Everafter Series 2 - Nevermore (6 page)

When Sebastian returned with a pair of neat whiskeys, I introduced him as a friend who had “volunteered to keep me company since Alexa’s out of town” and was gratified to see Bryce take me at my word and go into full-on cruise mode. I didn’t blame him—Sebastian exuded a raw and powerful sexuality that defied the traditional boundaries.

“Your name sounds familiar,” said Bryce as he took a step closer. “Where would I have heard it?”

“Sebastian owns Luna,” I said, knowing that Bryce would recognize the name of one of the most exclusive nightclubs in town. Bryce took yet another step, lightly grazing Sebastian’s arm as he continued to ask questions.

I had no idea how word spread at these kinds of events, but it always did. Within an hour, we had amassed a small group of inquisitive souls who wanted to learn more about the elusive businessman. Sebastian was enjoying the attention, and as I scanned the crowd outside our knot of admirers, I wondered whether any of these new connections would lead to his opening another exclusive establishment—one geared more toward humans, perhaps.

And then I saw her. Olivia was standing alone, which was uncharacteristic—she was almost always surrounded by a few hangers-on. Maybe Sebastian’s presence had enticed them away. Her attention was riveted to him, and when she noticed me looking, she beckoned me over. This was my chance to try to pump her for information, but I would have to be discreet about it.

“Hi, Val.” Olivia never fully uncoiled, as far as I could tell, but tonight she seemed particularly tense.

“Good to see you,” I said easily, as though I didn’t know the cause of her discomfort. “It’s been a while. How are things?”

She shrugged. “Fine. The usual. How’s Alexa?”

Despite the surge of possessiveness that raced like an electric current beneath my skin, I kept my voice even. Olivia’s interest in Alexa never failed to bring out my own
inner beast. “Doing well in Africa. I spoke with her a few days ago. She’ll be coming home in a week.”

“Good, good.” Olivia’s voice was absent, and she had gone back to looking at Sebastian. “What made you bring Brenner along for the ride?”

“You know Sebastian?” I asked, feigning surprise.

“We’ve met,” she said evasively. “How do
you
know him?”

“Alexa has some contacts in the club scene,” I lied, thinking it clever to associate her with Sebastian given Olivia’s not-so-secret crush. “We got into Luna one night. I guess we made an impression, because next thing we knew, the man himself was buying us a drink.”

Olivia made a noncommittal noise. “I’m not sure he can be trusted.”

I paused, pretending to think this over. “Ah. You’re investigating him. For what?”

“I can’t tell you that.” Olivia’s response was automatic.

“Sure, okay,” I said, wanting to keep her talking, not give her a reason to clam up. “But honestly, Sebastian seems like a great guy, and I’ve never gotten any kind of sinister vibe from him. You sure your information is accurate?”

Wrinkles appeared in Olivia’s brow, and I forced myself to maintain a casual demeanor even as I paid close attention to her body’s little tells. “My source is…well, let’s just say that his information has proven to be very valuable.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Watch yourself, Val. Please.”

In that moment, I became certain that she was still investigating the rash of “muggings” a few months ago that had almost taken her life and my own. I wanted to reassure her that that particular monster was no longer a threat—that I’d taken him off the streets myself. But I couldn’t. And someone was feeding her bad information.

I was spared the necessity of coming up with a reply when Sebastian joined us. Olivia stood ramrod straight, but Sebastian gave no sign that he noticed. He extended his hand. “Hello, Olivia.”

She took it briefly. “Sebastian.”

He turned to me. “I need to get back to work, Val. But I’m happy to leave you the car if you’re planning to stay.”

Instantly, I was on full alert. He had emphasized “back to work” subtly enough that Olivia wouldn’t have noticed. The phrase was meant for me. Had something else happened at the club?

“You know, I think I’ll catch a ride with you,” I said. “Early morning at the lab tomorrow. Good night, Olivia.”

As we left, I made a show of waving to Bryce, who was still schmoozing. “Call me!” he mimed across the room—whether to me or to Sebastian, I didn’t know. But my lingering amusement faded when Sebastian picked up his pace as soon as we were in the hallway. Minutes later, I was ducking into the car.

“What’s going on?” I asked as soon as he shut the door behind us.

“I just got a call from one of my contacts. He was at a private party when one of the guests went into the same kinds of spasms that we saw at Luna the other night. Except this guest ended up dead.”

Anxiety settled in my chest. I hadn’t really believed that Vincent’s case could be an isolated incident, but hearing positive confirmation was disturbing. Besides, Vincent had been unconscious when last I’d seen him, not dead
.
What was going on here? Were we witnessing the outbreak of some kind of disease?

“If you’re going to check it out, then I’m coming in with you.”

“A vampire at a private Were party? I don’t think so.”

“Are you a doctor?” I shot back. “I don’t think so.”

“Christ, Val, neither are you.” Sebastian actually raised his voice, which was rare. And unsettling. When I continued to look at him expectantly, he sighed and ran one hand through his shaggy hair. “All right. Fine. You can look at the body.”

As we drove, I thought back to Vincent’s episode, trying to pin down all of his symptoms. Thirst flared deep in my throat as I remembered the blood trickling from his nose, and in that moment, I loathed the parasite that lurked in my veins. What kind of monstrous impulse made me thirsty at the memory of a man’s agony? It would be such a relief when Alexa returned—when my thirst would subside to a dull murmur and no longer threaten my self-control.

We stopped in front of an elegant apartment complex in Tribeca, and I exited the car on Sebastian’s heels lest he change his mind. He went around the side of the building to a private entrance labeled “Penthouse” and rang the bell. Only a few moments later, a man opened the door. The red of his hair matched the crimson stains on his shirt sleeves.

“What’s this?” he exclaimed, staring angrily at me.

“A friend. She’s here to help.” Sebastian’s voice was soothing but also firm. “James, where is—”

“Gone!
Her
kind came to collect, not more than ten minutes ago. And when I protested, I got a call from Blakeslee himself, ordering me to surrender the body.”

Sebastian cursed under his breath. James continued to look at me accusingly. “I had nothing to do with the Consortium’s involvement,” I said, “and I have no idea why they’re being so secretive. Will you just tell me exactly what you saw?”

“It was Martine. Her nose began to bleed, out of nowhere. She’s young, you know, and when she saw herself like that, her face covered in blood…” He trailed off when his voice choked up.

“She began to change,” said Sebastian.

James nodded. “But she couldn’t.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen seizures like that before. As though they would tear her apart. When they finally stopped, she wasn’t breathing.” Anger flared again as he turned to me, displacing his grief. “Happy now?”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” I said, refusing to rise to the bait.

Sebastian squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not going to rest until I find out what—or who—is responsible. We’ll be in touch.”

We walked slowly back to the street, but when we reached the car, Sebastian didn’t open the door. “I need to get back to my office.” His voice was quiet and restrained, but the tension that rippled beneath his skin was not fully human. I fought off a shiver. “Do you mind making your own way home?”

“No, of course not. You’ll let me know how I can help?”

“I will.” He leaned forward slightly, as though to touch me, but apparently thought the better of it. “Good night, Val.”

I watched as his car pulled away, then I began to walk toward the closest subway stop. Sebastian had looked more upset than I’d ever seen him. But his distress was nothing compared to James’s. Clearly, he had cared a great deal for Martine. And now she was dead. How would I have felt, if—

Clenching my teeth, I increased my pace, as though by doing so I could outrun my own fears. I didn’t have to imagine how I would feel if Alexa had been the one to die before my eyes. I knew exactly how that felt because once, not so long ago, I had believed that I’d killed her. The worst day of my life.

I fished my phone out of my pocket then, afraid that I’d missed a call from her while at the party. But there were no messages. It had been almost four days now since I’d heard from her—longer than normal.

Tamping down my unease, I descended into the subway. She was fine. She would call tomorrow. And within a week, she would be in my arms.

Chapter Five

I couldn’t sleep. Instinct nagged at me, a dull ache in my head insisting there was something terribly wrong with the world. The afterimage of James’s dark, anguished eyes was burned into my memory, but that wasn’t all that had been keeping me awake. In the two days that had passed since the fund-raiser, Alexa still hadn’t called. Before now, I had heard from her at least twice a week, despite the fact that the nearest telephone was in a village over two hours’ run from Telassar. I had no way of contacting her. And despite my rational brain’s calm assurances that there was a logical explanation for her silence—the phone had broken, maybe, or she was busy as she prepared to come home—images of her alone in danger, injured or even worse, flooded my imagination. Last night, in a frenzy of need and anxiety, I had downed one of the two remaining bags of her blood. The taste, a fading echo of the glorious ambrosia that ran through her veins, had only sharpened my thirst.

This morning I had caved, calling first Karma and then Sebastian to enlist their help. Karma worked closely with Malcolm Blakeslee, the Weremaster of New York. If something big had happened in Telassar, he would know and she would be able to find out. If I was being honest with myself, though, I was counting more on Sebastian’s underground contacts and unofficial channels. It made me crazy to have to count on anyone at all, but without knowing Telassar’s location, I had no choice, no power, no control.

I stared at the fine cracks in the ceiling. They seemed to warp and twist in the flickering ambient light from the city that filtered through my window. They reminded me of Vincent’s seizing body—how he had writhed in pain, unable to take refuge in his wolf. What force was powerful enough to keep a shifter from changing? Some kind of drug? A pathogen? Were others in danger? Would Alexa
be in danger, if…no, no,
when
she returned? Sighing, I checked the clock. After two a.m. Either I could lie there spinning my mental wheels until the sun came up, or I could do something about the other source of my dread. The one on
this
continent.

Half an hour later, I walked into the lobby of the Consortium, heading directly for the bank of elevators. I spared a glance for the receptionist and wished I hadn’t. Giselle. She had tried to seduce me once at Helen’s behest. It hadn’t worked, but the memory of how she had drawn one long fingernail across her own skin, parting it to allow her blood to rise and tempt my thirst, set my throat to throbbing.

“Hello, Valentine,” she called, her voice low and teasing.

I ignored her and stepped into the open elevator, then punched the button marked “L.” The library was the floor below the penthouse. It boasted all of the standard features, with the added bonus of a librarian who had been born in the nineteenth century. At two thirty on a Friday morning, it was busier than I’d ever seen it during the daylight hours. It was surprising how often I forgot that Alexa’s blood was the only reason I could still walk unharmed in the sunlight. And that the majority of my people could not do the same.

I sat at one of the computers, nodding to the vampire who occupied the seat next to mine, and called up the Consortium’s database. I squeezed my gritty eyes shut and forced myself to relive the sequence of events at Luna. Then I input every search term I could think of: bloody nose, seizures, vomiting, failure to shift.

Nothing. No hit results at all. So I tried a different tack and entered the broadest search I could think of. “Unable to shift.” This time, I got results, but they weren’t at all what I was expecting.

Were-women didn’t shift when they were pregnant. I sat back in my chair, working through the medical logic. It made sense: the transformation of a pregnant shifter would be catastrophic for her fetus. Suddenly, my senses were assaulted by the mental image of Alexa, her face radiant with joy as I rested one hand on the swell of her belly—as I felt the first kick of our growing child. The vampire parasite had rendered me sterile, but Alexa could bear as many children as she wanted. As we
wanted.

I closed my eyes in agony as that unexpected desire clashed with the uncertainty of our reality. Clenching my jaw, I struggled to regain equilibrium. She was fine. She would make it back; I would see her in just three more days. I had to focus—to make sure that New York was a safe place for her to return to.

Link after link took me to more information about shifter pregnancy. Consortium scientists hadn’t yet positively identified the mechanism by which the change was suppressed, but they suspected it was hormonal. The science distracted me for a few minutes before I got back on task, skimming through the remaining hits for anything that resembled Vincent’s condition at Luna. I found a few interesting entries on the herb wolfsbane, which, when diluted and injected into a shifter, could delay transformation for up to an hour, depending on the size of the dose. But according to the official Consortium records, there was nothing that could prevent a male shifter from making the change.

Whatever had happened to Vincent and Martine was either too new to be in the archives, or too secret. Given the alacrity with which Helen’s security guards had responded to both emergencies, combined with Clavier’s refusal to share any information, I suspected the latter. Which meant that I couldn’t go to either of them for help.