The Bonded (16 page)

Bryn smiles. “Ahh, love, isn’t it grand?” He ends with a chuckle of irritating delight.

Percy responds before I can. “Funny, Bryn. It seems as your powers increase, so does our bond. I have a feeling we will have our questions answered sooner than you think.”

I rotate my neck around with cracks and pops to release stress and decide to change the subject. “Let’s look at this critically. The sword and bond are two entirely different issues. The sword is somehow important enough to Cassius that he kept it as his own for nearly four decades and important enough that the waers retrieved it, stating they would return it to ‘its rightful owner.’ It has a current of electricity that flows through the tribal tattoos when ignited by either my birth mother or me. How did Cassius explain the arrival of a sword that was not built for him in a culture that places so much emphasis on the construction of a personal sword?”

Percy respectfully waits for Bryn to answer. “Cassius left that evening when the news arrived of the infiltration at Dahlonega and returned two days later with the sword, claiming that it was the sword of his ancestors. He said he had come across it after a 1,000-year quest derived from an ancient text long forgotten, which described an unbreakable sword that was a symbol of ultimate authority. He claimed that only the king of the tribes could yield its power.

“We did have the opportunity to test its strength and could never succeed in blemishing or scratching the surface. Of course, all these tests were accomplished with his direct supervision and one special rule: Cassius was the only one who could touch the sword. The text was conveniently lost again, and no vampire investigated, as that surely would have been a death wish. As time passed and small skirmishes were fought, we found the sword impressive, with a blade like a razor that never needed sharpening. Everyone assumed that the sharp blade coupled with its strange imperviousness was the power he spoke of. No one suspected what Percy and I knew, that the true power, or what little we know of it, was beyond his abilities.”

“Is Quilici the only waer in this little espionage group?”

Percy answers, “Yes. No one can know. We have not discovered Cassius’s true objective and until we do, this must remain our burden to carry.”

The bodyguard interrupts us once more. “Sir, they’re here!”

Bryn looks in my direction and says, “It is time. You must move on, as this game of ours has become more dangerous and more fun.” He ends with a smirk.

I say in retaliation, “I still have a question that needs answering.”

“Hurry, Adriel, what is it?”

“What
was
my mother?”

He doesn’t stop moving to answer. “I am afraid that your question is too complicated for a response now. You must go to Quilici and quickly. Percy, you know where the place is. Travel there tomorrow evening directly after the break of dawn,
before the pack arrives,
and he will provide you with more of what you seek.” As Bryn is talking, his hand snakes into his tight-fitting right pants pocket and I hear the jingle of keys precede a slight click from a car remote. Yet, instead of a distant car door announcing its availability, the ceiling quietly slides across, creating an opening large enough for one person. The ceiling is about ten above with no access. Above the ceiling, by another ten feet, I can see a trap door that leads to the roof with an iron mini-ladder beyond reach and immediately below it. He says, “It’s my private escape. No human can reach it, but with a well-tuned jump of twenty feet, you can latch on to the ladder and open the hatch. From there, you are on your own.”

Percy looks on with mild surprise. “What will you do? They will catch our scent and know we have been here with you.”

He smiles. “Why, Percy, I had no idea you were so concerned for me.” She frowns and lets a small grunt out. “I will be fine. Remember, I’m independent and attached to no tribe. They will suspect, but it is of vital importance that I remain neutral for as long as possible.”

The bodyguard interjects. “They are walking this way, sir. What do you want us to do?”

Bryn stalls momentarily and grins. “Tell the DJ it is time for the ‘anthem.’” I take a peek through the one-way mirror and see the two vamps shoving their way through the crowd with a focus never leaving their target. Then, in a shark-feeding frenzy, men start running in mass to the dance floor as the vamps become wedged in a stampede.

I pull myself from the stare and look quizzically at Bryn. He replies to my unasked question by pushing the second hidden button on the chair as the speaker system rumbles to life. I find my answer as I hear screams and roars in melody with “It’s Raining Men.” I laugh, shake my head, and make an effortless, vertical jump onto the ladder. As I peer down, the ceiling silently closes with another chapter in my life.

Seconds later, I find myself soaking in the myriad of sounds and smells climbing from the streets below. I’m grateful for the open air and stretch with affection as Percy formulates the plan. She breaks the silence. “You seem awfully relaxed for someone who is being hunted by vampires.”

I shake off the stress as a dog shakes off water and reply, “Hunted? Do you really think Cassius will kill me or you?”

She ponders, then says, “No, not yet, but there are worse things than death, Adriel. You need to feed and we need to leave this place before they catch up. Their names are Abram and Isabel. They are old, trained trackers, and very battle savvy. Cassius fears that we will discover the truth and is taking appropriate measures to contain us.” As the last word trails from her soft lips, she glides down onto Connecticut Avenue and sprints for the escape. Damn!

I jump to follow and feel a pressure from the wind push me in her direction. I smile at the ease of it all and land in a full run, passing her with childish pride. Yet, even as the speed comes naturally, I hear the rumblings of hunger pangs siphoning my reserves. I need to feed soon or the trackers will surely have us. I slow the pace to a casual walk and turn to face her. “Percy, I don’t want to run. The hunger is beginning to assert itself. I need to feed,
and
the truth is, I won’t allow Cassius the pleasure of thinking we fear him.”

“You are willful, but I understand. Are you prepared to make this decision? Once it is made, it cannot be undone.”

“There is no decision; the choices have been stolen from us. If we run, we can’t return, as he already is aware of our betrayal. At least if we choose to fight, we send a message.”

Percy thinks and smiles. “We make our stand here.” She begins to case the surroundings as we stop on yet another narrow street, but there are too many humans on their party quests scampering through the sidewalks. “Follow me to higher ground.” Great, back to the roof. We jump in unison, landing on a renovated metal roof that responds with a muffled thud as our shoes touch with gentleness. “Adriel, they are skilled and you will need to utilize tactics, not brawn. Although your strength has increased, you are not on their level. I recommend playing to your gifts, like speed and that sarcasm of yours, to unravel their focus.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you appreciated my finer qualities,” I say sardonically.

She smiles. “I appreciate that it can work to our advantage, as Abram is prideful and Isabel has a temper issue. For some reason, your blood is tainted to us, but we can drink from vampires and waers. There will be only one each, and with your burn, that will not be enough to sate your hunger. So you will have to exercise incredible willpower after it is done so you don’t create a killing field below. Once the cycle of feeding begins, it will not dissipate until the need is met.” She inhales and says, “They are here.”

Within a second, I feel the air vibrate from a disturbance as Abram and Isabel pummel through it, crashing down with angry booms and fixed eyes. He is the shorter and thinner with a shaved head and crooked teeth that look out of place in this century. He’s old. She is a muscular athlete trained for combat, sporting a face that reminds me of German weightlifters and a shaved head to match. Both of them wear matching military camo with combat boots for added effect. I guess Isabel is the special-ops leader as she speaks with command. “Good evening, Percy. Cassius would like to visit with both of you this evening and asked us to make certain you made the appointment.”

They address Percy as if I am too young or no threat. Either way, it pisses me off. So, I decide that I will respond. “First, I’d like to say how impressed I am that two older vampires like yourselves have been able to keep up with the fashion industry. We all know that dickheads in camo is the new black this year.” He places his hand on her shoulder for mild restraint. I don’t miss a beat. “Thank you, Abram. I was starting to get nervous,” I say, dripping with antagonized sarcasm. “Secondly, you can tell your
master
that Percy and I will have to decline the invitation due to a conflict in our schedule.” I’m hoping the contemporary humor isn’t lost when I hear her heart quicken with offense. I inwardly smile and peripherally sense that Percy is pleased as well.

This time Abram reacts, but with composed tone. “That was well done, Adriel. My sister is fierce in combat, but at times she lacks the tolerance that is necessary for preamble.” He takes one step toward us with confident ease and stops. “I’m going to dispense with the pleasantries if we cannot get this matter resolved rather quickly, as Cassius can be less charitable than Isabel.”

I reply with utter enjoyment. “I can see that vampire inbreeding still exists, so I’m going to do your species a favor and do away with your family line.” His eyes burn with rage and I stoke the fire one last time. “Percy, let me kill his girlfriend. You take Abram.”

Percy doesn’t have time to respond before Isabel dashes with adrenalized speed and murderous contempt directly at me. Although she must have been proud of the quick response, it is slow motion to me as I dodge and block a flurry of sloppy attacks with ease. I silently thank Seth for his training. Isabel sneers at my arrogant smile and ramps up the assertiveness in strength rather than speed. I block her right hook with time to spare, but the powerful momentum throws my arm to the side and her fist connects. My left jaw groans in response and swells to show its displeasure. My head snaps back and I see her smiling to mock me, so I decide now is a good time to test her agility. I turn and, with the wind at my back, leap over a gaping chasm three-stories high from the present building to the next. Gravel scrapes the roof as my feet slide with a gentle landing. I shift to see if she is following and find her midair, howling a bloodcurdling scream with wrath and unbridled anger as her companions. She barely makes the edge, but rolls and leaps another fifteen feet, tackling me with a surprise move. My back pulverizes rock as I skid with her weight crushing my ribs. As the movement stops, Isabel straddles me and begins a combination of body punches that force me to reevaluate my sarcasm. I’m wheezing from a broken rib and feel the warmth of fresh blood as it fills my lungs. As I fight back a cough, the blood spatters and bubbles through my mouth like a drowning gurgle.

She stands, admiring her handiwork with a grin. “Seth mentioned that you would possibly be a formidable opponent. He said that you possessed gifts that I had never experienced in combat and to be cautious. I find you pathetic.” She grabs a fist full of my hair and leans in with sour breath. “I’m going to beat you into a coma, then join my brother in murdering your precious Persephone!”

Without thought, my body rises with such speed that I see her eyes still focused on where I was as I pass by her in a jump to kill Abram before she joins him. I hear her in the distance yelling, “Nooo!” but I don’t look back until I stick a soft landing. I realize my mistake because, as I shift, Isabel is already midway over the deep chasm, fully intent on finishing her promise. I just react, not with strategy, not with tactic, just in natural defense. With arms hugging my sides I stretch my fingers and am surprised to feel a tangible presence of air hovering around me. I clench my fist, trapping the air, and push my arms forward, releasing the air at the last moment to throw whatever I had at Isabel. There is a lull and silence and I feel a little foolish for the theatrics. Then, in the distance, I hear a chainsaw revving or a train speeding in our direction. I stop and look at Isabel, as she is still in flight, and an unexpected jet stream of tornadic wind roars to life, whipping around me with deafening violence as cyclones of debris are shattered or blown high into the air. I can’t hear the fight behind me or the panicked scream of Isabel as the wind growls and whistles.

The gust smacks her hard, then pushes her backward with such energy that the wall trembles with her arrival. Before the bricks splinter and shards of white mortar fall, I race to the kill. I hit her, my knees connecting with her solar plexus and hands palming her face, covering her eyes as they flutter in and out of consciousness, fighting for survival against the comfort of deep sleep. Damn gravity! We tumble in a downward spiral, struggling for position, and I swing her underneath to make certain the brunt of collision is hers to absorb. Timing is critical, as I want to smash her head into the ground simultaneously with the moment of impact. My patience is rewarded with a crack and a thunderous boom that literally shakes the foundation of concrete when we land. Isabel’s skull has a fracture, but nothing like I was hoping for due to her thick, calcified cranium. Yet, the blood seeps out in languid streams and the scent penetrates me. My eyes shut instinctually, savoring the warm metallic taste that tickles my senses, and my heart accelerates its pace. Muscles contract and eyes narrow as I shove my left hand over her face and angrily push it to the side. There is no gentleman here, no concern over human manners or messiness as I shred her neck with jagged fangs and drain her of every ounce of blood. It still isn’t enough and I catch myself licking her neck for spillage and biting her again just in case there was a drop I missed.

I lift my head in famished pain, howling for more as a cacophony of human sounds want my attention. Their blood pulsates; their hearts beat. The music is building toward the climax when, through its symphony, a muffled cry pierces through my bloodlust. Invigorated from Isabel’s blood donation, I once again make the three-story flight and arrive to find Percy buried in Abram’s neck, slurping up a drizzle of blood. Abram isn’t dead, but has lost enough blood to become immobile and defenseless. Percy hears me through her feeding and turns in my direction with an intensity that I have never seen. While kneeling over her victim, she unhurriedly stands and walks toward me with purpose. Her hair is baptized in blood and brushes red paint on her leather clothes as the breeze moves in her direction. She carries a vicious lethality and steps on Abram’s hand with apathy in her approach.