The Den of Shadows Quartet (8 page)

“You still wear the scar, Risika. I can see it even from here.”

“I have not forgotten, Aubrey,” I answer him. He wears the same face he had then: cold, aloof, slightly amused, slightly mocking. He knows what Tora meant to me, and I know that he has visited me to try to bait me into attacking him again.

I wonder what kind of life made Aubrey the way he is. A psychologist would love analyzing him. Aubrey knows exactly what to say and do to make those around him weep, laugh, beg, hate, love, fear, or anything else he wishes. I have seen brave men run in fear, humans wage wars, and vampire hunters turn on their own, all because of Aubrey.

He is far stronger than Ather, physically mentally, and emotionally As I have said, Ather’s largest flaw is that she changes people who are strong — people who will be stronger than she is. She does this because, though others of our kind might challenge her alone, they assume that her fledglings would avenge the attack.

I may never understand why Ather decided that Rachel was a human who demanded her attention, but I do not hate my blood mother. She was the one who tore me from my human life, but she was also the one who forced me to look upon the darkness of humanity. Had it not been for her, I would have lived and died as prey and nothing else.

Though I would not lift a finger to defend my blood mother, I do not go out of my way to attack her.

Aubrey, on the other hand … Three hundred long years ago I knew that Aubrey was stronger than I, and
indeed, I fought him and lost. I fear what will happen if we fight again. He eggs me on every time we meet, knowing well that I fear him. I hate him all the more because of that fear, and he knows this as well.

He is still waiting for my response to his taunt.

“Considering you killed Tora, your condolences aren’t worth much,” I tell him.

He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“Don’t look like that. I could feel your aura there, and even now I can smell her blood on you.”

Aubrey just laughs.

“Get out of my house, Aubrey,” I growl. I have no wish to fight him. I only want him to be gone.

“You don’t seem in the mood for company,” he comments. “I’ll stop by again later, Risika.”

I hear the implied threat but have no chance to reply before he disappears. He has accomplished what he came here to accomplish and has no reason to stay.

I remember my dream the night before, and my mind returns to it, my anger at Aubrey forcing me to remember the rest.

He did not kill Katherine. He only killed the remainder of what might have been my soul.

I
REFUSED TO WATCH HIM
kill her.

Ignoring the consequences, I jumped at Aubrey, tearing him away from Katherine. The woman stumbled, falling to the ground, still hypnotized. Aubrey spun around and grabbed my arm, throwing me to the ground too. I did not immediately try to stand. I did not want to fight him again, because I knew that if I lost, he would kill me.

“You never learn, do you?” he snapped. “Stand up, Risika.”

I stood slowly, watching him warily but he only pulled Katherine to her feet.

She had caught her hand in a raspberry bush when she fell, and I had to turn my head away from her, my already faltering self-control weakened further by the scent of blood.

Once again Aubrey pulled her head back, and this time my gaze caught on her throat, riveted by the
blood that was flowing just beneath the surface. I hesitated an instant, during which Aubrey leaned forward. He showed no reluctance as his fangs pierced her throat.

“Let her go, Aubrey,” I somehow managed to growl, fighting the bloodlust that was trying to convince me to feed.

He looked up, and his black gaze met mine for a moment; he licked blood from his lips, and a wicked smile spread across his face. “You really want me to?”

“Yes,”
I snapped back.

“Here.”

He pushed the woman into my arms, then disappeared.

I stumbled, shocked, but when I recovered I found myself holding the unconscious woman gently.

Her bleeding hand was resting on my arm, and I could feel her pulse beating against my skin. A thin line of blood ran down her throat, and before I even realized what I was doing, I had licked it away.

I felt every pulse of her heart as if it was my own, and each beat was like fire being forced through my veins. I turned my head away, trying to capture some measure of control, but that simple move brought on a spell of dizziness.

I had not fed in days.

The thirst was so strong, and her blood seemed the sweetest I had ever taken. I let it roll across my tongue, savoring the taste, knowing I should not but unable to stop myself.

I heard a hoarse cry, and my head snapped up. I saw my father. There was no recognition in his gaze.

I dropped Katherine, forcing myself to let her go. I had not yet taken enough to harm her; she would survive.

I disappeared into the night.

A
FTER THAT NIGHT
I fed well, never again allowing myself to reach the point where I could lose control. Aubrey had accomplished his goal, as always.

My anger at Aubrey turns into anger at myself. Then as now, he managed to use my emotions against me.

Why do you let him make you so upset?
I ask myself.
You know he does it intentionally. Why does it continue to bother you?

“Coward,” I say to myself. “That’s all you really are — a coward. You’ve worn that scar for three hundred years, and you’ve done nothing. You can’t even keep your temper long enough to
think
!”

I realize that despite everything I have said, I have still been clinging to some part of my humanity.

For three hundred years I have avoided him, refusing to fight. When I was human, I was controlled by my father and my church. Now Aubrey controls me, and I do not fight because I am afraid of the consequences.
I might die, but that has never been my real fear. I fear that if I start the fight, it will be proof that I am the monster I have tried for so long to pretend I am not.

Who am I pretending for? Alexander used to be my faith. He clung to his morals even when he thought he might be damned, and I have tried to do the same. Why? Alexander is dead, and no one else cares.

So why bother? Why pretend?
I ask myself.
You have not been human for nearly three hundred years; stop acting as if you are
.

What else do you have to lose?

I change out of my black tank top into a gold one that hugs my body and shows a bare line of flesh just above my black jeans. My moods change like shadows in a candle flame, and I am in a playful mood now. I sketch the rune of gambling in the air, remembering it from somewhere in my long past: Perthro, shaped like a glass on its side, for people who are willing to bet everything, win or lose.

I am in a far more destructive, reckless mood than ever. I remember the stories I have been told about Jager — how he flirted shamelessly with the virgin followers of Hestia in the Greek era, danced in a fairy ring at midnight under the full moon, and spiced up a ceremony performed by a few modern-day Wiccans by making the elements called actually appear. I am in that kind of mood. I have nothing left to lose, and I want to change something. Destroy something.

I spin the mirror so that it faces away from me. I know what I will see if I look into its reflective illusion.

I bring myself to a small town in upstate New York that is hidden deep in the woods, beyond the sight of the human world, called New Mayhem.
New
Mayhem — the Mayhem Ather showed me three hundred years ago was nearly leveled by a fire a few years after I was first there.

I have been to New Mayhem several times, but I am the only one in my line who does not sleep within its boundaries. Aubrey has his home inside the walls of New Mayhem, and so I have always made mine elsewhere.

Even with the new hotel suites that house the mortals, the new bars, the new gyms, and the paved streets, New Mayhem is still an invisible town. The bartenders never ask for ID, the hotel doesn’t keep records of who comes and goes, and the nightclub is as strange as an ice-skating rink in Hell. No one ever comes, no one is ever there, no one ever leaves — at least, there would be no way to prove it should anyone ever look for receipts, or credit card numbers, or any written record of those who were there.

The heart of New Mayhem is a large building on which is painted a jungle mural. Around the doorway pulses a glowing red light from inside the club. This is where I go, barely even reading the name on the door:
Las Noches
.

The red strobe lamp is the only light inside Las Noches, giving the room a spinning, blood-washed effect. Mist covers the floor. The walls are all glass, mostly mirror, but in places there are eyes painted beneath the glass. The tables are polished black wood and look like satanic mushrooms growing from the mist.
Pounding music, bass heavy enough that it makes our bodies vibrate in time with the beat, slams down from a speaker somewhere in the shadowed ceiling.

At the counter, which is also black wood, is a black-haired girl called Rabe, one of New Mayhem’s few inhabitants who are completely human. This early in the night Las Noches has a mixed crowd — more human than vampire, actually — but Rabe works here even when the crowd is completely vampire.

I turn away from Rabe and scan the room for the one person I seek. I find him sitting at a table with a human girl, though they do not appear to be talking. I walk purposefully to the back of the room, and ignoring the human, sit on the table. Chairs? Not for me, thank you.

Aubrey’s eyes widen, no doubt wondering when I became so bold. I do not look at the human girl, though I know she has not left the table. She is sitting very still, but I can hear her breath and her heartbeat.

“Risika, why are you sitting on the table?” Aubrey finally asks me.

“Why not?”

“There are chairs,” he points out. The girl behind me is slowly standing, inching away as if I might reach out and grab her if she catches my attention. I almost laugh. I am already smiling — the slow, lazy, mischievous smile of a cat.

“It seems your date is leaving, Aubrey,” I comment, and the girl freezes. “Is she more afraid of me than she is of you?”

“Go away, Christina,” Aubrey says to the frightened girl, who darts off.

“You have no class, Aubrey.”

He frowns momentarily at my words but then decides to ignore them. “I forgot to comment on your new style of hair, Risika,” he says. “It reminds me of that dumb beast in the zoo.”

“I noticed that you tied her up before you killed her. Was one tiger too much for you to handle?”

We play this deadly game well, each of us striking at the other without blows — and it is indeed a deadly game. Who will lose their temper first? Who will strike the first physical blow?

“Risika, no one creature is too much for me to handle,” Aubrey laughs.

“Oh, brave Aubrey,” I say. “Save us from the defenseless animals!”

He shoves my shoulder, taking me by surprise and pushing me off the table. Then he stands. So far he has not drawn a weapon.

I sit on the floor, in the mist, and laugh. “You fool,” I say. “You complete fool.”

S
EVERAL OF THE HUMANS
have gathered around us, wondering what is going on. This is not a smart thing to do when two vampires fight. However, humans are curious to the point of stupidity, and they do not think about possible casualties if the fight gets out of hand.

I stand from the mist, my laughter gone from the air but still in both our minds.

“You’re like a child, Aubrey,” I say. “The neighborhood bully, I suppose. You can terrorize humans and children, but what would happen if someone fought you who knew what they were doing?”

“Get out, Risika. I don’t want to fight you again. We’ve done this before.” His voice is cold, meant to frighten, but I do not heed it.

“We’ve done this before, have we? Where is your fancy blade then, Aubrey? You offered it to me and asked me to kill you if I could. I think I deserve a second chance.”

“Why do you feel compelled to challenge me again, Risika? You still wear the scar I gave you last time. Are you so determined to bear another?”

“I wear this scar as a sign that I will one day repay it. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,’ Aubrey. I will avenge this scar and every scar you have put into my heart.”

“Really? How, Risika?” he asks me, leaning against the table casually. “I am far older than you —”

“Does it matter, Aubrey?” I respond, slowly circling him. He does not turn to keep me in sight until I am completely behind him, but he does turn. He does not like having me at his back.

“Perhaps not, but I am meaner, Risika, and I am deadlier. A viper, hidden in the grass.”

A viper — how apt. Does he know how often I have compared him to that exact creature?

“A garden snake, Aubrey, hiding in the grass. I am not weak anymore, but I think you are.” I lean forward, my hands on the table between us.