The Fallen One (Sons of the Dark Mother, Book One) Page 21

  Then Mia told them that they could just bring her a flashlight then, so she could see a bloomin’ thing, before she tripped and let everyone in on where she was, to which Ophelia told her to use her good cheer to light the way and Jasmine stifled a laugh.

  It made him grin.

  Micah and the guards were primarily set up around the sisters, off at a distance, where they were safe—but not too far from where they were needed. They had formed a large Triquetra of Jaguar, Fae, and vampire soldiers, set up all around them. Micah had insisted upon it. Micah had shape-shifted into his Jaguar form to better guard the sisters. So had a number of the Jaguar guards. Some of the more predatory Fae had also shifted into their own individual, ancient forms.

  Jes and her sisters had not taken their predatory form. They were needed here as the Sisters of Three. It made it harder for them to fight, without the strength, power and agility of their predatory forms—but it made it easier for them to provide magickal strength as the Sisters of Three—the Jaguar Witches.

  The sisters were chanting under their breath. Justice could hear this in his head too.

  What he could see of their adversaries were the shadows that were bouncing from tree to tree. Except for the fact that they moved unnaturally, you would have never guessed that they were anything other than normal shadows.

  But Justice’s keen vision didn’t miss the way they moved.

  Nor had he miss the unnatural pattern by which they moved. However, they did no more than follow him. He could only hope they couldn’t make out his sisters—carefully blending with the forest—and he told them to keep their eyes peeled—for the forest, itself, had eyes this night.

  He heard Ophelia second that just before Mia picked up on the shadows herself, and whispered telepathically, “Mercy me.”

  This time he heard Jasmine exclaim that she had never known they could whisper anything telepathically, but she had no sooner said that when he heard her whisper the same thing herself, and he knew that all three of his sisters had spotted the unnatural movements of the shadows.

  He didn’t blame them. The shadowy forms made the hair on his own arms stand up on end a bit. And then he heard Ophelia whisper, telepathically, wondering what they would do if the shadowy forms were to actually attack.

  He heard Mia whisper, “How do you fight a shadow?”

  To which he heard Dracon break in with a growl, “You don’t. Shadows can do no more than be shadows—they are only Constantine’s spies.”

  And then he heard Dara break in with her own thought. “Then how do we kick their ass?”

  For the second time, Justice’s smile flashed in the dark.

  It was now so dark that only the moon lit their path. It added a silvery opulence to Constantine’s well-set stage.

  He had set his stage perfectly and the setting he had chosen was now brought to the pinnacle of performance by the withering eeriness in the movements of the shadows—drifting from tree to tree.

  After a time, Justice came to the shack at the end of the mile-long drive, just as described: an abandoned, dilapidated, old building—leaning over itself and about ready to fall down. He couldn’t imagine why Constantine had chosen this place to hold a meeting—or why he would have lured them into coming way out here in the first place.

  After all, this was not where one would find humans.

  He came around to the side of the decrepit shack, where he found a doorway, though no actual door hung in it. The door itself had obviously been broken off the hinges and discarded, probably a long time ago. Nor was there glass left in any of the windows, for that matter. The place looked as though it had been abandoned for decades, except for some more unnatural elements that might be haunting the place.

  Justice made his way up to the doorway. The dark of the yawning doorway spilled out into the moonlight. Inside the dark seemed to stretch out forever—like a black hole reaching out, casting its cloak of shadows from the depths of its own bowels, and beckoning to where Justice now stood, inviting him to join the darkness.

  He knew he would stand out when he entered—lit up like the flame of a torch by the light of the moon—and an easy target for anyone who might be waiting for him inside.

  He drew his sword, casting back the folds of his mantle so his movements would be unimpeded—and stepped inside.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Killer

  Justice knew he wasn’t alone as soon as he entered the old shack. He moved across the dirt-packed floor on silent feet. He moved through the darkness like the shadows, yet he did not try to hide. The night fractured beneath the moon, splintering the shadows, spilling shards of pale light to act as a witness for this night. It wouldn’t be disappointed.

  Every living being in the woods was silent; the world was holding its breath—waiting.

  Justice had felt the forest crawling with more and more vamps the closer he’d come to the shack, could feel their movements even now as surely as if he were watching them converge on the cabin. Like the sinister, shapeless beings slipping between the trees, the vamps were casting ominous shadows of their own.

  His sisters had spotted several of these vamps. They had reported that the ones they had spotted were fledglings and were so intent on their purpose—which appeared to be the cabin, since they were all heading in that same direction—they weren’t even bothering to look for anything else that may have been around them.

  These powerful, yet undisciplined, fledgling vamps slipped through the woods on silent feet, not feeling the sisters’ presence in their haste. Justice realized that this could be in their favor—or that it could work against them—depending upon what they were in such a hurry to feed upon.

  He had a bad feeling that he, and those with him, was likely their promised feast.

  The guards who watched over the Sisters of Three would have a fight on their hands if these new vamps were to lose the scent of the trail they were on—and were to instead pick up theirs—the scent of a much larger feast, and with a much greater power. If these fledgling vamps were to pick up their scent, they would bring about a battle of greater proportions than what they had planned on fighting this night.

  Right now, the Sisters of Three were keeping all of those hiding in the forest cloaked.

  Justice hoped they were able to maintain that cloak, because Justice had now picked up the scent, too—the scent of fledglings, slick with the smell of frenzied anticipation—anticipation of a kill. And fledglings meant they had been feeding on fresh human blood, not just animal blood, since fledglings were newly turned vamps. Human blood always made them more powerful than animal blood—for it was the lifeblood that they had used to cross from the Fae world—back into the Land of the Living Souls. Animal blood would work, but it would never make them as powerful.

  But fledgling vamps were infinitely more powerful.

  Vamps who fed and turned humans had not listened to the ancient code—the one the Ancients had put in place—to stop those who would control the humans. They fed on humans as they willed. And they had been busy making hundreds of these fledglings.

  None of this bode well for them.

  Fledglings would be tough to kill, since killing is what fed their bloodlust. The worse the battle, the more frenzied—and dangerous—they would become.

  Constantine’s man had asked for a parlay—which meant Constantine was claiming that he intended to honor the code: a code which stated that no one coming into—or going out of—these proceedings would be harmed.

  But nothing said that this old vamp actually would honor the old code. These rogue vamps didn’t respond well to the ancients who had written the code. After all, the old ones were the ancients who had not been created by others, but had learned to walk between the veil of the spirit world and human world. Some of these vamps felt that these ancients had nothing to do with them, so why should they follow the old law?

  When Justice had entered the shack, he had not hesitated, but simply gone through the door. Hesi
tating wouldn’t put off the inevitable. Either they would come out of this alive—or they wouldn’t. It wouldn’t change the outcome.

  Justice, therefore, refused to hesitate.

  He came face to face with Constantine the instant he stepped through the door and into the dark shadows that lurked inside.

  As Justice’s catlike vision adjusted quickly to the shadows, he picked up the old vamp, who sat on a high-backed chair that looked carved of beautiful, cherry wood and etched in gold. Its legs were carvings of some kind sort of bat-like creature wrapped around a beautiful, naked, human-looking woman. These same carvings covered the arms of the chair, where Constantine’s own arms now rested. And it was upholstered with blood-red material.

  Constantine, himself, wore a fancy, very old-looking, southern-style, billowing, white, dress shirt. His long, white hair was unbound and spilled down his chest and over his shoulders. His pants were dark and tucked into his high, dark-leather boots. It seemed that Constantine was partial to the lost styles of the Old South.

  His skin was luminous, white to the point it almost looked painted—and his eyes were dark as midnight.

  Other than the chair, not another piece of furniture sat in the room. The shack itself was made out of rough-hewn lumber, and was no insulation in the walls. In fact, Justice could see moonlight spilling in through the cracks between the boards comprising the wall.

  Why on earth would Constantine bring such an expensive chair out into the middle of nowhere?

  It gave Justice another glimpse inside the mind of a madman—a powerful vamp with the ability to lead thousands upon an insane quest.

  It reminded him of a few human leaders who had done something similar.

  He moved to one side and took notice of the shape of the room, though he made sure not to remove his eyes from Constantine.

  Constantine stood, and Justice could see now that he also wore a black cape. He turned, letting it flair around him. His dark eyes did not miss anything, and he laughed. “Do not worry, Prince of Fire, this is but a parlay. We are only here tonight to achieve some sort of… understanding between us, not to do battle—not yet.” He laughed again, teeth flashing in the moonlight from his pale, white face, which seemed to float in the darkness. “That is half the fun. We would not want to ruin it by moving our pawns too quickly—now would we?”

  Justice knew his eyes had narrowed at the use of his official title—a title that should still have been unknown to the rogue leader. Dracon had been right. The old vamp had eyes and ears everywhere.

  “Is that why you chose war?” Justice asked after a long moment. “Because you’re bored?”

  Constantine grinned. “Of course.” He waved an arm wide. “You would be, too, if you had lived as long as I. Would you not wish to be the power that runs—all of this?” His voice took on a hissing sibilance when he finished the last.

  Justice had a feeling it wasn’t power that motivated him at all—but only the thought of war.

  “And what exactly would it take for the liege of all these free factions of vamps to work within the Queen’s law?”

  “How dare you bring her up?” Constantine snarled.

  “How dare you bring armies against the Queen?” Justice snarled back.

  Constantine actually grinned.

  “You have some balls, boy, for one so young.”

  Justice let that roll off his back. He must, indeed, seem like a mere boy to one who had lived so long—and seen so much.

  Constantine had been in more battles than Justice would likely live in years—even if he lived a thousand years or more. He had heard the stories. And he could only imagine that there wasn’t much, if anything, the old vamp hadn’t seen.

  How did you fool someone that old, someone who had likely had every trick in the book used against him at one time or another?

  There wouldn’t be a battle plan—or battle formation—he wouldn’t be wise to, so that meant they would have to fight with their wits.

  He watched the old vamp, who was staring him down now, while trying to figure out what he was thinking. Justice stared back, eyes hard, and the old vamp laughed some more. Constantine moved around his royal throne and walked around the dirty shack, moving in a full circle around Justice.

  “Because of Dracon,” he said, “I am offering you and your armies the opportunity to join my cause.” He had come to stand in front of Justice while he said this. “I like Dracon.” He eyed Justice for a long moment. “And I think I like you, too. You’ve got nerve—for a boy.”

  Justice couldn’t believe his brass.

  Dracon stepped through the door in time to hear this last, and he let out a derisive laugh. “Then you have wasted our time—and your breath, old man,” he hissed.

  Constantine laughed. “Come now, brother, we will all sit down and enjoy a large human-blood meal. Well,” he lazily gestured toward Justice, “perhaps the Jaguar might want the meat instead….”

  Dracon had reached Constantine by this time. “Do not call me ‘brother’, and where did you intend to pull this feast from? Your… never mind.” He turned to Justice then. “Justice…,” he stated, “what is your command?”

  Justice had one hand resting lazily on his sword. “We shall go,” he said, and turned toward the door, but then turned back to Constantine. “There is nothing that can be gained here—unless it would finally be your death.”

  Constantine laughed once again. “Ahhh—then perhaps you will afford me a true war. I shall look forward to such a war.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  Justice knew there would be no avoiding this war—because the war, not the power, was what the old vamp was truly looking forward to—was what truly motivated him. He realized that Constantine was not interested in being a god.

  He was only interested in one thing.

  Battle.

  Justice straightened to his full height. He would be most happy to oblige Constantine.

  Constantine’s fangs flashed in the darkness as if he knew he had just received the prize. Justice knew he anticipated a good, bloody battle.

  It was then that the vamps came through the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Power of Three

  The sisters had walked through the trees on their way into the forest, each occasionally peering up at the moon as it spilled its silver light upon their path. They had been escorted by a battalion of Fae and Jaguar guards. They were brought close enough to help hold protection over Justice and Dracon, and the armies, but kept far enough away so as to avoid being sensed by Constantine’s armies.

  Even if Constantine knew they were there, this was an acceptable practice and wouldn’t violate the terms of the parlay, so they shouldn’t be attacked. But no one knew for sure whether the ancient vamp would actually follow any of the rules of parlay. And so, just the to be safe, the sisters did their best to cloak the large group from the fledgling vampires—and Constantine’s immense power.

  The forest was unnaturally quiet as they moved on silent feet across the moss- and dead-leaf-carpeted earthen floors, slipping through the old woods as quietly as wraiths. The girls searched the trees as they walked. Shadows loomed from every branch—long shadows were cast across the ground in broken and misshapen designs.

  It was enough to give even the bravest person goose bumps; especially when the shadows began to move in unnatural patterns—and the sisters could tell that the shadows were trying to determine what was behind the cloaked area they were fighting so hard to maintain.

  The intensity was only compounded by the knowledge of whom they were going up against.

  Jes looked around once again. She noticed that her sisters were doing the same as they fought to stop their fear from breaking their concentration.

  The Sisters of Three moved in together and, taking each other’s hands so that they formed a circle, they increased the intensity of their whispered chant. They had been repeating their protective chant under their breath, like a whisper on
the night, since they had entered the forest.

  Constantine was very powerful. More powerful than anything they had ever imagined. It was taking all of their will to keep him from breaking through the protective wall they had cast. And they had the sense that he wasn’t concentrating—but was instead filled with his own arrogance and, convinced of his own power and ability, had only half his concentration fixed on what might lay outside his walls.

  The Sisters of Three were following Justice in their minds’ eyes, and knew the moment he entered the shack. They knew he now faced Constantine. They watched him—the three of them—through their minds’ eyes, like remote viewing.