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  After finishing his meal and setting his utensils down, Tyrian finally broke the atmosphere with a muted cough he disguised behind a solitary fist.

  “I assume you know what it is I’ve come here for,” he said, effectively halting everyone mid-motion. He suddenly had the attention of every Vampire in the room; before this moment, that would have had him reaching for his hook swords without question.

  El’on calmly set down his utensils, and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He slowly turned his aged gaze upon Tyrian with a seriousness that the Hunter felt glad to learn the old Vampire had a capacity for.

  “You have come for the child. The human boy that the White Devil brought into this realm through science and magic.” El’on’s tone twisted with disgust as he averted his eyes.

  Tyrian narrowed his own eyes suspiciously. “White Devil?” he asked. If he wasn’t mistaken, the Vampire race referred to Starla as the White Witch.

  El’on clasped his hands on the table in front of him, and stared into the purple glass of liquid obstructing his line of sight, seeming to stare directly through the murky depths.

  “He appeared in this realm nearly six months ago, bringing with him monstrous creatures which he unleashed upon our cities and outlying villages. The results were catastrophic, but the message was clear: stand against him, and perish. When he finally came to Torehj, though, he was alone. He walked in on a meeting of our high council, and demanded that we give him resources and manpower to assist in his experiments. Several lives were lost that day...” He trailed off, untold pain lacing his words at the loss of his people at the hands of such a monster.

  “You gave him what he asked for,” Tyrian prodded, to draw El’on out of his despair and urge him to continue his story.

  “His laboratory is in the innermost sanctum of the mines. That is also where he is keeping the boy,” the old Vampire added.

  Tyrian nearly crowed in triumph; finally, they had gotten somewhere. “How do you know all of this?” he asked, curious of the Vampires’ connection to the situation.

  “I have a man on the inside. Our brother, Deq’on, is serving as leader of the Vampires working in the mines. He periodically informs us of the devil’s movements.” A strange sort of grief mingled with pride swelled within El’on as he spoke. Considering the sacrifice Deq’on would likely make, working as a double agent, Tyrian understood the feeling.

  “What is this Devil?” Tyrian finally asked, curiosity getting the better of him. The more he came to learn, the more he began to suspect that they were dealing with some kind of Druid. Putting aside that it was almost impossible, the evidence to support the theory was swiftly outweighing any other possibilities. For his own sake, though, he prayed he was wrong.

  “We do not know. We have not encountered a being like him since the White Witch. But even when she came, she did not cause such devastation. And the things he is doing in the mines, his twisted experiments: he is nothing short of an abomination.” El’on shook his head in rampant disgust.

  The mention of experiments brought Tyrian’s focus sharply back to his captive Page. “What has he done to Caleb?” he demanded, a bit more harshly than he’d intended.

  El’on swiftly averted his gaze, his pallor fading slightly as he shied away from the intensity of the Hunter’s glare.

  “Cross-species genetics,” one of the other Vampires piped up from the end of the table. “He’s breeding an army with the ability to traverse realms. He means to rule them all.”

  A ripple of unease shot through the room at the insinuation.

  Of course! No wonder the enemy had been able to bring Caleb here. If he was Druid, as Tyrian suspected, he would have the ability to reshape matter. Combine that with genetic mutation, and he could create whatever kind of species he wanted. He must have spliced Caleb’s DNA with that of a Vampire. No doubt the boy was inconsolable about that fact right about now.

  “We do not know that for sure,” El’on reasoned. He held up a hand to calm his brothers, and shot an admonishing glare to the one who had spoken.

  “It is the only thing that makes sense!” the younger Vampire exclaimed, rising indignantly to his feet. He slammed his hands down on the table.

  “Sin!” El’on shouted, his strong voice filling the room and effectively knocking the air right out of the younger’s sails. “Calm yourself.”

  El’on turned to Tyrian then, his gaze remorseful. “I apologize. He is young still, and hot-tempered.”

  Tyrian nodded, more to himself than the old Vampire. Then he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and asked, “How many species have you seen him with?”

  “Including the human boy? Five. Our own, the Nightstalkers, the Necros…and the Trolls.” El’on trailed off, a carefully guarded look entering his wise, violet eyes.

  “Fuck me,” Tyrian cursed harshly. He shot up in his chair, and stalked back across the room. No matter what El’on may have wanted to believe, Tyrian had grown quite certain that the bastard was breeding an army. One that could not only traverse realms, but now with the Trolls in the melting pot, could appear and disappear whenever they wanted. Other than the Druids, Trolls were the only species that could create their own portals.

  “When the human boy appeared, we knew it was only a matter of time before you followed,” El’on’s hopeful voice drifted to him from across the room. “We will assist you in any way we can. Please, help us take back our home.”

  * * * *

  Tyrian sat in the room he’d been led to after the tense dinner conversation, and hung his head in his hands.

  What the hell had he gotten dragged into? He felt as though he stood precariously on the precipice of a war, one for which the battlefield would likely stretch across every one of the thirteen realms. However, he had neither the time nor the ability to worry about that right now. He needed to focus on getting to Caleb and bringing him home.

  “Drake.” Tyrian reached out with his mind, not having heard from the old Vampire since its friends had abducted him a few short hours before.

  “Why do I get the distinct impression that you are about to ask me to assist you in getting us killed?” the Sleeper’s condescending voice sounded inside Tyrian’s head. It almost sounded groggy, as if he had slept along with his Hunter companion.

  A sudden spark of cognition flared inside of Tyrian. “Drake, were you— Did you see— Um, a dream or something?” he asked carefully, not wanting to give away more than necessary if he and Kaelyn had in fact been alone in their shared encounter across their bond.

  The Vampire made a show of yawning loudly in Tyrian’s head before it responded. “Fool, Vampires do not dream,” it scoffed indelicately.

  Tyrian sighed with relief.

  “However,” the Vampire crooned, “if you are referring to the little rendezvous you had with your Medium moments ago, I was aware. Though I chose to ignore it. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Tyrian resisted the urge to curse, and silently counted his lucky stars instead. He didn’t need Drake harping on him about Kaelyn.

  Steeling his resolve, Tyrian rose from the makeshift bed, threw on his black duster, and checked his hook swords before heading for the door. He threw open the dark glass and stopped short, the faces of El’on and his brothers greeting him in the open hallway beyond the door.

  “Have you made your decision?” El’on asked, his expression grave.

  Tyrian carefully regarded each of the able-bodied Vampire males standing before him, their expressions resolute and determined. Sighing to himself, he met the shining violet gaze of the Vampire leader, and held out his own hand this time. El’on graciously accepted.

  “I humbly accept your assistance, El’on of Torehj.” Tyrian meant every word.

  El’on nodded, and smiled. “On behalf of the noble family of ’On, we gratefully accept yours in return, Tyrian Blackwood,” he replied, grasping Tyrian’s hand in a strong grip.

  Tyrian didn’t quite know why, but he felt that a very long and enduring fri
endship had just begun.

  Chapter 12

  Kaelyn stared out into nothingness through unfocused eyes, completely disconnected from the world around her. A small sigh escaped her lips, invading the softly swirling steam that rose in front of her. She’d sat in the same position for over an hour, lost in some dream world only she herself knew of. Another soft sigh wistfully escaped her lips, and the ticking vein in her companion’s forehead jumped.

  “I swear to all that is unholy that if you make that infernal noise one more time, I will rip out your lungs and feed them to you,” Lilith seethed. She slammed the tip of her dagger into the solid oak surface of the bar they sat at, driving it more than a quarter of an inch into the thickly lacquered wood. The action barely served its purpose; the Vampire Medium blinked slowly, and brought her eyes back into focus. She shifted the hazel pools lazily in the Witch Hunter’s direction, and almost as though testing the open threat, she heaved another small sigh.

  The tip of the dagger that had previously been sheathed in the bar suddenly hovered a millimeter away from Kaelyn’s nose. She widened her eyes, and focused sharply on the dagger. She ran her eyes up the length of the dagger, to the black-nailed hand that held it. She looked further up, to the large, slightly clawed hand wrapped firmly around Lilith’s wrist. She gasped, dropped her jaw open, and slid her gaze skyward to lock with Slade’s golden-brown glare.

  “It is not wise to provoke her. Lilith rarely threatens,” the Shifter Hunter explained. He shoved both the hand and the dagger away from Kaelyn’s face, and shifted his glare to Lilith.

  The Witch Hunter rolled her eyes, sat back in her chair, propped her feet up on the bar, and inspected her dagger with a shrug. “I wasn’t really going to stab her.”

  “Uh huh,” Slade rebuked. He turned his gaze back to Kaelyn then; his golden irises dipped to the untasted mug of hot chocolate on the bar in front of her, where he’d placed it almost five minutes earlier. Drawing his brow down in a concentrated frown, he reached out and pushed the mug closer to her. “Drink it before it gets cold,” he gruffly ordered.

  After glancing down at the mug, then back up at Slade, Kaelyn cocked her head to the side and pinned him in a quizzical stare. “Why do you keep making me hot chocolate?” she asked succinctly. She drew the sides of her lips down in a frown as she tried to make sense of the man’s actions.

  Slade crossed his arms across his chest in a show of defiance. “You like hot chocolate,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “Yeah...” Kaelyn trailed off, and drew her brow down in consternation.

  “So drink it!” Slade barked back. He turned abruptly on his heels, and stomped out of the room.

  Kaelyn clicked her jaw, and huffed. “He is so awkward,” she finally exclaimed in a low tone.

  Her female companion snorted loudly. “Don’t lose sleep over it. It’s a Shifter thing.” A watery smile graced her features as she regarded the Medium.

  Kaelyn turned on her stool to face the woman. “What does that mean?”

  Lilith tossed her a languid glance, the roguish smile never leaving her lips. “They’re all awkward around women. Some buried instinct in them telling them they need to be nurturing and manly at the same time. The result, as you’ve seen, is usually that,” she replied in her dulcet voice.

  It struck Kaelyn that Lilith had only two tones to her leathery voice: condescending and sultry. The condescending tone usually figured more prominently, but Kaelyn had noticed that the few times she’d seen the Witch Hunter amused, her tone would lose its edge and take on an almost lurid cadence.

  “You keep staring at me like that, and I might be tempted to take you up on that offer.” Lilith’s sultry tone had dropped an octave.

  An embarrassing wave of heat cascaded through Kaelyn; she abruptly realized that she had leaned in and was staring at Lilith’s lips while musing about her voice. She shot backward sharply, nearly knocking over the mug of hot chocolate in her haste. The warm liquid sloshed violently, but she managed to catch it before it spilled. She heaved a deep sigh of relief.

  “That was close,” Kaelyn breathed, referring to more than the mug of hot chocolate in her hands. Casting a sidelong glance at the woman to her left, she watched the Witch Hunter sit back in her chair once more, a small, candid smile across her face.

  “In more ways than one,” Lilith stated cryptically. She turned her auburn stare back to one of her many daggers. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me why you’ve been staring off into space for the last hour?”

  Kaelyn bit her lip, and stared into the swirling liquid inside the mug cupped in her hands. The little rendezvous Starla had allowed between her and Tyrian had opened a fissure in her heart. She physically ached to return to him, to feel his arms around her, his lips on her skin. Just thinking about it drew her back into the fantasy world for a moment.

  Lilith snapped her fingers in front of her, bringing her back into the moment. Pursing her lips, she grinned at Lilith sheepishly.

  “Sorry...” Kaelyn trailed off, not feeling nearly as sorry as she meant to. “I miss my family,” she lied through her teeth. It wasn’t entirely untrue; after all, she did miss Ember. Just not nearly as much as she missed Tyrian right now.

  Lilith raised one thin brow at her. “I thought you were an orphan.”

  Kaelyn shrugged, and rocked back and forth on her stool. “I am, but I have a foster family that I’m close to.”

  Lilith remained silent; she seemed to stare off into space herself for a moment. She was contemplating something with great difficulty, judging by the look of concentration on her face. Eventually, she came to some sort of decision. After nodding to herself, she turned to face Kaelyn resolutely.

  “Do you wanna see them?” she asked.

  Kaelyn’s heart stuttered to a stop. She huffed out a short breath, and looked away from the Witch Hunter with a shake of her head. “Don’t tease me. I know I can’t leave,” she uttered dejectedly. She cursed her confinement, and the Witch Hunter for playing with her hopes.

  “You’re not supposed to leave. Can’t is not in my vocabulary, sweetie,” Lilith countered. She raised her eyebrows suggestively at the other woman.

  Kaelyn blinked at her warily. “Are you serious?”

  Lilith shrugged. “Up to you. Boss just said I had to watch you, didn’t specify where. Seriously though, if it’ll kill this disgustingly mopey atmosphere, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

  Narrowing her eyes at the Witch Hunter, Kaelyn pursed her lips and considered the consequences of accepting that offer. As soon as Slade or Starla found out they had left, there would be hell to pay. But, until then, she would be free. A plan began to formulate in her head with lightning speed, pulling the sides of her lips upward into a grin.

  No doubt taking that as a green light, Lilith matched Kaelyn’s grin with one of her own, auburn eyes flashing with malicious delight. She grabbed Kaelyn’s hand, and disappeared them both from the room.

  * * * *

  Papers and broken glass littered the ground of the large, dark cavern. Variously colored smoke rose from several acidic chemicals spilled out across the floor and smeared over the walls of the room. Cynric used this place as the hub for his experiments. A long, curved blade sat on the table, in front of his hunched form. Every muscle in his body tense, his shoulders heaved as he drew air in and out of his overwrought lungs.

  Cynric stared with barely contained rage at the stagnant black stain on the dagger. After grinding his teeth together until they chipped, he grabbed the hilt of the blade and flung it across the room. His enraged bellow echoed through the cavern, unsettling his menagerie of caged research subjects. Raking his hands through his disheveled ivory hair, he grabbed great fistfuls, pulled until they came free, and shouted his ire to the room until his voice went hoarse. Failure: complete, utter failure.

  Cynric shivered involuntarily as a cold, clammy feeling washed over him, rolling through the room around him like the sordid embrace of death.
He couldn’t stop the cold grip of revulsion from choking him in its wake. Darkness settled in at the back of his vision, drawing him to another place in his mind.

  Blinking rapidly to clear the haze, Cynric zeroed in on the figure before him. His instincts screamed at him in reaction to the sense of wrongness that permeated the being whose presence affronted his own blood heritage. Clenching his teeth, he swallowed heavily against the nausea that churned his gut at being in the presence of the creature. He forced himself into a short bow of respect.

  If the creature noticed Cynric’s efforts, it did not show it. Nor did it seem to care that it took every bit of his willpower to reign in his contempt towards it. It flowed around the dark, empty space between them like an effervescent fog: formless, irreverent, and painfully familiar.

  “Try to be a bit less callous in the presence of greatness, Druid,” a voice behind him intoned.

  Cynric curled his hands into claws at his sides, and clenched his jaw tightly as every muscle within his body went ramrod straight. He turned to regard the visitor with open disdain.

  “Do not presume to dictate my emotional state, Necromancer. If it were not for me, you would not be in the presence of your so-called greatness,” he ground out.

  Fury lit the Necro’s glowing green and black backlit eyes. It raised a hand to strike the Druid, acid dripping from its claws.

  “Enough,” the voice sounded in Cynric’s head with painful clarity. As with all Old Ones, it took an incredible constitution to even behold their presence. Cynric possessed such a constitution by virtue of his Druid blood, the Necro by its heritage.

  “Forgive me, father,” the Necro crooned. It bowed low in deference to its elder.

  “Knox, I did not call for you,” the voice chided, though such a resounding intonation obscured intent. Cynric assumed, by the words it had chosen, that the offspring’s sudden appearance had displeased the Old One.