When Passion Lies: A Shadow Keepers Novel (36 page)

“I’m immortal, aren’t I?” Tiberius said, as he considered the notion that had been brewing in his mind. “Who’s to say I can’t return to power next week, next year, next century? One day Caris will be cured. Either that or the world will accept her. Do you believe she’ll wish to live an eternity on a beach?”

“Caris?” Luke said. “No. Eventually she’ll get restless. I’d be willing to bet on that one.”

“And I want to be at her side when she does,” he said, realizing then that his mind was made up.

“But the election—”

Tiberius lifted a hand, cutting him off. “Leave that to me.”

“How?”

“Easy,” Tiberius said. “All I need from you is one very small favor …”

“You come.” The guard, an ogre, unlocked the cell and held the door open as Caris stepped out. She’d hoped that Tiberius would come by one last time to say good-bye, but he hadn’t, and she told herself that was for the best.

Good-byes were the hardest. But maybe with some time the pain would ease and she could see him again. Maybe he’d even come to her little beach somewhere.

She pictured it, a small cabin near the water. Time to read, to think, to relax.

Once upon a time it would have sounded like heaven.

Now it just sounded lonely.

With the ogre at her side, she walked the long corridor, trying to ignore the jeers and catcalls. The curses. The shouts that she was a freak, that she was toxic, that she’d be the ruination of the world.

Then again, maybe alone is good
.

When they reached the exit to the parking garage, a blue-haired receptionist looked up from her computer screen. “Your car is waiting,” she said in slow, heavily accented English. She indicated the opaque glass doors. “Right through there.”

“Thanks.” Caris headed out, pausing just outside the doors.

Free
. She was really free.

She drew in a deep breath, then climbed into the back of the limo. “Airfield,” she said, then told the driver the hangar number of the jet she’d chartered. She was going to Scotland first. She wanted to say good-bye to Gunnolf. And then she’d head to New Zealand and her new, exciting life.

Too bad she wasn’t particularly excited about it. How could she be, without Tiberius at her side?

As the limo started to spiral up toward the exit, she realized it didn’t much matter. If she was by herself, one beach was as good as another.
Dammit, Tiberius
. She wanted to scream curses at him, but she couldn’t. He’d been aiming for the chairmanship his entire life. She could be sad, she could feel sorry for herself, but she also couldn’t be anything but proud.

The limo straightened as it reached the last stretch of
the parking structure before the street. A pause as the driver waited for the gate, and then they were moving again.

And then, with a hard jerk, they weren’t.

“Watch it!” she called. She’d almost slid off the seat, he’d stopped so fast.

He didn’t answer, and she was about to open the glass barrier and tell him ever so politely to watch his damn driving, but then the side door opened.

And there was Tiberius.

Her hand flew to her mouth, her chest swelling at the sight of him again.

He slid into the limo without another word, then tapped the barrier. The car started moving again.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as he sat next to her. Too close to her, actually, because he was only going to make it harder. “A last-minute good-bye? Because it’s a nice thought, but I’m not sure I can stand it.”

“Not a good-bye,” he said. “I’m not ever saying good-bye again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I resigned.”

“What?” He wasn’t making sense.

“I resigned. I appointed Luke as the interim chairman. There will be an election in six months. He might run, he might not.”

“I don’t understand,” she repeated. Everything was fuzzy, as if she was listening to a dream, and she’d wake up and find that nothing was real. Please, please don’t let it be a dream.

“You don’t want to be at my side when I’m chairman. Fine. I get that. I can’t convince you otherwise, and I wouldn’t try. But I’m not living without you, Caris. And
if that means I won’t be chairman, then I won’t be chairman.”

“But—but it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“I thought so, yes. Once. Now I know better. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She blinked, tears welling. “You did that for me?”

“No,” he said, pulling her into the kind of kiss that proved just how much he meant it. “I did it for us.”

He hooked his arm around her and she snuggled close. “It’s been years since I’ve been to New Zealand,” he said.

She tilted her head to look at him. “I’m making a stop first. I hope it’s okay.” She licked her lips. “I want to go see Gunnolf.”

She watched his face, looking for some sign that seeing the weren—his old enemy, his rival—disturbed him. But she saw nothing except his smile.

“Good,” he said. “I need to thank him properly.”

“Thank him?”

“For you,” he said. “For taking care of you.”

She blinked, then realized that her eyes had filled with tears. “That’s not all you have to do,” she said, deliberately adding a tease to her voice. “It seems to me there’s something you owe him. We stopped Lihter, after all.”

“The Highlands,” Tiberius said. “Right. It’s certainly doable. I gave up the chairmanship, but have done nothing about the various governorships yet. Of course, we should probably alter the terms of that agreement. Just slightly.”

“Oh?”

He reached for the control that operated the privacy screen, then watched as the barrier rose to block them from the driver’s view.

“If I give up the Highlands, I think I deserve something in return.”

“Do you?” she said, easing into his welcoming arms. “Well, I think that can most definitely be arranged.”

And as she lost herself in the depths of his kiss, her one regret was that the airport was only ten minutes away.

But that was okay. The flight, at least, was longer.

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The two vampires moved with steady purpose, the low fog curling around their ankles as if the oily darkness of the moonless night was caressing them.
And why wouldn’t it?
Sergius wondered. Hadn’t he often embraced the darkness, drawing it close like a lover, letting it wrap around him, smothering him even as it soothed him with its warm familiarity?

And yet he yearned to be free of it—unbound from the pinch of the dark. That was why he’d come tonight, because he’d heard rumors about this witch. About her extraordinary powers. How she could heal. How she could make people whole.

People, perhaps. But what about vampires?

Her gifts might not extend to his kind. More than that, she might refuse to help him. He shoved the possibility aside, burying it beneath a blanket of false optimism. No matter how poor the odds, he had to try. The burning inside him had become so violent—so
raw—
that he had no other options. Because if he couldn’t ratchet back the darkness, it would certainly consume him. And once that happened, Sergius would be gone forever, lost inside an inky black void filled with only the scent and taste of blood.

“There,” Derrick said, grabbing Serge’s arm and tugging him to a halt. He tilted his head back, his nostrils flaring. “Can you smell it?”

Sergius glanced sideways at his companion, noting the harsh gleam in his eyes and the hardness of his jaw. He forced his thoughts aside, afraid that Derrick might somehow discern his true purpose merely by glancing at his face. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let the night wash over him. The magnolia trees were in full bloom and the cloying perfume of their blossoms battled with the more woody cologne of the cypress and pine trees that dotted this stretch of land upriver from the
Vieux Carre
. He caught the scent of the Mississippi River, the coolness of the water coupled with the fetid tang of decay. And beneath it all, the pungent, heady smell of death.

“War,” Derrick said. “It’s as if the stars have aligned for our pleasure, bringing death and chaos along with the approaching Union fleet.” He sighed. “I haven’t dined so blissfully well since the British blundered into the colonies. Although, no. We feasted well in 1812. Do you recall?”

“How could I not?” Serge replied, the memory bringing a fresh wave of decadent hunger. They’d spilled much blood those nights. Had practically bathed in the sweet, metallic liquid. At the time, Sergius’s daemon had roared in ecstasy, powerful enough to battle down Serge’s petty protests and hesitations. Strong enough to take over until Serge lost himself in the warm, glorious wonder of fresh blood, only to claw his way back to the surface days later, heavy with self-loathing and furious with his inability to suppress the daemon as so many of his kind had managed do.

The daemon lived in all vampires—a bone-deep malevolence that emerged from the human soul when the change was brought on. But some vampires were able to
successfully fight it, to regularly battle it back down until their human will took precedence. Serge did not count himself among that fortunate group. His daemon ran high and wild. Pushing. Craving. Battling Serge’s will with such persistence over the centuries that he inevitably succumbed, sliding into a bloodlust that caressed him as sweetly as madness.

How he envied those of his kind who had learned to either tame that vileness, or at least conjure the strength to suppress it. He longed for the mental clarity that accompanied being in charge of one’s own body and mind. Of not being a slave to the bloodlust.

He’d been fighting his daemon for almost two millennia now, and its power still humbled him. Even now, his daemon was rising at the mere thought of blood.

Beside him, Derrick threw his head back and laughed, undoubtedly anticipating the glory of the kill. He shared none of Serge’s hesitations and experienced none of Serge’s guilt. They had traveled together on and off for years, and Serge knew that it was almost time for them to part ways. Being with Derrick only stoked the hunger that burned deep within him. Tonight, though, Serge had his own purpose for joining Derrick.
The witch
. But that was not a purpose he intended to share. He knew only too well that Derrick would neither understand nor approve. Like Serge, the younger vampire’s daemon clung close to the surface. Unlike Serge, Derrick was more than happy to fan the flames of its appetite.

“How far?” Serge asked.

“Just down that lane.” Derrick thrust his hand out toward the left, indicating an overgrown dirt road. There was no moon, but with his preternatural vision, Serge could clearly see the once white plantation house,
now gray and in disrepair. And not because of the war thrumming around them and threatening to subsume this gentile property, but because of neglect, pure and simple. The occupants of Dumont House had priorities other than the upkeep of their family’s homestead. The Dumonts were vampire hunters.