabinet, a bookshelf, and a pair of trunks. No bits and pieces, nothing hanging on the wall, none of the things that most people, even orcs and goblins, tended to collect around themselves. The wood floor was smooth and polished, free of chalk and runes, but dark places mottled the wood.

Sharp for any movement at the door, Gwynne crept toward the heavy wooden desk. A quick look assured that there was nothing of interest.

 
A glass cabinet held armor and hooks for the Blood Prince’s mask but not the mask itself. Weird to think he ever took it off.
 

No obvious hiding places. The bookshelves held only books. No hidden switches or panels. There was a heavy trunk against one wall that proved to be locked.

That would be it. Gwynne glanced at the window and Rhys, and pointed at the trunk. Rhys nodded.

He didn’t see any obvious keys, but he knew the Blood Prince didn’t carry his keys with him either. They must be in this room. They probably included the key to Rhys’ manacles. Gwynne decided to find it and make it disappear.

Gwynne slipped back to the glass cabinet. It was the only place the keys could hide. He knelt and examined the cabinet’s base minutely, following the decorative wooden swirls with his fingers. He found a hidden button. A panel swung open, and Gwynne scooped out the contents. Pay dirt. He turned to the window and held up a chain with three silver keys.
 

***

“He found the keys,” Rhys breathed. It was too soon for relief, however. If Jack’s bag were not in the trunk, they would need to mount a new, more extensive search. That would be dangerous both for them and for Charlotte.

Tremors wracked Charlotte’s body, though her skin felt like it was on fire. Rhys knew that feeling all too well. He did not need his eyes to tell him she was dying, the taint from the Mara’s blood spreading too quickly through her body. Rhys cradled her closer against his shoulder, drawing some of the heat with his own cooler skin. He could do nothing else.

He could feel Mae’s disgusted gaze on him, but kept his face turned away from her. The sunlight had dried and cracked the skin of his face, but he could not risk her recognizing him. Especially now.

Inside the room, Gwynne tried the keys on the trunk. With the second key, the lid popped open. Gwynne reached into the trunk and held up the bag in triumph.

Good. Now find the vial. Find it quickly.

Gwynne set the bag on the Blood Prince’s desk and dug through it, his face the picture of concentration. Abruptly he fell still. He lifted his hand from the bag, the padded vial cradled in his fingers. He lifted his head, looking for approval.

Rhys nodded shortly. Yes. That was it. That was it, thank Heaven.

Gwynne’s head whipped toward the door. He flung Jack’s bag to the floor where the desk would hide it and ran for the window.

The door latch snicked open. Gwynne’s eyes met Rhys’. He changed his grip on the vial and cocked his arm. He pitched the vial at the window, straight and true. Rhys’ hand shot through the window, his shoulder jamming at the casement. His fingers closed around the vial and snatched it back through.

The shutter.
It was a sure giveaway. Rhys reached in and snatched it shut as the door swung open. Gwynne could hide behind the table until the room was clear.

Rhys ripped the padding from the vial with his teeth. Unbroken. He pulled the cork and poured the vial’s contents into Charlotte’s mouth. She choked and gagged on it, but Rhys held her mouth closed and forced her to swallow it.