Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) (14 page)

“Don’t give me that look,” Syri said. “I may be stupid, but I’m stronger than I look. Sort of.”

Victory laughed at Syri’s admission. “So did you rescue them?”

“Hey, they’re in the intensive care unit, and I’m not.” Syri’s smug voice matched her look. “What do you think?”

“I think that I’m suitably impressed and one day I’d like to know how you managed to pull that off,” Victory said.

“I ain’t going anywhere,” Syri said. Her voice lost its bantering tone when she continued. “There were six humans, all men, and they’d cornered Mal and Gregory in an alley. They had guns. I can’t remember the last time I saw a person in this city with a gun.”

“Silver bullets,” Victory said, realization dawning. She couldn’t get anyone to tell her the extent of the two werewolves’ injuries, and Daliana had cited patient confidentiality.

“Gregory had already been shot in the stomach, still in human form. I could tell it wasn’t steel since he was sitting on the ground, dazed. And Mal hadn’t bothered to shift to wolf-form, he was just next to him growling at them instead of attacking back.”

“If it’d been a regular bullet, it wouldn’t have fazed him,” Victory said. “They’re weird like that.”

“Yeah, they are. So…I kinda jumped into the fray,” Syri said. “I got knocked around with the wooden clubs a few of them had before the cops showed up and they ran off. Hence the forehead and cracked rib.”

“Syri, I should tell you something,” Victory said, forcing her voice calm. “Silver-tipped bullets are just that—silver-tipped. There’s still plenty of iron in the rest of them. Pure silver isn’t strong enough to be fired well from a gun.”

The blood drained out of the girl’s already pale elven skin. Her voice catching, Syri said, “Are you serious?”

“Did anyone ever tell you I used to be a mercenary?” Victory said, keeping her tone light. Time to calm the girl down before she had a belated panic attack over her inadvertent close call. Iron was poison to elves, as silver was to the werecreatures and vampires.

“I think so,” Syri said. “Before you came to Limani? But that was a long time ago. I know you’ve been here since before I was born.”

“Yes,” Victory said. “And I occasionally do temporary work if I feel the situation calls for it, to keep my hand in. Time moves differently for you and I. But I’ve kept the skills up. Weapons have changed, and sometimes your elders forget that.” She took Syri’s hand, and the girl gripped it tight. “When I was young, the world was different. I saw the empires move from swords, to guns, to missiles, to nuclear weapons. After the war that created the Wasteland, your people forced us to go back, returning to a world of blades.”

“But isn’t that still all we have?” Syri said.

“Sort of,” Victory said. “There are antique firearms still floating around, pistols and rifles. My sire told me that he’s run into a few old automatic machine guns. But there are always going to be those who want a better gun, one that will shoot farther and make bigger holes, even despite the world-altering spell. So elves and werecreatures and even vampires have to remember we’re still vulnerable to what the humans can create. The world isn’t safe anymore for those like you and I. Immortality can only take us so far. We’ve lost our edge, and now they can kill us as easily as they kill each other.” Had Syri learned anything about the Humanists? One way to find out. “And it looks like they’ve started again.”

“What is going on in here?” a voice snapped.

Victory twisted in her lumpy chair to see one of the ever-present nurses glowering from the entrance to the room, and a male orderly hulking behind her. “Can I help you, ma’am?” Victory said. Talk about terrible timing.

“You are disturbing my patient,” the nurse said, sneering. “What’s wrong with you? Filling a girl’s head with such ideas when she’s already hurt.”

“I’m old enough to be your grandmother, lady—” Syri cut off this newest rant when Victory squeezed her hand in warning.

After checking the nurse’s nametag, Victory again said, “Can I help you, Ms. Sjolander?” No point in being indignant over the fact that the woman had been spying on them.

“Visiting hours are over,” the nurse said. “Sully will escort you from the hospital now so Syri can get her rest.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well come during regular visiting hours, could I?” Victory said. Reasoning with the woman was a long shot, but it never hurt to try. “Since they’re during daylight hours. I’m almost done speaking with Syri, I’ll be happy to leave right after.”

Syri piped up with her own opinion. “Yeah, she’s fine. It’s not like I sleep much. Victory can stay as long as she wants.”

Ms. Sjolander tensed at the mention of Victory’s name. So that’s what this was all about. How long had the nurse been spying on them?

“You’re the vampire?” Ms. Sjolander’s hands clenched at her sides.

Victory rose to her feet. She was still shorter than the nurse by a few inches, but it made her feel better. “Yes, I am.”

Without a word, the nurse spun on her heel, grabbing the elbow of the confused orderly on her way out.

“What the hell was that about?”

Victory resumed her seat next to Syri. “Hell if I know.” The elven girl’s language was catching. “But now we have to talk fast. Where were we?”

“You said something about someone starting again,” Syri said.

“Right,” Victory said. “The reason you and the others were kicked out of the club? And why you were all attacked? There’s a group forming, the Humanists, who—”

She heard heavy footsteps in the hall, and caught a voice saying, “She’s in room 302.” Damn, that was fast.

Syri also perked up, her pointed elven ears even more sensitive than Victory’s. “I’m room 302.”

Victory shot out of her chair and whirled around in time to see three hospital security guards appear in the doorway.

“Ms. Victory,” the lead guard said, “you need to come with us.”

Starting a fight in the middle of Syri’s hospital room would not be a smart idea, even though Victory’s hands itched for a nonexistent weapon. “I’m not finished talking to my friend yet.”

“Hospital policy is that only immediate family may visit outside of visiting hours.” The guard took a step forward. “You can either return to Mr. Connor’s room or leave the hospital.”

Ms. Sjolander appeared behind the security guards. “I think she needs to leave the hospital. She has been harassing the patients and staff since last night.”

“It’s true, sir,” the youngest guard said. “There’ve been lots of complaints.”

What complaints? She’d gotten chewed out by the one intensive care nurse that morning, but no one called security on her. Victory straightened further, drawing on the poise acquired over centuries. “Syri, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here,” she said. “Have a good night. And get some sleep.”

That settled it. Victory must look tired if even Syri could comment on it. Though it pained her sense of independence, she played nice. “So would one of you nice young men like to escort me to my car?” She smiled at the trio, slipping in a hint of fang. If they wanted to throw her out for being a vampire, they got the full treatment.

“Ellis, Wim, go with her,” the leader said. And they were even paranoid enough to send her with two of them.

“Thank you so much,” Victory said, brushing past them toward the exit. The guards hastened to fall in place on either side of her. Then she paused and looked over her shoulder at the head guard, confusing the two young men even more when they walked right past her. “It’s probably best if I leave now,” she said. “I haven’t eaten in hours.”

Now she left the hospital room, on her own terms. To Ms. Sjolander’s sputtering, the guards’ pale faces, and Syri’s hysterical laughter.

Victory left her town-car on the drive in front of the house, not bothering to park it in its spot in the barn. She didn’t intend to be home more than a few hours before returning to the hospital to see Mikelos again and check on Syri.

Despite her levity while the guards escorted her out of the hospital, a lump in her throat had formed the second she got in the town-car and grew larger the entire drive home. She feared that if she stopped moving, she would burst into tears and be worthless to everyone. Better to stay active, put in calls to Max and Daliana and the other nonhuman councilmembers. Then back to the hospital, and this time she would try to make it home again before dawn. She could sleep then.

Victory kicked off her sandals in the foyer, then headed into the kitchen. She flicked on the overhead lights and saw the telephone off its hook, hanging down the wall by the cord behind the kitchen island.

Huh. She hadn’t touched the kitchen phone in a few days, at least. Maybe one of the others forgot to hang it up before leaving last night—Asaron, perhaps, since he and technology did not mix well. Victory walked around the island to return the phone to its rightful spot, hoping no one had called while she was stuck at the hospital all day.

She was tired, more than she’d admit to herself. So she didn’t realize the significance of Toria curling up on the kitchen floor right away, beyond wondering why her daughter chose that particular spot for a nap.

Then it hit her. “Toria!” Victory crouched next to her daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder. She saw no obvious signs of injury, nor did she smell the telltale tang of blood. “Wake up, sweetie.”

Toria groaned in response, the same groan Victory received every morning she woke her daughter through elementary and middle school. She had been glad to shove the job onto Kane when he moved into the manor in high school. Before Victory resorted to more drastic measures, Toria’s eyes popped open, then changed to slits against the bright kitchen lights.

“Mom?” Toria reached for her mother’s hand, and Victory pulled her into a sitting position. She stared around the kitchen. “Oh, man, I didn’t mean to pass out here.” Her voice sounded cracked and dry.

Victory recognized that tone. She stood, hanging up the phone before fetching a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the refrigerator. Toria took it in two shaking hands with a look of utter gratitude.

“Are you okay?” Victory kneeled next to her again while Toria drank. “What happened?” She took in Toria’s grimy and sweat-stained sports bra and jeans, her shirt and duster lying in a pile on the counter above them. “Where are the guys? I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow at the earliest.” The news couldn’t be good, and she dreaded to hear it. She dreaded sharing her own much more.

Setting the empty glass down on the floor next to her, Toria scrubbed her face with her hands. “We weren’t supposed to be. Things got bad, Mama, really fast.”

Victory clasped her daughter’s hand in her own. “Where are Kane and Asaron?” She braced for the worst. But wouldn’t she feel Asaron die? He was her sire, linked by blood even tighter than Mikelos.

Toria breathed deep, staring into space over Victory’s shoulder. “We ran into a Roman patrol right after the guys crossed the Agios River. I was still trying to get my horse to cross, probably all that saved me. I focused my power to Kane to help him fight them off, but a backlash knocked me out.” With obvious effort, she brought her eyes to Victory’s nose, her daughter’s equivalent of looking at her straight on. Toria’s face was ashen, and a single tear trailed down one cheek. “When I came to, they were gone. So was my horse, and the patrol had searched me.”

Mikelos lying in front of the council hall—unconscious, bleeding—had been a blow to the stomach. The news of her captured sire and foster son was almost a stake to the heart. A sharp pain bit her palm and she jumped before she realized the nails of her empty hand were digging into her skin. She unclenched the hand before she could draw blood. “But why—”

“I don’t know why they left me,” Toria said. “Maybe they didn’t have room for another prisoner. They should have taken me.”

“No!” Victory lowered her voice and said, “More likely you were left in warning.”

“For who?” Toria laughed without humor, staring up at the white ceiling. “It’s the army of the Roman fucking Empire. They declared hostile intent when they took Kane and Asaron. Limani doesn’t stand a chance.”

“For someone with such a grasp on tactics, it’s a wonder that you’re so terrible at chess.” Victory’s joke fell flat. Mother and daughter shared a look of despair.

“How can you joke about this, Mama?”

Because if she didn’t, she was going to put a fist through the wall. “I’m sorry. But Asaron has been in worse situations over the years. He’ll take care of Kane.”

With a noncommittal nod, Toria braced a hand on the floor and pushed herself to her feet. “Hey, where’s Dad?”

This time Victory avoided her daughter’s eyes while she also rose. “He’s in the hospital.”

“What! Why?”

“He was attacked,” Victory said. “The Roman Army’s not the only thing we have to deal with right now. The Humanists have also made their move.”

Victory needed to time her announcements better.

Toria had let go of the counter. At Victory’s news, she staggered to one side, catching herself on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Victory grabbed her elbow before she could fall.

“Gah, Mom,” Toria said. “Don’t do that. Is Dad okay?”

Pain and fear filled the look Toria gave her. The fear for her family was obvious, but the pain concerned Victory more. Ignoring her daughter’s question, she instead said, “When you were knocked out last night, what exactly happened?”

“Mama. Is Dad okay?”

“He’ll be fine, he just hurt his knee and ribs.” She wouldn’t mention the hand. Victory grabbed Toria’s chin and peered into her eyes. She didn’t know quite what doctors looked for when they did that, but she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But Toria’s storm-gray eyes seemed large for her pale face. “Now what happened to you? How did you get hurt if the Romans were across the river?”

“It’s just power backlash,” Toria said, pulling out of Victory’s grasp. “I’ve never had one this bad before, but using a river for power is kind of a rush. Can’t expect anything less.”

“You need to see someone about this,” Victory said.

“Who? A doctor?” Using the counter for balance, she headed for the entrance to the family room in halting steps. “This isn’t anything physical. I just need some sleep.”