Starlight(Pact Arcanum 4) (24 page)

No breath.

Rafael dropped to his knees in the sticky, cold stain and rolled Antonio over on his back.

No heartbeat.

Rafael tore open the Harbinger’s shirt and placed both hands on bare skin, drawing up his own raw life force and letting it spill into the limp form under his touch. Antonio absorbed the power like pouring water into an infinite well. Rafael continued to channel his strength into the healing, allowing Antonio’s natural regenerative abilities to take what they needed to repair the damage to his mangled wrists.

Rafael struggled to keep his focus.
So much blood.
His fangs extended as the hunger raged in his mind, magnified by the loss of his life’s energy, demanding that he feed to replace what he was losing.
No! Please, just a little longer.

A faint vibration tore him away from his inner struggle.
There!
Weak, irregular, but still a heartbeat. Rafael accelerated the flow of energy, becoming dizzy with fatigue.
Let me be strong enough.

Antonio took a shallow breath, and his eyes snapped open.

Rafael barely had a moment to whisper a silent prayer of thanks before Antonio’s fist slammed into his temple.

* * *

Rafael woke, finding himself lying naked in bed, a pile of fresh clothes on the nightstand. He inhaled deeply, finding nothing but the pervasive scent of bleach.

Nothing but that and Antonio, sitting in a chair across the room from him, dressed in one of Rafael’s cast-off t-shirts and a pair of track pants.

Rafael said nothing as he slipped out of bed and got dressed, not taking his eyes off the younger man.

Antonio remained slumped in his seat, not meeting Rafael’s accusing glare. “I tried to replenish a bit of what you lost, enough that you wouldn’t immediately try to eat me.”

Rafael buttoned his shirt silently, and then sat on the bed. “That was smart, knocking me out. It would have been a shame to go to all that effort, if the first thing I did afterward was kill you in a starvation frenzy. You'd better keep your distance until I have a chance to feed, though."

"I'm not in the mood for a hug, anyway."

“I was thinking more along the lines of beating the crap out of you, but I'll settle for an explanation."

Antonio raised his eyes to meet Rafael’s, and the Nightwalker quailed at the emotions boiling off the younger man’s psyche. Defeat. Hopelessness. Despair.

Rage.

“Why did you save me?” asked Antonio, lips white with fury. “Another minute or two, and I would have been free.”

“Free? From what? What the hell is going on in your head, Tony?”

Antonio collapsed farther into his chair, the faint spark of anger snuffed out. “How did you know where I was?”

 “The passcode to the door I gave you automatically notifies me that access had been granted to a visitor. I came home to find out why you were in my room in the middle of the night. I thought maybe you had another argument with Nick or Layla.”

Antonio’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with terror. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”

Rafael frowned. “I find you almost dead in a pool of your own blood, and
now
you’re worried about their opinion? Give me one reason not to.”

“If you tell them what I did, then next time, I won’t use your apartment.”

Rafael sat perfectly, inhumanly still. “Fine. I won’t tell them. On one condition.”

Antonio rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Well?”

“You swear to me that there won’t be a next time.”

Antonio opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Thank you for not lying to me.”

Antonio sighed, and stared at the discoloration at the base of his right wrist—the only sign of the scars that had already faded. “I don’t think I could do it again. Monofilament scalpels are supposed to be sharp enough that you don’t feel anything, but
damn
that hurt.”

“You’re stalling,” said Rafael. He folded his arms in front of himself and stared at the younger man. “Tell me why.”

“It’s never enough,” whispered Antonio. His expression grew haunted. “No matter how hard I try to live up to their expectations, I always fall short. They keep telling me I have a destiny to fulfill. Well, no one asked me whether I wanted it. It’s too much.”

“Tony, I know you’re under a lot of pressure…”

“Pressure?” asked Tony with a look of incredulity. “They want me to do an internship at the Court Embassy in Icehaven, to better understand the mindset of Nightwalkers.”

Rafael raised his eyebrows. “Granted, Icehaven can be a bit oppressive for the other races, but—”

“For a
year
.”

Rafael closed his mouth with a snap. “Jesus. Are they that obsessed with making you the perfect leader?”

“Of course they are. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

Rafael considered that for a moment. He had to admit that Tony had a point. From talking with Layla, he understood that she was deathly afraid that the White Wind might have some terrible plan in mind for her son, and was determined to make sure Antonio was prepared for every eventuality. Rafael’s friendship with Nick had also remained strong over the years, and he knew the Daywalker was inordinately proud of his nephew’s accomplishments, saying on more than one occasion that Tony was so incredibly gifted at everything he did, there was no limit to his potential.

Come to think of it, maybe that’s just what Tony wants them to believe. There’s been a certain lack of engagement in his behavior lately. He seemed less vital, as if something was missing.
Rafael cursed himself silently for missing the signs of Antonio’s depression. He’d even mentioned it to Nick, that Tony seemed more tired and cranky than usual. Nick had laughed it off.
I should have looked more closely.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “All right, Tony. What can I do to help?”

Antonio straightened. “You’ll help me? Truly?”

Rafael nodded. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Antonio got to his feet and began to pace, nervous energy giving him the excitement that he had lacked. “You have to get them off my back. Tell them I need time away. No, that won’t work. They’ll just wait until I come back and start again. There has to be a clean break, someplace I can go that they won’t come after me, something I can do where they can’t interfere…”

He trailed off, staring at the winged arrowhead printed on the pocket of Rafael’s shirt, the seal of the Spacer Guild. A radiant smile broke through his expression of concentration, and for a moment, Rafael felt a kernel of hope in Antonio’s emotions. “Tell them I want to be a Spacer.”

NOW: November 2142; Sanctuary, French Alps

Rafael put the picture aside and went to the window to stare at the moon.
The first time you stood up for yourself, and it was in the midst of your greatest moment of weakness. You always did keep me guessing.

The Spacer considered his life over the last century. He had believed that he’d been lonely since Toby died, but he hadn’t really. Layla had made him part of her family, and there was always work to do, either for House Curallorn or for the Guild.

And there was Antonio.

He remembered the bright, shining smile of the boy he had known, and thought about how everything would have been different if he had been too late that day.

He closed his eyes.
I almost lost you.

He allowed himself to remember the dream from earlier in the night, the feeling of Antonio’s arms around him. It felt like…home.

He turned away from the window and walked back to the desk to tap the access key on his comm terminal. “Request access to the Sanctuary Nexus Hub.”

“The Nexus greets you, Rafael Primogenitor Curallorn.”

“I would like to request an audience with Nexus Violet, if he has a moment to meet with me. My interest is personal and specific, so please spare me the usual crap about the Nexus having no individual voice.”

“Stand by, Primogenitor.”
After a moment, there was a soft tone, and Revenant’s avatar appeared before him.

Rafael stared at the image of the man he had loved, and for the first time, felt nothing. “You’re not Toby.”

“You’re right,” said Revenant, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

“Then maybe we should talk about something else.”

Revenant gave a very human shrug. “Like what?”

Rafael smiled. “Tell me about Antonio.”

C
HAPTER 39

November 2142; Northwest of Juneau, Alaska

Nick woke suddenly, wondering what had disturbed his sleep before noticing that there was only one warm body in the bed with him. He unwrapped himself from Rory, and slipped out of bed. Following the sound of the third heartbeat, he found Lorcan standing on the porch watching the eastern sky lighten. Nick silently stole up behind him, and slid his arms around Lorcan’s waist.

Lorcan leaned back into Nick’s warmth, as he covered Nick’s arms with his. They stood like that for another half an hour, watching the sunrise.

Nick sighed, his breath steaming in the air. “I wish Rory could share this with us.”

“Maybe he will, someday, after the Great Work is complete.”

“You heard what he told us about the Grace. The Great Work won’t end until he’s dead.”

“Dead, or redeemed. Maybe we can find a way to use the Grace to save him.”

Nick shook his head minutely. “I’ve studied the Grace many times over the last several decades, when Rory would let me observe some of its basic workings. It won’t work on him unless he loses his soul and the Red Wind dissipates, and that can’t happen as long as he’s alive. Even then, the Grace is bound to his soul, so it would be lost with him when he dies. The White Wind trapped him with their bargain, and they won’t let him go.”

Lorcan tensed in his arms. “Then maybe it’s time we had a word with the opposition.”

Nick stiffened and then pulled back, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Wait. After everything the White Wind put us through, you want to try and cut a deal with the
Red?”

Lorcan turned around to face him. “Maybe it can tell us something we haven’t thought of.”

Nick swallowed against the knot of fear in his throat. “No. I won’t play into their games. Don’t you think the White Wind would have known if we were going to betray it? Besides, there’s no way Rory would ever build us a binding chalice to make another Pact Arcanum.”

“We don’t need to talk to them directly, Nicholas,” said Lorcan with an air of patience. “You, at least, have an alternative.”

“The Crown of Souls,” said Nick, his mind choked with dread. “You want me to ask it to save Rory?”

“Isn’t it worth a try?”

“Magic requires sacrifice, Leshir,” said Nick softly. “The Crown is an abomination. Do we really want to know the price for its help?”

“The White Wind has always dangled its knowledge of future events before us to get us to do exactly what it wants. We need to look for other allies.”

Nick chuckled softly. “That’s what Luscian thought.”

Lorcan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, the silent question written in his expression.

“His peers cast him out for his dangerous research. Even during the First Age, there was some magic that should never have been studied. He sought out the Red Wind to find allies to get his revenge.”

“Luscian was a figure of might and authority for thirty thousand years. I don’t see the downside to his deal.”

“Because it didn’t matter in the end. Everything he built, the great edifice of power that was House Luscian, it was destroyed root and branch. He died with nothing. I’m all that’s left of his legacy.”

Lorcan brushed his knuckles tenderly across Nick’s cheek. “I still don’t see the downside, Leshir.”

Nick took a deep breath. “You really want me to do this?”

“I think we have to, if only to know if it’s impossible.”

Nick nodded and let his breath go. “We need to do it before Rory wakes up, or he’ll try and stop us.” He called Reaper to his hand, and stared at the blade, the vivid blue of the flames surrounding it looking somehow unreal in the bright orange sunlight. Then he reached out to the Crown of Souls and felt its power reverberate in his mind.
“Can you hear me?”

The world suddenly shifted violently and Nick found himself standing in the center of a crossroads made of gravel, enshrouded in mist.

“Hello, Nicholas.”

Nick spun in place, raising Reaper to strike. Then he faltered as he saw the figure standing before him.

Luscian smiled, his fangs showing in challenge. “And the look of fear on your face makes it all worthwhile.”

Nick raised his sword again. “No, you’re dead. I killed you!”

Luscian laughed. “You can’t threaten me with my own sword, fledgling.” He snapped his fingers.

The blue flames sheathing the blade of Reaper flickered and went out. The blade grew heavy in Nick’s hand as the glowing blue runes faded, leaving only midnight black steel. Nick found he couldn’t lift it anymore, and the point of the sword fell until it touched the gravel road. Try as he might, he couldn’t do more than retain his hold on the grip and prevent the sword from slipping from his grasp.

Intuitively, he understood that to lose the sword in this place was to lose his hold on the Crown. He didn’t want to know what that would mean for his soul, whether the Crown would simply swallow him up, or the entrapped souls would slip their bonds and possess him as they had before. He bared his fangs and snarled. “I defy you, Father.”

Luscian nodded in approval. “I chose well. It’s a pity I didn’t live to see to your education. In time, you might have stood at my right hand, the better to taunt the Redeemer.” He snapped his fingers again.

The sword grew light in Nick’s hand, the runes spilling down the blade as they reappeared. The edges suddenly flared as the flames returned. Nick raised the sword again, then held it point down as he faced his sire.