The Bonded (18 page)

Percy tenderly places her finger on his shoulder, lightly kneading like a cat, and purrs, “We have an appointment with Quilici.” Simple, to the point, and very convincing.

I see his eyes through the mirrored sunglasses as they swing back and forth with dilemma. Either he lets her in and possibly gets some later, which would result in some dire consequences from his boss, or he refuses, making the waer’s happy, but forfeits an opportunity to have a taste of Percy. Personally, that isn’t even a choice for me, damn the consequences! Unfortunately, he must have had some experience with the waer’s displeasure as his resolve steels in painful memory. He responds, “I’m sorry, miss, but we’re closed for the evening. You both need to leave.”

Percy’s countenance flashes from savory to savagery as she quickly moves her hand from his shoulder to his throat, lifting him off the ground by a couple of inches. His sunglasses go lopsided as his nose crinkles from pain and his neck cries out in snaps and pops as ligaments readjust. My old friend, adrenaline, greets me with a hot injection while the moment intensifies. The bouncer isn’t surprised that his heavy-muscled frame is a child’s toy to Percy, indicating that he is very aware of what kind of creatures stalk the night. So Percy makes a quick adjustment to use that to our advantage.

“Either you provide us with an entrance or I will
make
you provide us an entrance. I do not take pleasure in killing humans needlessly, but have done so
hundreds
of times in situations that warrant such violence. Do you understand your choices?”

Through choked breaths and blood-filled cheeks, he gags. “They… already know… you… are here.” He moves his stare to a tiny spy camera hidden within the crevices of distressed wood. Damn, should have seen that one coming. With reckless ease, she discards the moron like a smoker flicks a used cigarette and he smacks the uneven pavement, skidding to a halt mid-street. Percy simply ignores him, categorizing him as benign, and focuses on the camera. Within a couple of seconds, the door clicks and buzzes, signaling our approval to enter.

I grab the knob, ignoring the whimpered cries of our battered moron and pull with hesitant anxiety. I look to Percy and say, “Here we go.”

Instead of house music with its hypnotic beats, we are welcomed with the irate crunch of distorted guitars, complimented by scratchy vocals that scream of death and rebellion. The bar reverberates with danger as music creeps through the splintered wooden bar and handmade benches. This place is simple, but someone spent his time creating the entire ambience with precisioned care. These are blue-collar men and women who wouldn’t be caught dead in a mall or upscale restaurant. They build what they live in, finding pride in the process.

All eyes are on us as the air is thick with tension. The music dwindles in volume, leaving room for the awkward silence; I want to put my hands in my pockets to hide from this moment. There are twenty-three of them sitting and milling around with scornful looks, either due to their long-standing hatred of our kind or because we interrupted the schedule as the live band is preparing for a set on the stage. These waers dwarf us with gorilla shoulders, standing near seven foot, and Sasquatch hair pokes out of their shirts. Even the women are taller than I am, and thankfully, easier on the eyes, as their hair is substantially less ubiquitous. I wonder if they are born that way or if electrolysis is a technology firmly embraced in their culture. Most of them are sporting T-shirts with well-worn blue jeans and the occasional flannel button-down to complete the scene.

Through the crowd my old friend, Caedmon, stalks toward us. The others submissively back away, providing a clearing. It’s strangely emasculating as I wrench my neck upwards to greet him. “Good to see you again, Caedmon.”

“Shut up, young one!” Well, I wouldn’t exactly consider him a gracious host. “Either both of you are incredibly stupid or shamefully naïve. The only reason I have not killed you is because I can’t wait to hear the reason for this… little visitation.” His teeth fit together perfectly with top and bottom incisors snapping shut in between words. I take a quick observation around the room and find that all of them have teeth at full length. No wonder they keep to themselves; it would be difficult to blend in when your teeth don’t have the capability of retracting. “Please tell me you heard what I said, boy!”

Oops, I must have tuned out for too long. “Tell you why we are here—you’ll kill us, hurt us—yadda yadda yadda. Is that about right?”

His anger increases tenfold with the insult and he closes in, fighting back a temper. The others follow his lead. “I’m going to teach you some ma—”

Percy interjects. “I think not, Caedmon. No vampire can be assaulted without your pack leader’s permission. You are still
second
in command, are you not?”

He begrudgingly stops and creases his brow, looking for a loophole or some strategic plan to kill us when a waer lady says, “Back off, Caedmon! Quilici will be here within the minute.” It’s interesting. I sense disappointment and unrest amongst the waers, as if they desire to follow Caedmon, but are made to serve Quilici. The woman’s eyes indicate sharp intelligence and her body is hardened by war. She commands respect as well when she glides to our rescue and the sea parts for her like it did for Caedmon.

Caedmon says disingenuously, “Of course, Stella. I would not want to offend the great and mighty Quilici.”

“Watch your tongue, old friend. It is natural for the next in line to challenge the Alpha, but it is unwise in such times.” She turns her attention to Percy and me. “He is, as you said, strange for their kind.” She rubs her hand through my hair. “Perhaps even exotic.” I feel the irritation emit from Percy.

He replies, “You also should be careful. These are not times to confuse our objectives.” She releases her hand from my hair and smiles as a response. He nods in approval.

The mumbling rises and, like any party where the void of music is perceived, the voices naturally fill the volume level. I look to Percy and she gives her best assurance look for good measure. I take another gander to appraise the situation and notice the doors are blocked by a couple of very serious-looking waers. We are surrounded, outmatched, and have very little hope for survival unless Quilici arrives soon. With perfect timing, I barely finish the thought and a door slides open from the back of the bar, revealing a rear-entrance hallway. I’ve been thrown out of enough bars to recognize one when I see it. The whispers cease with Quilici’s entrance and everyone backs off in fearful respect—everyone except Caedmon. He stands his ground with shoulders back in good posture, signaling his defiance and equality. Quilici comprehends the gesture and, through dreadlocked hair, shoots him a silent warning.

Caedmon assumes the leadership role in this investigation. “Thank you for joining us, Quilici. I was just about to interrogate these two vampires.” He spits out the last words to add drama to the power play.

Quilici returns, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Caedmon, but until you are Alpha, I would appreciate the respect I demand!” The last section of the sentence was growled with threat. “Now, move aside.” He steps forward and smells us to retrieve the scent.

Caedmon reluctantly accepts his position and says, “They just showed up, a gift for us. It appears Cassius has made an error in judgment.”

Percy replies, “We are not here representing Cassius or the vampire tribes. We have come seeking a private audience with your Alpha.” A wave of shock rolls through the room, followed by murmurs. Quilici rubs his coarse beard, thinking. This move gives me the clue necessary to conclude that no one knows of his relationship with Bryn, Percy, or me and that it must be kept confidential. He’s playing a dangerous game.

Caedmon emphatically says, “What is this? What you have to say can be said here in the presence of the pack!” The crowd is getting restless, with mild cheers and encouragement that only feeds Caedmon.

Quilici interrupts with his bass command. “Calm down, everyone. We are at war and this may be a pivotal opportunity for us to gain an advantage.
I asked them to come here
. Follow me.” The atmosphere is crushed with heaviness as the pack that was confused at the start becomes agitated at the apparent betrayal. Our late arrival forced him to lay down his cards, although I’m sure he is still holding a pair up his proverbial sleeve. The statement was not a request, but the assumed command of a true leader. My impulse is to follow, as is Percy’s, but Caedmon reaches out his arm is defiance.

“This is an outrage! With all due respect, Quilici, we are a pack at war and one waer, regardless of their position, should not hold information privately. We have a council that deals with these situations.” His eyes squint in dramatic suspicion for all to see. The other waers begin to react by siding with Caedmon; Quilici senses the turn in momentum.

Quilici weighs his options and thoughtfully responds. “I want everyone to listen to me.” The crowd encroaches with perked ears. “Cassius’s intention is to eradicate the waers. There are schemes that are in motion, and have been for centuries, that would bring us great harm. These two vampires have risked their lives to assist us in our survival. I apologize for the traumatic news, but time is of the essence and I must speak with them… privately.”

Quilici conveyed his reasoning with gentility, as a father does to a child, letting them know there are some things children will not understand. From what I’m told, he has been their pack leader for nearly a century and is held in high esteem due to his wisdom and intellectual acuity, but impending war lends to brutality and strength, not diplomacy. When they couple that with his covert investigation that has been withheld from the entire pack, he has a genuine trust issue.

The tension continues to mount and Caedmon penetrates the unease with sharp words. “You have intentionally misled us, Quilici, and I cannot allow this to happen!” The circle is tightening as the noose is pulled with growls that are born deep in the gut, rumbling and vibrating the air. My heart reverberates in response and I feel my old pressure building.

“Do you dare challenge my ability to effectively lead, Caedmon? Are you prepared to commit treason against the packs for your ambition?” Quilici fights back with assertiveness, but the tide has shifted and it’s too late.

Caedmon retorts with victory, “I have not committed treason, Quilici; you have with your secret deals and secret meetings with rogue vampires. I’m starting to wonder if Cassius is the true enemy or perhaps this war has been
manufactured
.” The seriousness just ramped up and the waers feel the heaviness.

Stella enters the closing circle and says, “We must remain focused on our true enemies! Let us call a council mee—”

Interrupting, Caedmon states, “NO! Stella, the council has failed due to his conspiracies! Your wisdom has been accepted for centuries and you are our trusted advisor, but your counsel is not wanted or needed here. Get in line before I start suspecting you as well.” Stella impishly retreats, disappearing behind the line of waers.

Quilici hisses with venom. “Nora, Rueben, take this insubordinate filth into custody and I will deal with him later.” Two gigantic waers step forward from the crowd. Reuben is every inch of seven feet in height and has a shoulder width that must make it a challenge to walk through a door ungreased. His beard reaches past his bulking chest, eventually meeting his dreadlocked hair. Nora, several inches shorter, compensates with her vacant stare. I’ve seen that look belong to assassins who kill without attachment or emotion as their conscience has been chipped away with each victim. Men, women, and children have no meaning or value, aside from the cost of doing business. He is intimidating, but she is to be feared.

They walk past Caedmon and stop near Quilici, one on the right and the other on the left. Quilici says, “What’s going on, Caedmon? Have you planned this moment?”

The bellowed laughter of menace with words dangled on the end. “No, I’m sorry, Quilici, but you’re the only one who seems to be ‘planning.’”

Caedmon imperceptivity nods his head, and before Quilici can sense the incoming danger, he gets Al Caponed with an aluminum baseball bat to the back of the head. The bat rings like it struck a similar metal and Quilici drops quickly with dim consciousness, but I sense his hasty recovery in process as the floor thuds in response. I’m grateful that no blood spills, as I don’t know how waers react to their own kind. The last emotion we need here is bloodlust fused with chaos. Nora and Reuben wrestle a groggy Quilici to containment and hold him there for the audience.

Kneeling with head bowed, a restrained Quilici cranes his neck up to Caedmon with great effort and says, “You will pay for this, Caedmon! Let them go and I will consider your cooperation when the time comes for your judgment.”

Caedmon merely dismisses his words as a king ignores an insignificant peasant and turns to Percy and me. The waers follow his lead and train their sights on us, yellow eyes glowing with feral needs. Quilici struggles in the background with muffled threats, which are lost of deaf ears, as his influence has been stamped out. Caedmon says, “Nora and I will question the young one and we will discover why Quilici has turned his back on his own kind. We will discover the truth of Cassius’s role in this war, and we will discover why this ugly boy is so important!” Stifled cheers rise in volume, encouraging the hesitant others to howl along in an orgy of ferocity. Three waers on my right start thumping their chests as apes warn their enemies of immanent peril. This spreads, and within moments, the bar is saturated with a cacophony of primal war sounds as the excitement reaches near shark frenzy. Caedmon yells in hypnotic fury, “Kill her!”

The levee breaks, several waers enveloped in madness, charging through with arms cocked back for a deathblow. Percy reaches behind her neck, unsheathes her sword, and slices through one of their necks while on her way to weightlessness from a stealthy jump. Searing-hot blood sprays aimlessly, projecting unfettered streams on everyone and everything in a five-foot radius. He grabs his throat in a feeble attempt to pressurize the bleeding, but the thick blood oozes through his fingers, dripping onto the floor. The scent hits me… I’m not hungry, but the imagery is so powerful that my body reacts with instinctual desire. Fortunately, they aren’t influenced by the scent and merely continue on their quest to ruin my evening. Percy evenly lands in the corner of the room near the front, facing her unruly crowd. Gravity pulls me to her direction with the speed of light drawn into a black hole, but the intention is lost as Caedmon snatches my arm and yanks me into a bear hug. His vice grip is so powerful my struggling is an infantile temper tantrum in his grasp.