Blacker than Black (47 page)

Yeah, nothing to stop him.

The door closes with a faint whirr of sound, and the engine hums to life. “All in, Blue?”

“Yeah. Get us the fuck out of here.” His voice sounds as strained and strung out as I feel. A heartbeat of silence. “You
can
drive this thing, right?”

My laughter doesn’t sound the least bit sane. “Let’s find out.” I tweak the controls, closing my eyes to clear my mind and remember how Leonard did it that night. This pricy little toy of his is fancier than anything I’d been in before he came along. I’m sure he can afford a few more if I happen to scratch it, though.

When I open my eyes and look up from easing the vehicle into gear, Noire is sprinting at us. I have a sudden flash of memory from my childhood, watching a football game on television with my father. The quarterback got blindsided in the one play, looked up just in time to see the freight train of a linebacker slam into him full tilt.

Yep, quarterback here. Or . . . maybe I’m the damned football. I’ve lost track.

“Fuckfuck
fuck
.” The repetition comes out in one long string as I mash the accelerator and whip the controls hard to the right. But the little car doesn’t respond nearly fast enough.

Noire’s fists slam down on the glassy hood, and the impact shudders straight through the frame and travels through my body as well. His forearms pulse and throb with an ugly sheen of aura; his energy is so drained that the excess chi registers as little more than a heavy discoloration of his skin.

It’s the most grotesque thing I’ve ever witnessed. And yet despite mashing the accelerator to the floor, the vehicle only spins its wheels in the gravel. Noire still has enough strength to restrain it.

My body is shaking. I can feel it starting in my hands and feet, just a slight tremble. But the adrenaline is running its course, and in a few minutes I’m either going to be slipping into shock . . . or experiencing a
fin
tap firsthand, I guess. Lacking his potential alliance partner to do the job, I highly doubt my sire will hesitate to do the deed himself.

For retribution, if nothing else.

One hand sliding over the vehicle’s hood—maintaining the anchor of restraining energy, I assume—Noire eases around to the driver door. His face is devoid of emotion, his complexion pale, lines of tension showing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. The veins in his temples are prominent, pounding faintly with his racing pulse.

His eyes. Shit, his eyes. I’ve never seen such flat, dead eyes. Like there is no soul on the other side.

Is this what a
lyche
looks like after a
fin
tap? I stare into that gaze, and everything seems to just slow down.

Noire draws his free arm back, fists his hand. Coils himself, preparing to punch through the thin window, no doubt. I try twisting the controls over in the other direction, away from him; then I try shifting out of reverse into first. The usually happy purr of the engine becomes a yowl, and yet still no movement beyond the spinning of the tires.

I can smell the hot rubber treads shredding and smoking against the gravel.

In the back seat, Blue is cussing a streak. I don’t blame him. If I could find my voice, I’d be doing the same thing.

Movement in the corner of my eye. A flash, nothing more, but I instantly recognize Leonard. His aura is drawn in tight, skin flaring bright as the noonday sun as he clamps one hand on Noire’s neck, catching Noire’s upraised forearm in his other.

“I deferred when protocol and diplomacy demanded it, Vincent Noire.” Each syllable enunciated carefully, scant inches from the
lyche’s
ear, but I hear every word clearly. “You have become what you once hated most in this world. Do you remember that?” There’s a note of sadness in his voice, but not an ounce of hesitation. “These are my people. This is my home. I protect what’s mine. You killed your mentor, you killed my father. You expect me to stand by and let you kill these three as well?”

Noire’s eyes flash
red
for a brief moment, and then he’s throwing his head back and laughing, no longer straining against Leonard’s grip. Still chuckling, he stares down the Monsieur of York, meeting his gaze ounce for ounce.

“The blue-haired one killed my sister. And my
son
killed your sire, Leonard. Not me. Him. For crimes against the
lyche
, you would defend them from just retribution?”

Sane. Entirely cognizant, or at least he sounds it. No trace of the crazed energy thrall I thought would be there. That I saw traces of when he dropped Farken’s body.

Of course, the wealth of that spectacular individual’s chi now resides inside . . . me.

Fucking lovely
. I shudder with the sensation of filth crawling over my skin like a thousand bugs, and want to bathe in scalding water.

Leonard’s resolve falters, and I hear Blue hiss in the back seat. “Get
out
of here, Black. Fucking
now.
”

I mash the accelerator again, but Noire’s arm tenses, aura flaring with energy, and the vehicle just squeals with futility. I can see Leonard’s lips moving, but don’t hear what he says over the noise.

Okay. This is ridiculous. Obviously we’re not going anywhere, and I’ll be damned if I stand by while my sire accuses me like this without making some attempt to defend myself, for Gaia’s sake.

I glance back at Blue. “Stay in the car. Climb up here in the driver’s seat when I get out, and the second you have a chance, get her the hell out of here.”

“Black, don’t—” he starts. And Jhez too, right over him. “What the hell, Black?”

“Just
do
it, Blue.” I cut him off and push at the door, which slides quickly out of the way and closes behind me with a snick.

The Alpha Premier’s eyes lock onto me, and both
lyche
tense. I hold my sire’s gaze because I don’t have the intestinal fortitude to look at Leonard just now.

“Did you?” Of course it’s Leonard who finally breaks the silence.

It takes me a few seconds to work up the nerve to look away from Noire and meet my lover’s gaze. I’m not sure how to interpret his expression. His entire form is tense, screaming of the effort it requires for him to hold the Alpha Premier in check.

Not that many of Leonard’s standing could viably perform such a feat to begin with.

“Under duress, yes I did. It was self-defense. I have no idea what I did, and I doubt I could duplicate it.”

Noire laughs again—a rasp forcing past Leonard’s grip on his throat—his shoulders relaxing, hands unclenching. He flashes an easy grin at Leonard. “See? I told you so. All I’m guilty of here is killing one of my own. On Alpha territory. Now let me exact the price from his hide.”

“I see no reason why I should. First and foremost, this is no longer Alpha territory. And only a
lyche
could have created the energy stroke that killed my father. I had a chance to sense that much.” Leonard’s tone is dry, condescending.

“
Lyche
cannot be born of humans.” Noire stares at him in shock; the cadence of his words sounds like an official quotation.

Leonard heaves, pushing Noire backward onto the ground. “Then perhaps you should give serious consideration to the possibility that Black is not, in fact, your get after all?” He steps in front of me, blocking my view of Noire, and reaches a hand back toward me, fingers flexed, palm up.

I’m confused. Noire alluded to me being pure-blood while we were driving away from
Dragulhaven
. Did he truly just say it to throw me off balance, believing it false?

Oh, this is Vincent Noire we’re talking about. Of course he would do that. Without hesitation.

I weave my fingers through Leonard’s and step in close, resting my forehead against the back of his neck. I’m not sure what the ramifications are, or why he’s doing it, but it sounds distinctly like he’s maneuvering my sire into disowning me. Denying my parentage formally.

“This
lyche
cannot possibly be my blood. My wife was human.” His voice is flat, a hint of shock threading through his tone.

“And thus the one he calls sister, his twin, is not your blood either.”

“If one is
lyche
, they both are. They are not my blood.”

“Not of your blood, not of your household. Not yours to take.” Leonard’s shoulders droop a fraction of an inch and he exhales slowly, letting the tension bleed from his body as he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. He dips his head. “My thanks, Premier Noire, for assisting me in resolving this situation.”

I hear the scuff of stones as the Alpha
lyche
shifts and regains his feet.

“You’re welcome, Monsieur Garthelle.” Noire returns the nod of acknowledgement. Respect between equals, then. A truce.

Though only Gaia can possibly understand how a Monsieur could match a Premier.

“One minor detail, though.” Noire’s voice purrs, thick with humor. “One of the mutts—or whatever they are—has something of mine. I require its return.”

Leonard straightens, fingers tightening in mine, aura twining up my arm to meld into me, crawling up my shoulder, into my torso. He tugs me close against his back, and the connection between us flares sun-bright in my eyes for a heartbeat.

“And what might that be.” The Monsieur of York is tense and cautious.

I cant my head to the side and watch as Noire nods toward the vehicle. “I hit her with a substantive burst of energy. I invoke retrieval rights.”

“You seem to have difficulty grasping this point, Premier, so I will reiterate. This is no longer Alpha territory. Such
rights
do not translate.”

Noire sheds the mask of civility with such speed that I take an involuntary step back. The raging inferno is back in his eyes, the transformation to primal creature terrifying to behold. Leonard releases my hand, but his aural connection remains, strong and solid. Anchored deep, twining around the throbbing ball of tainted chi in my core. He can feel it; he must know it’s there. That it’s not his. Not what he put there, shared with me.

He steps toward Noire and
pulls
on me, channeling the energy into his arm as his fist connects with the Premier’s face. Noire has the weight advantage, though, and encircles Leonard with his arms, immobilizing him. They struggle, twist, grunt; Leonard batters at Noire’s kidneys with dogged persistence, despite not having the space to get much force behind the blows. Noire twists again, snarling, and suddenly the pair are rolling around in the gravel.

It’s something out of a nightmarish bar brawl.

Leonard’s face is utterly devoid of emotion—calm, collected, thoroughly in control of his faculties—as he gains the upper hand, straddling Noire, both hands wrapped firmly around the
lyche’s
neck. The pulsing glow of his aura reaches all the way up to his elbows.

“You will not take back what is given, Vincent Noire. Not on Modere lands. I protect what is mine.” Not even a hint of strain in his voice, though I expected to hear something.

“They’re
mutts
,” Noire rasps. His voice sounds different, the lilt not unlike Farken’s, the register eerily similar as well. “Just because I disown them doesn’t mean I don’t have every right to
claim one if I so choose.
” He arches up violently, attempting to dislodge Leonard, fingers digging into him, grasping, clawing for a counter-hold.

“You will not relent?” Leonard moves his head, shifts his body, easily avoiding Noire’s hands.

“Never.” Noire’s voice is deeper, hoarser, with that edge of a rasp that made my skin crawl when Farken first spoke to me. Leonard
pulls
again, the connection between us flaring thick and strong. “I am Alpha Premier. I’ll do whatever I please, where I please, when I please. And not even
you
can stop me. You don’t
dare.
”

“Don’t I.” Leonard sounds sad, and the emotion feels counterintuitive with every inch of his body straining. He glances up at me. “This is going to sting a bit,
mon noire
.” One corner of his mouth twitches up. “Come put your hand on my neck, would you?”

Despite my reluctance—and it’s strong—to get within arm’s reach of a violent dominance struggle between
lyche
, I trust him implicitly. His gaze is calm, steady as he looks at me. As though it’s not the Alpha Premier he’s got pinned to the gravel drive, but a mangy stray with a thorn in its paw.

The nape of his neck is warm, soft smooth skin radiating heat into my palm. His aura flows out, enveloping me, and though I dare not close my eyes, I relax into the sensation. A hug, a lover’s embrace, manifesting intangibly. The connection between us, his aura rooted in my core, pulses and strengthens, then
pulls
Noire’s energy out of me.

I watch the aural glow on Leonard’s arms mute from that familiar golden hue into something like an overcast, dreary fall evening. He pushes the energy down into Noire, and the Premier relaxes into the connection, opening himself.

A triumphant sneer curls his mouth, and the struggle goes out of him completely. “I always get what I want in the end, Leonard Garthelle. You’d be wise to remember that in the future.” His hands fall away, arms lax, sprawled there, letting Leonard do all the work.