No Rest for the Wicked (19 page)

like a beast’s as he pulled free the front of her throat. Just as Kaderin’s sword sliced

through one of her opponents, the crouching vampire lifted his head and smiled at Kaderin

with flesh still in his mouth and blood spilling from his lips...

Sebastian woke in a rush. He gazed around the room, confused to find he wasn’t on that

field of battle. The dream had been that lifelike. He’d heard her heart thundering in her

ears, and experienced her rage as distinctly as he’d felt the hot blood from a vampire’s

severed jugular spraying her. It had gotten in her eyes and marred her vision.

How could he dream these things with such clarity? What if this had really happened to

her? He recalled her comment from earlier in the night: “You’ve stolen more than my

blood!” This must be what she meant. The dreams were real. He didn’t understand how it

could be possible, but he’d experienced... her memories.

Her lack of humanity, and her “history” with vampires, which Riora had mentioned, had

just become clearer. Because somehow he could see it. He raked his fingers through his

hair. The armor and weapons of that battle had been from antiquity. “What if I told you I

was very old indeed?” she’d asked.

She must be well over a thousand years old.

And Sebastian feared her life had been a series of battles like in the dream. Why would she

ever give him a chance if she believed he would turn into one of those fiends?

After tasting her blood, would he?

19

T he vampire stayed away for two days, then returned every night thereafter.

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) For the last week, he would trace to Kaderin, assisting her in whatever task she’d

committed to, or taking a chair in whatever hotel room she’d stayed in for the night. If she

went out into the sun or traveled by plane, he would vanish, spending the day who knew

where or how.

Though she’d railed at him, ignored him, been caustic to him, nothing could prevent him

from returning again and again—and there was nothing she could do about it.

But she had to admit she was less stressed that she would die when he was around. She

had a massive warrior shadowing her each night, ensuring that nothing assailed her.

In their first conflict with multiple combatants, she’d drawn her sword and strategically

put her back to the wall. In the second conflict, she’d unconsciously backed to him—and

he was quick to point that out as they fought side by side.

Arrogant leech.

Whenever he was near, she studied him, trying to uncover some hint that he regarded her

differently after tasting her blood. Kaderin knew what happened when a vampire drank

straight from the flesh. Her blood could possibly give Sebastian her memories. It might

make him want to attack others for more.

The brief sympathy she’d felt that night when she’d learned that he’d been forced to

become a vampire had evaporated when he’d taken her blood. Did she think it had been by

accident? Yes, but that didn’t change the fact that it had happened. Did she believe she

was partly responsible? Yes, she’d allowed him to kiss her neck, and castigated herself for

that daily.

Yet that didn’t mean she should continue to be around him when his mere presence made

her unthinking, restless, even occasionally... wanton.

So far her game hadn’t been too affected. They’d each already earned forty points, fairly

easily, but then they had not encountered Bowen—who might frown on their growing

tally.

In fact, she’d heard from Regin that the Lykae had taken out most of the competitors

who’d gone up against him. In just one task, two of the demons, the young witch, and the

elven hunters had all gone missing, rumored to be imprisoned somehow.

Bowen hadn’t been disqualified, so they couldn’t be dead, but the competition was lost for

them.

Kaderin also had heard that Mariketa had managed to fling off a curse at Bowen—one of

the worst for an immortal. If true, then Bowen would cease regenerating from injuries.

Kaderin knew she’d face Bowen soon enough, and when she did, she would strike first.

For now, she needed to stay focused. She simply couldn’t get used to Sebastian’s care of

her, couldn’t get used to his watching over her as she slept.

One night, she’d awakened, blinking up at him. “Why do you keep coming back just to sit

beside my bed?”

Seeming surprised by the question, he’d answered in a gravelly voice, “This is... satisfying.

To me. I find it deeply so.”

Before she’d turned onto her other side, she’d studied his face, trying to understand him,

but only became convinced she never would.

Then, last night, she’d had yet another nightmare. She seemed to be plagued with them, as

if compensating for her eternity of dreamless nights.

She definitely could not get used to his enfolding her in his warm, strong arms to soothe

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) her, rubbing her back, rumbling, “Shh, Katja,” against her hair.

Though Kaderin didn’t yet know this, Sebastian had basically moved into her London

residence, since she never traveled there, preferring to sleep on her plane or in hotels.

Showering in her flat was more convenient and had other advantages, such as the water

not being melted snow. Sebastian enjoyed sleeping in her bed, imagining her there with

him.

Not far down the street, there was a bookstore and a butcher, and both stayed open after

dark. Not to mention that the flat had a refrigerator—which was convenience itself—and

remote controls. Beautiful things. He was really enjoying this new time now that he was

immersed in it. Even the Lore in general was growing on him—because it was her world.

Each sunset, he traced to her. A couple of nights, he’d found her asleep with her sword.

As ever, she would sleep fitfully, as though in pain. Other nights, he caught her nearing

some prize. If she ran into difficulty, he would swoop one up for her, then go back and

take one for himself, just so another couldn’t have it.

He would be patient. This union was supposed to be for eternity—it followed that their

courtship would be extended. He wasn’t a patient man, but he could do whatever it took

to get what he wanted.

Wondering what he would find tonight, he traced to her, arriving in yet another hotel

room. But she wasn’t in the bed, nor did he hear her in the shower.

The room’s balcony doors were opened, overlooking a valley lit by a half-moon. He

crossed to them and found her unconscious. She was lying on her front, one arm stretched

out for her sword, which was covered in mud and blood. He lifted her gingerly, but she

moaned in pain. He realized with a surge of fury that she’d just made it inside.

Damn it, what is it about this prize? Why would she continue to risk herself like this? He’d

asked her repeatedly, sure to voice his opinion of the key. “Why do you want it so badly?”

he’d asked. “The key won’t do as it’s purported. So is it just winning the competition? For

ego or for posterity?”

“Posterity?” she’d answered with a quirked brow. “Do you mean in the progeny sense or

notoriety after death? Because neither is forthcoming.”

Now he flinched, wishing he could take the pain for her. When he wet a washcloth and

wiped her down, she moaned again. Dark, mottled bruises marred her skin all over.

Gritting his teeth with anger, he dressed her in his shirt and put her to bed, sitting beside

her in the room’s one chair.

He found himself feeling as if they were married already. He didn’t know if this was a

symptom of the blooding, but he found himself thinking of her as a wife—one who

despised him, wouldn’t share his bed, and, worse, wouldn’t allow him to protect her.

And he continued dreaming about her each night, staggeringly vivid dreams.

In many dreams, Kaderin spoke in an old language he had no knowledge of, yet he

understood her. He heard her thoughts, felt her fears. Once he’d dreamed she was on a

battlefield, absently marking the severed heads of vampires she’d killed, carving an X with

her sword as she sought her next fight. He now knew she was marking them to come back

for their fangs later.

The more of her memories he garnered about the Horde, the more he instinctively knew he

would never join their number. Since he’d taken Kaderin’s blood from her body, he’d

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) never experienced even the slightest urge to drink another. He’d been around humans

since then and hadn’t even thought about it.

Near dawn, when he saw she was sleeping soundly, he finally nodded off, swiftly

becoming immersed in a scene from her past.

He could tell from Kaderin’s clothing that it was in the early nineteen hundreds. She was

hastening after a raven-haired female named Furie—their half-Valkyrie, half-Fury queen.

Furie was setting off to battle the Horde’s king, because a Valkyrie soothsayer named Nïx

had told her it was her destiny.

“Nïx told me you intend to fight Demestriu,” Kaderin said from behind her. “But all she

knows is that you’re not coming back. I want to go with you and make sure that you do.”

Furie turned. Overall, she resembled Kaderin’s kind—delicately built with feylike

features—but Furie had more prominent fangs and claws. Her eyes were striking but odd,

with dark rings around irises of a vivid purplish color. She could not have passed as a

human as Kaderin could. “You can’t feel, child,” Furie intoned. “How will you help me?”

Can’t feel? Yes—he’d dreamed Kaderin experiencing a deep, wrenching sorrow, but it

hadn’t lasted long. One morning she woke... changed.

“It makes me cold,” Kaderin said calmly. “It makes me good.”

Something like affection might have glimmered in Furie’s uncanny eyes. Then she said,

“I’m fated to go alone.”

“Change fate.” Kaderin knew Furie would consider her words blasphemous. The Valkyrie

didn’t believe in chance. For them, everything happened for a reason.

“Have you lost your beliefs along with your emotions?” Furie’s anger was building.

Kaderin could sense it like animals sense storms, but it didn’t deter her. “Only a coward

would try to escape her fate. Remember that, Kaderin.” She continued on.

“No, I’m going with you,” Kaderin insisted, hurrying to her side.

Furie turned and tilted her head sharply. “To keep you here”—she snatched Kaderin’s

wrist, twisting her arm back behind her—“and to ensure you always remember what I

said... ” With one brutal yank she snapped Kaderin’s arm—her sword arm—then released

her.

Kaderin stumbled back to face her, but the heel of Furie’s palm slammed into her upper

chest. Something else snapped. Kaderin flew a dozen feet back, the force rendering her

unconscious before she hit the ground.

He never got a chance to see how hurt she’d been, or how she’d recovered, because

another scene arose.

Kaderin’s boots clicked as she sprinted down foggy back alleys. The rookeries she passed

were filled with Lore beings, their deadened eyes staring out of the mist. It was London in

the eighteen hundreds.

Her sword was strapped securely over her shoulder, and her thin shackles were tucked

into her belt at her back. She was tracking two vampires, brothers, and her ears twitched

when she sensed them. She drew her sword, but they were fast as they suddenly traced

around her. One delivered a crushing blow to her head from behind, the other dealt a hit to

her temple that nearly blacked her vision completely. A trap.

They let her stumble away for a goddamned block. Playing with her.

Tired. I just want to sit, she kept thinking in a daze. Just for a second. She finally

collapsed, falling to her back.

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) The vampires returned, one holding her down, the other raising his sword above her neck.

And she felt not even a trickle of fear. As they bent over her, their eyes became more

apparent to her dimmed vision. Red, dirty eyes, staring down at her. No, she didn’t feel

fear, no revulsion—just nothing.

Another vampire materialized, likely wanting to see the momentous kill. The brothers’

attention was drawn away for an instant. It was all she needed. Earlier, she’d fallen back

onto the shackles. Without warning, she whipped them out and cuffed their wrists

together. They struggled to break free, but somehow the metal held even with their

obvious strength. They tried to trace in different directions and couldn’t.

As she rose, the third vampire fled. She tilted her head at the two, and murmured, “I told

you I’d kill you,” then let instinct take over—

He bolted awake at the sound of her shrieking, the loudest he’d ever heard, and clamped

his hands over his ears. When the windows began to crack, he lunged for her and forced

his hand over her mouth. Her fingers shot out, claws bared to snatch at his heart, but he

caught her wrists in his free hand.

She was staring at him but seemed unseeing, her pale face lit by a series of lightning strikes

just outside. He pulled her into his arms until she finally stopped fighting. But then she