Linda Robertson - Shattered Circle

As a vampire, as one of the living dead, her heart began to beat again and blood began to flow through her body, allowing her mind to race.

She remembered.

There had been no reason to scream as she woke tonight. There had been no torture. No tormentor. But the dark-haired man had whispered ideas into her ear like he had last night.

Twisted ideas. Wonderful ideas.

Beside her, Talto whimpered. She cried out as her eyelids fluttered and the impossible life of their cursed kind resumed in her body.

No tender awakening for you, my sister? Ailo’s lips curved. I have found favor .

It was an opportunity she would not squander.

• • •

Goliath showered. The next order of business for the evening was to deal with the issue concerning the court witch. He wanted Ailo and Talto to be left out of it, so he headed to the haven’s business office. In addition to the new wardrobe, personal guards came with his new status, so, when he left his own chambers the pair on duty flanked him.

Menessos was pacing outside the office. He turned as they approached. “If you have a moment, I require an audience with you.”

“Of course.” Goliath preceded him into the office. It was a gentleman’s room, with cherry paneling and museum cases filled with weaponry artifacts—Menessos owned all these things. The guards remained outside; one of them shut the door.

The two of them sat, taking seats that were opposite from their usual. Fighting the awkwardness of the situation, Goliath sat behind the desk in the leather-upholstered chair and noted the work waiting for him in the short stack of papers. “What is it?” he asked.

“I must leave immediately. I’ve received a call from Persephone—”

“She isn’t here?”

In a guarded tone, Menessos answered, “No.”

“I left orders that she was not to be permitted to leave.” He was going to have to question those he left in charge for the day and find out exactly when she left, and who let her get by.

“I am aware of this. Do not worry, she has not fled, but I must go.”

If she was waiting on Menessos, she would remain wherever she was; if they decided to forcibly retrieve her they would not have to locate her. Goliath shook his head. “Let her wait. We must call Mero to join us and decide what is to be done with her.”

Menessos stood, put his hands on the desk, and leaned over it threateningly. “With all due respect, Haven Master, I am not here as your subject to ask your permission to leave. I am here as your Maker to tell you I am going. This cannot wait.” He turned for the door.

Goliath stood. “I grow concerned, Menessos.” Using his name instead of the usual honorifics stopped his Maker in his tracks. “You are not yourself. As I think back, you have not been since she entered your life.”

Menessos was as still as death.

“She beckons and you race to her side.”

Over his shoulder, Menessos said, “I never said I was going to her.”

“Still, you are going because she bade you to go! For her, you have thrown away your status as Quarterlord. For her, you have lost the power base of your haven . . . and she won’t even fuck you.”

Menessos slowly turned. His eyes had gone dark and sharklike.

Goliath felt a stirring in his core. All sounds were suddenly muffled until his own breathing was loudest in his ears. All color in the room drained until only Menessos remained vivid.

He felt the need to move from behind the desk, and his feet carried him around it.

He felt the need to approach Menessos, and his feet carried him across the room.

He felt the need to kneel before his Maker, his Master, and his knees bent.

Like a bursting soap bubble, everything returned to normal. Goliath scrambled onto his feet again and glowered down at the other vampire.

“You know what obeisance can be forced upon one who wears the marks of another,” Menessos snapped.

“This is why you run to her?” Goliath had studied the policies of the witches. Forcing someone to do something against their will was a direct violation of their major tenets. The idea of dragging her to the Excelsior was gaining his favor.

Gravely, Menessos said, “I swear to you: she has never used such power on me, though she could have. I go to her because it is necessary. My path and hers are weaving together in this matter and there is much more at stake here than you yet know.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I cannot, my friend. Not yet. I must get to a ley line before it is too late.”

“Why?” Goliath demanded.

Exasperated, Menessos said, “I had hoped to not reveal this to you, but Beverley is missing.”

Goliath felt his resolve disappear. If Lorrie’s child was in danger, he couldn’t stand in the way of Menessos helping. He nodded once to indicate he would not interfere.

“Don’t let Ailo or Talto give you any trouble while I am out,” Menessos said as he turned to leave.

When his Maker reached the door Goliath called, “Menessos.”

The elder vampire turned back.

Goliath hesitated. What he wanted to say, what he wanted to ask for, was very nearly unheard of. But the situation was growing dangerous. He had to have it. He firmed his resolve. “I have asked you for very little since you Made me.”

“What do you desire, Goliath?”

Chin level, shoulders square, and voice flowing with confidence he said, “Our bond must be broken.”

Menessos regarded him for a heartbeat. One corner of his lips twisted up. “Yes. Indeed, the time has come. You have earned it. I will give you that freedom.”

Regardless of Gregor’s protest, Johnny Newman made certain he was the last one into the back of the big Escalade. He slammed the door before the driver could do his job.

“Grays Armory?” he snarled.

“Yes. As I said, according to our reports, it is the best choice for the needs of this pack.” Plympton had left his dark glasses off and he faced Johnny squarely, giving him a good view of the silvered eye.

Since wærewolves could heal afflictions and diseases that occurred before they were infected with the wære virus, Johnny wondered why the man’s injury hadn’t healed in his monthly transformations. But then, Ig had suffered from strokes in the months before his death; while the transformation and reversion to human form initially healed him, the strokes recurred earlier and earlier each cycle. Apparently for some there were factors that didn’t hold true to the norm.

Johnny decided he didn’t want to know the nature of Plympton’s wound. “Whose reports?” He had questions about what Plympton had done back there, how he had made Johnny’s beast yelp and retreat, but those questions were not to be asked in front of an audience. “Who did the appraisal?”

“Our kind, John. I had the Zvonul send a group out when I learned of the situation. The Armory may be over 185 years old, but the structure was meant to protect those inside. Besides, the castle-like architecture is as bold and imposing as it is beautiful. Very fitting for wærewolves. The pack should be proud to have it.”

“And if the locals don’t like it?”

Plympton grinned. “Tough titties.”

Johnny shot a frown at Todd. They both knew Clevelanders. This would not go over well with the locals.

“The Zvonul made arrangements to get CCS in the first place,” Plympton added. “This is no different.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Johnny argued. “The Armory isn’t some run-down building that’s out of commission, used only for billboards, and so close to the Flats that no one cares if wærewolves are in it. The Armory is downtown! It’s a Cleveland landmark, the oldest building in the city.”