No Rest for the Wicked (6 page)

his reflection in a shop window. As he stood arrested, he brought his hand up to grasp his

chin.

Christ, why wouldn’t she run?

He looked like a monster in the pouring rain. His face was sun-blistered down one side

and gaunt from irregular feeding—he had never been able to make himself drink enough to

sustain his weight. His hair was cut haphazardly, and his clothes were worn and

threadbare.

In her eyes, Sebastian was penniless, living in a heap, without friends or relations. He’d

given her no indication that he would be a worthy partner for her. In his time, a female had

needed to be assured that the male she cast her lot with could provide for her. Surely

something so elemental hadn’t changed.

Worse than all this, he was a vampire—which she clearly detested.

He would never be able to share days outside with her. God, how he already missed the

sun—now more than ever because he couldn’t walk in it with her.

Vampiir. He raked his hand through his wet hair. What kind of children would I give her?

Would they drink blood?

He’d have run from him, too.

How could he expect her not to be repulsed by what he’d become, when he himself was?

He subsisted on blood. He was relegated to shadow.

“You’ll never be my husband,” she’d vowed.

“I’ll destroy myself,” he’d vowed to Nikolai the last night he’d seen him.

How could Sebastian persuade her to live with him, when for three centuries he hadn’t

been able to persuade himself that he deserved to live at all?

Yet even briefly, Sebastian had gotten her to kiss him and accept his unpracticed

advances. With time, surely he could overcome her aversion.

Perhaps other vampires were evil—he’d never seen any besides his brothers. But he could

prove to her that he was not. He could protect her and provide anything she desired.

Returning to Blachmount was no longer avoidable—all his wealth was there, buried on the

grounds. Before Sebastian and Conrad had left the battlefield, Sebastian had amassed a

fortune in war spoils from the Russian officers, including the castle he currently occupied.

He had half a dozen chests filled with gold coins, stamped with the imprint of some

ancient god in flight. Several more chests contained jewels the officers had plundered from

the east before their greedy gazes turned to neighboring Estonia .

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) He would force himself to drink and to buy new clothes. He’d purchase a new home for

them—he’d be relieved if he never returned to that wretched castle.

When he found her again, he would appear as a man worthy of consideration as a

husband. But to acquire the things necessary to do this, Sebastian would be forced to

navigate the new world around him. He’d seen cars but had never driven one. He’d seen

advertisements for movies but had never viewed one. Planes flew overhead, and he knew

the composition of their engines from books, but he’d never traveled in one.

And he would have to walk among humans, though he’d always felt that they could look

at him and suspect what he was—an abomination, trying to pass as one of them.

Or worse, he feared that he might crave drinking them. Yet, never had that happened

before Kaderin’s golden skin had been just before him. Could he control himself with her?

Was it selfish to seek her? No, he was disciplined. He could forbear, as his brothers’ order

called it.

He wanted his Bride back, and would have her again if it killed him.

Turning away from the window, he stared out into the rain, realizing he’d been wanting

her all his life. Sebastian shook his head ruefully. Even before she’d become all he had.

London , England

Everything is under control.

Kaderin’s blessing was back in place, even though, to any who saw her, she appeared

disoriented.

Since the time when London had been a marshy encampment beside a forgettable river,

vampires had hunted in the fog here. And whenever she’d visited, she’d hunted them.

After her debacle in Russia , she’d chosen to come to this Lore-rich city because she had a

private flat here that none of the Valkyrie knew about, and because it was a good base for

the Hie—not because she couldn’t face her coven.

Tonight was her first in the city, and she’d set out for King’s Cross with one objective: to

kill leeches. Beneath her trench coat, her sword and whip rested hidden. She meandered

down a cobblestone back way she remembered well—just over a century ago, two

vampire brothers had nearly beheaded her on these very bricks.

Kaderin didn’t despise vampires only for her sisters’ sake.

Along the alley, she’d gradually begun to act as though she were lost in the dingy veil of

the city, even subtly limping—signaling a predator that dinner was here for the taking.

She tried to convince herself that her excursion wasn’t meant to prove anything. This

wasn’t an exercise to see if she still had the stones to hunt vampires. That would be too

cliché, too movie-montage-worthy, as she busted heads and cleaned out the streets of

London .

To kill tonight was, simply, her life as usual.

A gang of five of them materialized from thin air. “Seems my birthday came early, boys,”

Kaderin drawled. They were dressed like street thugs, and their glowing red eyes were

spattered with floating black flecks. Dirty eyes. When they drank beings to death, they

drank from the pit of the soul, taking all the bad, absorbing all the madness and sin into

themselves.

The five surrounded her; she yanked her sword free and struck hard without delay.

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) A flip of her wrist claimed her first head. Lookit, Kaderin thought. A vampire’s head

rolling across a London back alley. Business as usual. Control.

They began tracing all around her, striking out with fists or blades. She yanked her coiled

metal whip free from her belt. Titanium. With a whip, she could contain a tracing vampire.

One recognized her with the first crack and escaped, fleeing the fight.

Ah, but the other three are going to roll the dice.

Her whip caught one’s neck, coiling round again and again, snapping at the end.

The house always wins.

She yanked, sending him listing toward her, right into her sword’s reach. As she severed

his head, she kicked behind her to ward off the other two. She ducked under the bigger

one’s blade, and it sank into his comrade’s temple.

Blood sprayed. She was in her element now. Cool dispassion. Cold killing. Her sword

flew, her whip cracked—she was back to normal.

How irrational she’d been, fleeing hysterically from Russia , with all the weeping and

uncontrollable shaking. How many times had she moaned, “Oh, dear Freya, what have I

done?” or recalled the look on that vampire’s face when he’d realized he was going to

have to let her go into the sun?

She’d had an indiscretion. As Valkyrie sometimes did.

Like Myst the Coveted? Kaderin thought, delivering a killing blow to the vampire with the

knife jutting from his head like a horn. When Myst had been in a Horde prison, the

Forbearer rebels took the castle, and one of their generals had freed her to make love to

her. Before the Valkyrie could rescue her, things had gotten out of hand in a dank cell.

Myst’s status among the Lore—which she’d built over lifetimes—was ruined. She was

shunned, an outcast. Even the nymphs ridiculed her. There was no ignominy worse than

that—

The last one threw a hit to Kaderin’s jaw that had her seeing double for a moment, but she

blindly punched out and connected. Then she was back on her toes, sword gliding,

thoughts whirring. As the two of them circled each other, Kaderin recalled the ultimate fall

from grace. Just decades ago, a Valkyrie named Helen had had sex with a vampire, and

then bore his child, Emmaline. Helen had died of sorrow—because the vampire had turned

on her.

Another strike of her sword. The last one barely dodged it and cursed her.

“Goodness. I have never been called a bitch before.” She wiped her sleeve over her face,

and their eyes met.

Vampires turned. That was what they did. She hadn’t missed that Sebastian had hesitated

with his mouth over her neck, even giving it a slow lick. He’d contemplated it.

Yes, eventually, even Sebastian would drink a victim to death, accidentally or not. His

steady, clear gray eyes would grow dirty red with bloodlust, and the Horde would claim

yet another soldier. Just like the one in front of her.

The thought had her charging forward with a shriek. She dipped and rolled, planting her

sword up through his chest. Shooting to her feet, she snatched it back to swing for the

head with a clean slice.

Her sword didn’t whistle, because air rarely perceived it in time.

Too easy, not worthy, she thought as she dropped down for his fangs. Four. Whoop-de-

fucking-do. If they’d been fish, she’d have caught and released.

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) But she was back, and now her mind was clear regarding Sebastian Wroth. No longer did

that vampire’s loneliness cling to her like the fog crawling on this city. With this clarity,

she would be back to normal for the Hie in just two days. She would not be freaking out,

as she’d predicted on her way to London . Nor would she be so sc-sc-screwed, as she’d

figured.

No, here she was. Cold as ice.

From King’s Cross, she jogged back toward her place in Knightsbridge, her blood-soaked

clothing cloaked in the night mist. Her courtyard townhouse was in the perfect location.

Close enough to shopping—if Kaderin was ever moved to that—but it also backed into

narrow and murky mews, which allowed her to enter the residence unseen. From the back,

she bounded over her courtyard wall, let herself in, then dashed up the stairs.

Kaderin yanked off the clothes she’d filched from Myst, took an appraising glance, and

tossed them onto the do-not-resuscitate laundry pile. She hopped into the shower,

washing away all the blood.

As she lathered her hair, she didn’t think about the vampire. At all. She ignored questions

about why he’d been in that castle and what exactly had made him want to end his forlorn

existence. All that information, such as where he had been a warrior, was incidental.

After she won the Hie, and when she was ready, she’d return to finish him.

In the meantime, he would be searching for her. Vampires who’d found their... their

Brides didn’t tolerate losing them. But he wouldn’t be able to find her, knowing nothing

but her first name. The villagers would scurry away in fear before each sunset, staying

away at night until she could return—or they would face her promised wrath.

And anyone else from the Lore who could reveal that information would run from the

sight of him simply because he was a vampire. He was an outsider everywhere, with

everyone, whether human or Lore creature. And while she competed in the Hie, he

certainly wouldn’t be able to locate her. In the coming weeks, she’d never sleep in the

same place twice and would be racing to the farthest reaches of the earth, obtaining prizes,

jewels, and amulets.

She’d face him when she chose, and on her terms. Yes, everything was under control.

6

I n the last three days, Sebastian had found it hellish to be around so many humans—a

blood drinker, a predator, walking among them as if he were still one of them. Especially

since women had begun gazing at him longingly, and even following him, to his

consternation.

But he reminded himself what was at stake and completed task after task in anticipation of

finding Kaderin, even as he had no idea how to do so. The villagers, his only lead, had

disappeared, at least during the nights. Of course, she’d warned them.

After all this time away, he’d finally returned to Blachmount, and he’d been awed as ever

by the old manor, even if it was as decrepit as his own holding. He’d dug up gold from his

chests, then sold the coins in Saint Petersburg . Cash in hand, he’d bought clothing at the

only place he knew wealthy men acquired clothing—Savile Row in London . He’d been to

the port of London once when he’d been mortal and remembered it only vaguely. Yet one

mental picturing of it put him there.

Money got him tailoring appointments after sunset, and each night before he set out in that

city, he forced himself to buy and drink blood from the butcher.

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) He’d done these tasks because he wanted to become a man she could want. But he was

also desperate for anything to keep his mind occupied. At every turn, he wondered where

she was at that moment and if she was safe. She’d cried that morning, had doubled over in

pain.

And he couldn’t find her.

Her accent had a tinge of a drawl, but that helped little in determining her place of origin.

He couldn’t trace to her home country to begin a search, because he didn’t even know

what continent she lived on. Besides, his brothers had told him that vampires could only