Valley of Silence (15 page)

“I lost it when you walked into my room last night.” Now he swung through the window, flicked the drapes shut behind him and plunged them into the dark. “This is the price you pay for it.”

“If you'd wanted to come back inside, there are doors—”

She let out a quick cry of alarm when he swooped her up. It felt as though she was flying through the air, blind in the dark. Her next cry was of stunned excitement as she found herself under him on the bed, and his hands tugged aside clothes to take flesh.

“Wait. Wait. I can't think. I can't see.”

“Too late for both.” His mouth silenced her, and his hands drove her to a hard, violent crest.

Her body strained beneath his, and he knew she was reaching, reaching for the burning tip of that crest. Her breath sobbed against his lips as she reached it, and her body went limp.

He gripped her wrists in his hand, pulling her arms over her head. She was one long line of surrender now, and he sheathed himself in her.

She would have cried out again, but she had no voice. No sight, and with her hands captured, no hold. She could do nothing but feel as he plunged himself into her, battering her body with dark, desperate pleasure until she was writhing, then rising, then recklessly matching him beat for violent beat.

This time the hot tip of the crest shattered her.

She lay, scorched skin over melted bones, unable to move even when he left her to light the fire and candles.

“Choice isn't always an issue,” he said, and she thought she heard liquid being poured into a cup. “Nor is it a weapon.”

She felt the cup bump against her hand, and managed to open her heavy eyes. She made some sound, took the cup, but wasn't at all sure she could swallow any water.

Then she saw the raw red burn on his hand. She pushed up quickly, nearly sloshing water over the rim. “You've burned yourself. Let me see. I—” And she did see, that the mark was the shape of a cross.

“I would have taken it off.” Hurriedly, she pushed the cross and chain under her bodice.

“Small price to pay.” He lifted her wrist, noted the faint bruising. “I have less control with you than I'd like.”

“I like that you have less. Give me your hand. I have a little skill with healing.”

“It's nothing.”

“Then give me your hand. It's good practice for me.” She held hers out expectantly. After a moment he sat beside her, laid his hand in hers.

“I like that you have less,” she said again, drawing his eyes to hers. “I like knowing I can be wanted that much, that there's something in me that pulls something in you enough that something strains, nearly snaps.”

“Dangerous enough when you're dealing with a human. When a vampire's control snaps, things die.”

“You'd never hurt me. You love me.”

His face went carefully blank. “Sex rarely has anything to do with—”

“Being inexperienced doesn't make me stupid, or gullible. Is it better?”

“What?”

She smiled at him. “Your hand. The redness has eased.”

“It's fine.” He drew it away. In fact there was no longer any burning. “You learn quickly.”

“I do. Learning is a passion for me. I'll tell you what I've learned of you, when it comes to me. You love me.” Her lips were softly curved as she brushed at his hair. “You might have taken me last night—in fact you would have, with less resistance—if it had been just for sex. If it had been only need, only sex, you wouldn't have taken me with such care, or trusted me enough to sleep awhile with me.”

She held up a finger before he could speak. “There's more.”

“With you, there tends to be.”

She rose, straightening her clothes. “When Larkin came in, you did nothing to stop him from striking you. You love me, so you were guilty about taking what you saw as my innocence. You love me, so you've watched me enough to know one of my favorite places. You waited for me there, then you brought me here because you needed me. I pull at you, Cian, as you pull at me.”

She watched him as she sipped water. “You love me, as I love you.”

“To your peril.”

“And yours,” she said with a nod. “We live in perilous times.”

“Moira, this can never—”

“Don't tell me never.” Passion vibrated in her voice and turned her eyes to hellsmoke. “I know. I know all about never. Tell me today. Between you and me let it be today. I have to fight for tomorrow, and the day after and into always. But with this, with you, it's just today. Every today we can have.”

“Don't cry. I'd rather have the burn than the tears.”

“I won't.” She shut her eyes for a moment, and willed herself to keep her word. “I want you to tell me what you've shown me. I want you to tell me what I see when you look at me.”

“I love you.” He came to her, gently touched her face with his fingertips. “This face, those eyes, all that's inside them. I love you. In a thousand years I've never loved another.”

She took his hand, pressed her lips to it. “Oh! Look. There's no burn now. Love healed you. The strongest magic.”

“Moira.” He kept her hand in his, then laid hers against his chest. “If it beat, it would beat for you.”

Tears stung her eyes again. “Your heart may be still, but it isn't empty. It isn't silent because it speaks to me.”

“And that's enough?”

“Nothing will ever be enough, but it will do. Come, we'll—”

She broke off when she heard shouting from outside. Turning, she rushed to the window, drew back one of the drapes. Her hand went to her throat. “Cian, come look. The sun's low enough. Come look.”

The sky was full of dragons. Emerald and ruby and gold, their sleek bodies soared above the castle like flashing jewels in the softening light. And their trumpeting calls were like a song.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

When his hand laid on her shoulder, Moira reached up, clasped it. “Listen how the people cheer them. Look at the children running and laughing. It's the sound of hope, Cian. The sound, the sight.”

“Getting them here, and getting them to be ridden, and to respond in battle like warhorses, two different matters, Moira. But yes, it's a beautiful sight, and a hopeful sound.”

She watched as they began to land. “In all your years, I imagine there's little you haven't done.”

“Little,” he agreed, then had to smile. “But no, I've never ridden a dragon. And yeah, damn right I want to. Let's go down.”

There was still enough sunlight that he needed the bloody cloak in open spaces. But despite it, Cian discovered he could still be enchanted and surprised—when he looked into a young dragon's golden eye.

Their sinuous bodies were covered in large, jewel-toned scales that were smooth as glass to the touch. Their wings were like gossamer, and kept close into the body when they grazed along the ground. But it was the eyes that captivated him. They seemed to be alive with interest and intelligence, even humor.

“Figured the younger ones would be easier to train,” Blair said to him as they stood, watching. “Larkin's best at communicating with them, even in his regular form. They trust him.”

“Which is making it harder on him to use them in battle.”

“Yeah, my guy's a softie, and we went around and around about it. He was hoping to convince everyone we could use them for transportation only. But they could make a hell of a difference on the field. Or above it. Still, I have to admit, I get a little twinge at the idea myself.”

“They're beautiful—and unspoiled.”

“We're going to change the second part.” Blair let out a sigh. “Everything's a weapon,” she murmured. “Anyway, want to go up?”

“Bet your ass.”

“First flight's with me. Yeah, yeah,” she said when she saw the objection on his face. “You pilot your own plane, ride horses, leap tall buildings in a single bound. But you've never ridden a dragon, so you're not going solo yet.”

She walked slowly toward one of ruby and silver. She'd ridden it back, and still held out her hand so it would test her scent. “Go ahead, let her get acquainted.”

“Her?”

“Yeah, I checked out the plumbing.” Blair grinned. “Couldn't help it.”

Cian laid his hand on the dragon's side, worked his way slowly to the head. “Well now, aren't you a gorgeous one.” He began to murmur to her in Irish. She responded with what could only be termed a flirtatious swish of her tail.

“Hoyt's got the same way with them you do.” Blair nodded toward where Hoyt was stroking sapphire scales. “Must be a family trait.”

“Hmm. Now why is it that Her Majesty there is mounting one by herself?”

“She's ridden a dragon before. That is, she's ridden Larkin in dragon form, so she knows the ropes. Not all she's riding lately.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Just saying. You two look a lot more relaxed than either of you did yesterday.” She gave him a wide, toothy grin, then swung onto the dragon. “Alley-oop.”

He mounted the same way he'd scaled the walls. With an easy and fluid leap. “Sturdy,” Cian commented. “More comfortable than they look. Not so very different from horseback all in all.”

“Yeah, if you're talking Pegasus. Anyway, you don't give them a little kick like a horse or cluck. You just—”

Blair demonstrated by leaning down on the dragon's neck, gliding a hand over its throat. With a sound like silk billowing, it spread its wings. And it rose up into the sky.

“Live long enough,” Cian said behind Blair, “you do every damn thing.”

“This has got to be one of the best. There are still logistics. The care and feeding, dragon poop.”

“I bet it'll make the roses bloom.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Could be. We've got to train them, and their riders. But these beauties catch on fast. Watch.” She leaned to the right, and the dragon swerved gently to follow her direction.

“A bit like riding a motorcycle.”

“Some of that principle. Lean into the turns. Look at Larkin. That showoff.”

He was riding a huge gold, and doing fancy loops and turns.

“Sun's nearly set,” Cian commented. “Give it a few minutes, so I won't fry, and we'll give him a run for his money.”

Blair shot a look over her shoulder. “You got it. Going to say something.”

“When did you not?”

“She's carrying the weight of the fricking world. If what you two have going lightens that a little, I'm for it. Being with Larkin shifted some of mine, so I hope it's working for the two of you.”

“You surprise me, demon hunter.”

“I surprise myself, vampire, but there it is. Sun's down. You ready to rock?”

With enormous relief, he shoved back the hood of the cloak. “Let's show your cowboy some real moves.”

D
avey had been Lilith's for nearly five years. She'd
slaughtered his parents and younger sister one balmy summer night in Jamaica. The off-season vacation package—airfare, hotel and continental breakfast included—had been a surprise thirtieth birthday gift from Davey's father to his wife. Their first night there, giddy with holiday spirit and the complimentary glasses of rum punch, they had conceived a third child.

They were, of course, unaware of this, and had things gone differently the prospect of a new baby would have put the skids on tropical vacations for some time to come.

As it was, it was their last family holiday.

It had been during one of Lilith's brief and passionate estrangements from Lora. She'd chosen Jamaica on a whim, and entertained herself picking off locals and the occasional tourist. But she'd grown tired of the taste of the men who trolled the bars.

She wanted some variety—something a little fresher and sweeter. She found just what she was looking for with the young family.

She'd ended the mother's and little girl's giggling moonlight walk along the beach swiftly and viciously. Still she'd been impressed with the woman's panicked and ineffectual struggle, and her instinctive move to protect the child. As they'd satisfied her hunger, she might have left the man and boy splashing unaware in the surf down the beach. But she'd wanted to see if the father would fight for the son. Or beg, as the mother had begged.

He had—and had screamed at the boy to run. Run, Davey, run! he'd shouted. And his terror for his son enriched his blood to make the kill all the sweeter.

But the boy hadn't run. He'd fought, too, and that had impressed her more. He'd kicked and he'd bitten, and had even tried to leap on her back to save his father. It was the wildness of his attack combined with his angelic face that had decided her on changing him rather than draining him and moving on.

When she had pressed his mouth to her bleeding breast, she had felt something stirring inside her that had never stirred for another. The almost maternal sensation had fascinated and delighted her.

So Davey became her pet, her toy, her son, her lover.

It pleased her how quickly, how naturally he'd taken to the change. When she and Lora had reconciled, as they always did, Lilith had told her Davey was their vampiric Peter Pan. The little boy, eternally six.

Still like any boy of six, he needed to be tended to, entertained, taught. Only more so, in Lilith's opinion, as her Davey was a prince. As such, he had both great privilege, and great duty.

She considered this specific hunt to be both.

He quivered with excitement as she dressed him in the rough clothes of a peasant boy. It made her laugh to see his eyes so bright as she added to the game by smearing some dirt and blood on his face.

“Can I see? Can I look in your magic mirror and see myself? Please, please!”

“Of course.” Lilith sent a quick and amused look toward Lora—adult to adult. Picking up the game, Lora shuddered as she picked up the treasured mirror.

“You look terrifying,” Lora told Davey. “So small and weak. And…
human
!”

Carefully taking the mirror, Davey stared at his reflection. And bared his fangs. “It's like a costume,” he said, and giggled. “I get to kill one all by myself, right, Mama? All by myself.”

“We'll see.” Lilith took the mirror, and bent down to kiss his filthy cheek. “You have a very important part to play, my darling. The most important part of all.”

“I know just what to do.” He bounced up and down on his toes. “I practiced and practiced.”

“I know. You've worked very hard. You're going to make me so proud.”

She put the mirror aside, facedown, forcing herself not to take a peek at herself. Lora's burns were still raw and pink, and her reflection so distressing that Lilith only looked into the charmed mirror when Lora was out of the room.

At the knock at the door, she turned. “That will be Midir. Let him in, Davey, then go out and wait with Lucian.”

“We're going soon?”

“Yes. In just a few minutes.”

He raced to the door, then stood, shoulders straight while the sorcerer bowed to him. Davey marched out, her little soldier, leaving Midir to shut the door behind him.

“Your Majesty. My lady.”

“Rise.” Lilith gave a careless wave of the hand. “As you see, the prince is prepared. Are you?”

He stood, his habitual black robes whispering with the movement. His face was hard and handsome, framed by his flowing mane of silver hair. Eyes, rich and black, met Lilith's cool blue.

“He will be protected.” Midir glanced toward the large chest at the foot of the bed, and the silver pot that stood opened on it. “You used the potion, as I instructed.”

“I did, and it's your life, Midir, if it fails.”

“It will not fail. It, and the chant I will use, will shield him from wood and steel for three hours. He will be as safe as he would be in your arms, Majesty.”

“If not, I'll kill you myself, as unpleasantly as possible. And to make certain of it, you'll go with us on this hunt.”

She saw, for just a moment, both surprise and annoyance on his face. Then he bowed his head, and spoke meekly. “At your command.”

“Yes. Report to Lucius. He'll see you mounted.” She turned away in dismissal.

“You shouldn't worry.” Lora crossed to Lilith, slipped her arms around her. “Midir knows it's his life if any harm comes to our sweet boy. Davey needs this, Lilith. He needs the exercise, the entertainment. And he needs to show off a bit.”

“I know, I know. He's restless and bored. I can't blame him. It'll be fine, just fine,” she said as much to assure herself. “I'll be right there with him.”

“Let me go. Change your mind and let me go with you.”

Lilith shook her head, brushed a kiss over Lora's abused cheek. “You're not ready for a hunt. You're still weak, sweetheart, and I won't risk you.” She took Lora's arms, gripped tight. “I need you on Samhain—fighting, killing, gorging. On that night, when we've flooded that valley with blood, taken what's ours by right, I want you and Davey at my side.”

“I hate the wait almost as much as Davey.”

Lilith smiled. “I'll bring you back a present from tonight's little game.”

 

D
avey rode pinion with Lilith through the moon-struck
night. He'd wanted to ride his own pony, but his mama had explained that it wasn't fast enough. He liked going fast, feeling the wind, flying toward the hunt and the kill. It was the most exciting night he could remember.

It was even better than the present she'd given him on his third birthday when she'd taken him through the summer night to a Boy Scout camping ground. And that had been such
fun
! The screaming and the running and the crying. The
chomp, chomp, chomp
ing.

It was better than hunting the humans in the caves, or burning a vampire who'd been bad. It was better than anything he could remember.

His memories of his human family were vague. There were times he woke from a dream and for a moment was in a bedroom with pictures of race cars on the walls and blue curtains at the windows. There were monsters in the closet of the bedroom, and he cried until she came.

She had brown hair and brown eyes.

Sometimes he would come in, too, the tall man with the scratchy face. He'd chase the monsters away, and she would sit and stroke his hair until he fell asleep again.

If he tried very hard, he could remember splashing in the water, and the feel of the wet sand going gooshy under his feet and the man laughing as the waves splashed them.

Then he wasn't laughing, he was screaming. And he was shouting: Run! Run, Davey, run!

But he didn't try very hard, very often.

It was more fun to think about hunting and playing. His mother let him have one of the humans for a toy, if he was very, very good. He liked best the way they smelled when they were afraid, and the sounds they made when he started to feed.

He was a prince, and could do anything he wanted. Almost.

He would show his mother tonight that he was a big boy now. Then there would be no more almost.

When they stopped the horses, he was almost sick with the thrill of what was to come. They would go on foot from here—and then it would be his turn. His mother held tight to his hand, and he
wished
she wouldn't. He wanted to march like Lucius and the other soldiers. He wanted to carry a sword instead of the little dagger hidden under his tunic.

Still, it was fun to go so fast, faster than any human, across the fields toward the farm.

They stopped again, and his mother crouched down to him to take his face in her hands. “Do just the way we practiced, my sweet boy. You'll be wonderful. I'll be very close, every minute.”

He puffed out his chest. “I'm not afraid of them. They're just food.”

Behind him Lucius chuckled. “He may be small, Your Majesty, but he's a warrior to the bone.”

She rose, and her hand stayed on Davey's shoulder as she turned to Midir. “Your life,” she said quietly. “Begin.”

Spreading his arms in the black robes, Midir began his chant.

Lilith gestured so that the men spread out. Then she, Lucius and Davey moved closer to the farm.

One of the windows showed the flickering glow of a fire banked for the night. There was the smell of horses closed inside the stable, and the first hints of human. It stirred hunger and excitement in Davey's belly.

“Be ready,” she told Lucius.

“My lady, I would give my life for the prince.”

“Yes, I know.” She laid a hand briefly on Lucius's arm. “That's why you're here. All right, Davey. Make me proud.”

Inside the farmhouse, Tynan and two others stood guard. It was nearly time to wake their relief, and he was more than ready for a few hours' sleep. His hip ached from the wound he'd suffered during the attack on their first day's march. He hoped when he was able to close his gritty eyes he wouldn't see the attack again.

Good men lost, he thought. Slaughtered.

The time was coming when he would avenge those men on the battlefield. He only hoped that if he died there, he fought strong and brave first and destroyed a like number of the enemy.

He shifted his stance, preparing to order the relief watch when a sound brought his hand to the hilt of his sword.

His eyes sharpened; his ears pricked. It might have been a night bird, but it had sounded so human.

“Tynan.”

“Yes, I hear it,” he said to one of the others on guard.

“It sounds like weeping.”

“Stay alert. No one is to…” He trailed off as he spotted a movement. “There, near the northmost paddock. Do you see? Ah, in the name of all the gods, it's a child.”

A boy, he thought, though he couldn't be sure. The clothes covering him were torn and bloody, and he staggered, weeping, with his thumb plugged into his mouth.

“He must have escaped some raid near here. Wake the relief, and stay alert with them. I'll go get the child.”

“We were warned not to step outside after sundown.”

“We can't leave a child out there, and hurt by the look of him. Wake the relief,” Tynan repeated. “I want an archer by this window. If anything out there moves but me and that child, aim for its heart.”

He waited until the men were set, and watched the child fall to the ground. A boy, he was nearly sure now, and the poor thing wailed and whimpered pitifully as it curled into a ball.

“We could keep an eye on him until morning,” one of the others on duty suggested.

“Are Geallian men so frightened of the dark they'd huddle inside while a child bleeds and cries?”

He shoved the door open. He wanted to move quickly, get the child inside to safety. But he forced himself to stop his forward rush when the boy's head came up and the round little face froze in fear.

“I won't hurt you. I'm one of the queen's men. I'll take you inside,” he said gently. “It's warm, and there's food.”

The boy scrambled to his feet and screamed as if Tynan had hacked him with a sword. “Monsters! Monsters!”

He began to run, limping heavily on his left leg. Tynan dashed after him. Better to scare the boy than to let him get away and very likely be a snack for some demon. Tynan caught him just before the boy managed to scramble over the stone wall bordering the near field.

“Easy, easy, you're safe.” The boy kicked and slapped and screamed, shooting fresh pain into Tynan's hip. “You need to be inside. No one's going to hurt you now. No one…”

He thought he heard something—chanting—and tightened his grip on the child. He turned, ready to sprint back for the house when he heard something else, something that came from what he held in his arms. It was a low, feral growl.

The boy grinned, horribly, and went for his throat.

There was something beyond agony, and it took Tynan to his knees. Not a child, not a child at all, he thought as he fought to free himself. But the thing ripped at him like a wolf.

Dimly he heard shouts, screams, the thud of arrows, the clash of swords. And the last he heard was the hideous sound of his own blood being greedily drunk.

They used fire, tipping arrows with flame, and still, nearly a quarter of their number were killed or wounded before the demons fell back.

“Take that one alive.” Lilith delicately wiped blood from her lips. “I promised Lora a gift.” She smiled down at Davey who stood over the body of the soldier he'd killed. It swelled pride in her that her boy had continued to feed even when troops had dragged the body, with the prince clinging to it, away from the battle.

Davey's eyes were red and gleaming, and his freckles stood out like gold against the rosy flush the blood had given his cheeks.