The Talon & the Blade Page 4

  She knew Raymond studied Gregor’s every move for insight into his borrowed hound. Flinching at the thought of innocents destroyed for the sake of larger population control might indicate Azrael had softened in the relative postwar peace.

  Gregor finished his brief survey. “The next?”

  Ana provided images. The third had been shipping yards. No one had survived, but the entire site had been destroyed anyway.

  “It’s not working alone anymore.”

  Raymond shifted in his chair, folding his hands so only his index fingers remained steepled. Rearranging the photos, Gregor answered the unasked question.

  “The first attacks are crude,” he said. “Dismemberments. The scatter indicates the victims made an attempt to flee—that they had a place to flee to. This is organized. There is nowhere to go. And I see bite marks. Large canids.”

  “Dogs,” Raymond said, testing. “Or wolves.”

  Gregor shook his head. “These are grace blooded. Werewolves.”

  “Craven beasts.” Raymond lifted a lip, betraying his distaste.

  Gregor went still, but the latent danger beneath his tailored suit and refined demeanor went active between heartbeats. His mouth set in a thin line, the blue of his eyes dark and cracking with some unspent effort. Anger, she realized. Raymond’s words had infuriated him.

  Raymond felt it too. His nostrils flared as the air around them danced.

  “You are familiar with shifters,” Ana said in the taut silence, keeping her voice neutral.

  Gregor didn’t exactly move, but the air around him released its tension as his sardonic mouth tilted northward again. When he spoke, the words were weighted with significance. “Recently?”

  Gregor met her eyes with a glimpse of humor in the glacial blue. Azrael’s allied coven was guarded by a pack. Both were blood kin of his consort.

  “Forgive me,” Raymond said, casual and amused. “I didn’t realize.”

  But of course he had. The entire Allegiance had seen the pack of shifters standing among Azrael’s own Aegis in the castle. They had been dressed in human finery, the witches and the consort all in matching gowns. A wedding, Ana realized. Intelligence suggested the coven and its pack had bred hybrids. If Azrael’s retinue survived this, it would be interesting to see where it would lead.

  Raymond wanted to know how deep loyalties ran, how much Gregor cared about his master’s new allies. He had his answer.

  Ana tapped another recessed button on the desk. A map appeared on the wall.

  “Primarily coastal towns.” She addressed the map. “None any more than ten miles from the coast. Suggests the creature requires saltwater for survival. It consumed nothing it killed nor took anything of value.”

  She’d seen individual bodies and mass kills, but there was something especially disturbing about these attacks. Such violence. The bodies had been fouled, left to rot, without even the illusion of predation. Something in this slaughter called to her.

  Gregor nodded once, and for a moment she thought he might ask about her experience. What would she say? I know kills like this because I made my own once. Worse.

  Instead, his eyes found the map on the wall over her shoulder. Red indicated all the places where the creature—and its allies—had struck. His voice, low and steady, broached the darkness at her back. “How long between kills?”

  “A week, more or less, for the first two. The spacing is farther apart once the wolves were involved.”

  “They’re thin blooded,” Gregor said.

  Raymond exhaled from the shadows, amusement and satisfaction. “Explain.”

  “They depend on the moon to change. Look at the dates—no more than forty-eight hours before or after a full moon. Stronger blooded weres and true shifters have no such limitations.”

  Ana called up a calendar, had it cross-reference the dates and overlay the results with moon cycles. She scrambled to recall the night the Allegiance had confronted Azrael in his hall. Some of the members of the pack had already begun to shift, anticipating confrontation. How close had they been to the turning of the moon?

  “Why this town, Prince Rupert, or that one?” Gregor asked. “There’s a pattern here. Too specific.”

  “All are sites of historical significance,” she said, rattling off settlements and treaties since the first indigenous contact with Europeans and the settling of pre-godswar Canada.

  She ended leaning against the front of Raymond’s desk, a few feet away from Gregor. Again his sardonic glance, the tell-me-something-I-didn’t-know mouth tilt. She wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his striking face.

  He was too tall and too formal and too buttoned-up in his tailored suit. She preferred men who inhabited their wildness like wolves, not ones who leashed it like a dog. Still, he didn’t seem to fear Raymond, and he seemed to enjoy risking her ire. Something in him hadn’t yet been tamed. Curiosity replaced resentment.

  “It’s personal,” Gregor said. “It’s settling a score.”

  The missing piece. His confirmation increased her certainty.

  “This continent is rife with old scores to be settled,” Ana said archly, quoting Raymond’s response when she’d mentioned her suspicions.

  “Why it kills may give us a clue of how, and where, to stop it,” Gregor said, staring into the shadows where Raymond waited, lips resting against his index fingers.

  Ana checked the monitor embedded in Raymond’s desk for confirmation. “The system has already begun cross-referencing historical conflicts and locations from Vancouver to LA. We should have a list of potential targets by morning.”

  Gregor returned his attention to the calendar. “Three days until the next full moon.”

  “Our best bet is to start in Seattle,” she said. “It’s got the largest known population of grace bloods on the West Coast.”

  Gregor shifted in his seat. “Our?”

  “You will assist Ana,” Raymond said.

  Ana gritted her teeth to keep her irritation from showing. The weight of Raymond’s gaze settled on her anyway. Gregor kept his own carefully fixed on the screen, ignoring the exchange.

  She’d wanted to hate him, this borrowed hound. Ana watched him study the photos again.

  Gregor sat back in the chair. When he looked up again, it was not into the shadows but into her face. His gaze searched, through the fine motes drifting along the beam of projected light, shocking in its openness. It took her a moment to realize he sought her approval. It would have been easy enough to look away, knowing he would have left the room and been on a return plane to Prague this afternoon, damned what it might mean for an accord between the necromancers they served. The resentment at his presence, the intrusion into what should have been her task alone, quieted. She lowered her chin once without speaking.

  “The charge?” Gregor asked, speaking into the shadows.

  Raymond’s voice seemed to fill the room, power crackling around the edges. “Hunt and eliminate this creature. If it is beyond your power to kill, you will hold it until it has been captured or contained.”

  “I accept. The oath?”

  Among necromancers and grace-blooded creatures, vows were power. From summoning the dead to binding the warriors of their Aegis, words imbued with the power of obligation or command carried extra importance. To fail to uphold one’s word could entail more than censure from their peers. The Code of Raziel laid out the ancient rules of binding and the consequences—a powerful, terminal force called the Retribution—triggered by the breaking of a vow.

  After a long pause, Raymond spoke again. “Gregor Schwarz, I charge you with this responsibility. As such, you are under my command in this matter in exchange for my protection. You will ally with no other against me until your contract is complete. Do you submit?”

  “I give my loyalty and obedience.” The air between them crackled with power. “In this I am your man.”

  Ana looked away, unable to bear the gaze that rested on her.

  Dismissed, Gregor stood outs
ide the door of Raymond’s office and exhaled a long, low breath as he waited for his escort to appear. The hall outside was immaculate and empty.

  In Prague, artwork saved from museums during the godswar lined the halls, the sound of undead servants and his own companions of the Aegis on their way to the training ring, or from patrols and assignments. Since Isela, Azrael had even begun allowing tours in the external buildings of the castle. Gregor would have been drawn and quartered before he admitted to a perverse bit of pleasure in shocking a group of mortals just by crossing their paths on his way across the grounds.

  Aside from the faintest smell of blood under disinfectant, this hall might as well have been a tomb. He leaned forward and adjusted the plush cushion on one chair. There. Perfect.

  The door opened behind him.

  He surveyed the scene again, the sweep of his gaze taking in Ana last. Fixing the out-of-place hair would probably not go over well.

  “Something funny?”

  “Everything,” he said, eyebrow sliding north.

  The consort would have been glowering at him by now, her eyes sparking gold. Even Lysippe would have sighed in that centuries-old expression of exasperation. Ana’s pale, freckled face did not budge.

  “Keep your blade and your tongue sheathed on my behalf. I’ll fight my own battles.”

  He let his smile spread, not bothering to hide his amusement. “I look forward to the next time I can sheathe my blade and tongue on your behalf.”

  The muscle beneath her cheek jumped a fraction. Without waiting, she stalked down the hall. “Follow me.”

  Gregor clicked his heels together and gave a little bow at her back. “Jawohl.”

  Chapter Six

  Ana gave him an abbreviated tour on the way. He showed particular interest in the training room. “You’re free to use it whenever you like.”

  Raymond kept his Aegis close. That still left plenty of room in the interior—Raymond had specified this physical space above match the aedis beneath. Below was the sacred space where he conducted major spell work. He had no love of grimoires or written spells. Raymond’s particular brand of power had always favored potions and alchemical brews. He kept his extensive collection under physical guard and wards. She left that off the tour.

  She’d approved of Gregor’s quarters herself: a small apartment with a stocked kitchen, bedroom, and living room with a peekaboo ocean view. Close enough to her own to keep an eye on him.

  She paused by the door. “Will you require anything else?”

  Tall by the standards of the women of her time, she’d lost the advantage over the centuries. She was used to having to look up at men. That didn’t stop her from putting the fear of gods in most.

  That generous mouth twisted in consideration, the rest of his expression distant. “I had hoped for a sparring partner.”

  “I’ll have one of Raymond’s contracts sent up,” she said, thinking of a few of the undead servants that had been combat trained in life.

  He strolled to his luggage, keeping her in his peripheral vision, and made a cursory sweep of the room. “An Aegis would be better if one can be spared.”

  She nodded with a little bow. “At your pleasure.”

  For the flash of an instant he looked as though he’d seen a ghost.

  “Mr. Schwarz?”

  Glacial eyes snapped electric against hers. His face shuttered again, impenetrable. He took a step backward. “Ms. Gozen.”

  She paused on the other side of the closed door. What had he seen—remembered? She shook off the curiosity. It was none of her concern.

  Auger, she sent a mental summons on her way to her office. Spar with our guest. I want a full report.

  “He kicked my ass. Thoroughly.”

  Ana looked up from Gregor Schwarz’s dossier as a sleek jaguar of a man draped himself in the chair across from her. Emerald eyes much like the big jungle cat fixed on her from beneath a shaggy forelock of curls. Well, one eye at least. He wasn’t exaggerating, judging by the bruises shading his brown skin. The worst was the eye—sealed shut and so discolored the skin appeared shades of eggplant all the way from below the eyebrow to the split upper lip.

  “Broke my damn cheekbone,” Auger muttered, his words muffled. He plucked at the bits of maroon-colored cotton below his nostrils.

  Anger flared before she could catch herself, and the pencil in her hand snapped. She swore, flashing on an image of her blades severing Gregor’s arms from the shoulders. Wishful thinking.

  “Hold on there, boss lady.” He raised his palms, the fingers of one hand swollen, pinkie and ring finger taped together. “You asked me to see what he was capable of. I was following orders.”

  “I did not expect him to—” Beat you to a fine pulp sprang to mind first. She had no desire to wound his pride. She changed tack. He was right. His wounds would heal. “What did you learn?”

  “Took a bit to get it out of him.” Auger shrugged, wincing as one shoulder refused to rise. “I had to push. Even then—”

  He shook his head as his words trailed off.

  “You think he held back,” she finished.

  “I think he went just far enough,” Auger corrected. “And even then, just so. And you know I can talk shit.”

  That brought the echo of a smile to her lips. A street-born master of martial arts, Auger knew how to fight dirty.

  “I don’t think a single word I said got to him. He ended the fight exactly when he was ready. Like an alarm had gone off in his head.” He whistled, resting his foot on the edge of her desk and rocking his chair backward until it balanced on two legs. “That’s one cold-blooded fuck,” Auger swore, and his eyes darkened. “Ana, are you sure—”

  She shook her head, cutting him off. “I’m not foolish enough to be sure of anything. He’s taken his vow. He’s Raymond’s now, same as us.”

  “I don’t trust him.” Auger frowned.

  “And I’ve lived this long because I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Oh come on, Ana.”

  “Except you, Auger.” He could believe that if he wanted to.

  “His vow is to Raymond. But you…” He paused, rocking.

  The words had been, she agreed, but Gregor’s gaze had never left her. And had she read a request for permission in his eyes before he’d accepted the job. What the hell kind of operation was Azrael running in Prague?

  Auger took a breath. “Why don’t you take me for backup, just in case?”

  “Get your feet off my desk,” Ana snapped.

  Auger’s chair rocked to the floor with a crack as his face fell.

  She sighed. “I need you here. With Mitko out of commission, you’re running point, on Ray’s guard.”

  He gave her a bloody grimace of a smile. He’d learned once—the hard way—what it meant to buck an order she’d given. He’d never done it again. She had his obedience.

  More, if she wanted it. He’d not been shy about that either. She let her eyes roam over him, watching the slow fade of bruises in the silence. He’d have use of the eye by the end of the following day, if not sooner. He was beautiful, as a true warrior, lethal and aware of his own prowess.

  Cultivating physical pleasure was like enjoying art or a fine meal. She’d taken lovers often enough to know what she needed at a glance, had even contemplated Auger a half dozen times over the years. In spite of his beauty, his ruthlessness, his irreverence, she had not found a taste for him.

  She looked back at the dossier. “The Hessian.”

  Auger sighed but shifted his attention back to the matter at hand. He never let her rejection get in the way of his work. She suspected he’d come from a warm bed to respond to her summons, and he would have no problem filling it again once his face no longer resembled raw hamburger. Sooner, no doubt.

  “Schwarz is quick, and even then… I got in a few hits, and he doesn’t register pain. At all. Think he bargained for that? Man, I wish I would have thought of it. Smart guy.”

  Ana twirled her finger. />
  Auger sighed. “You were right about his reach. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.” He pointed at his eye. “But I had no luck getting him off-balance, physically or mentally. He’s got ice in his veins.”

  “Good.”

  “And Ana.” Auger sat up in his chair, the smile broken halfway across his face. “He’s a gentleman. He apologized for this.” He waved his hand at his face. “And I believe he meant it. Said he hoped I got what I needed to know.”

  Ana’s face crashed before she could check herself. Of course Gregor had known this would be a test. Ana cursed herself—she’d exposed them all. Between Petr and Mitko in the hall, and Auger later, she’d given him a complete breakdown of the capabilities of Raymond’s entire guard. Something for him to take back to his boss.

  Except her.

  She checked her watch. Time to do a little reconnaissance of her own. “You’re dismissed, Auger. Watch your back while I’m gone. Mitko’s gonna be pissed when his leg grows back.”

  “Where are you headed?” he asked as she rose, shrugging off her jacket. She didn’t miss the brief flash of consideration on Auger’s face.

  She knew what people thought: that she was not only first of Raymond’s Aegis but shared his bed. She’d long ago given up bitterness that accompanied the realization.

  Let them think what they liked. She’d held her position against both open rebellions and attempted coups. After she had killed two of her potential usurpers, Raymond joked she was the biggest threat to his Aegis. Still, he trusted her to do what needed to be done. As she would continue to do so, unflinching, unblinking. Those not strong enough would not survive. She wouldn’t make the mistake of bringing one unsuited to this life into the fold again.

  She smiled. “I have a date.”

  Chapter Seven

  After showering off sweat and the young street fighter’s blood, Gregor booted up his laptop as he dressed. Ana had provided secure network access and relevant passwords, but he hadn’t done much before sparring besides surf the internet and test the network security. It had been as he expected: locked tight from the outside world but imbedded with its own tracking programs. He neutralized those while checking the stock markets and installing his own private connection to Azrael’s servers. Like the automobile, he found the advancement of communications technology somewhat thrilling. And with nothing but time on his hands, he saw no point in remaining ignorant to such devices.