The Lost (35 page)

They had spent the night combing the area they had identified as the origin of the power, only to find nothing. It had been in the late hours as they headed home that the traces of a strong source of energy had called them to this spot. Of course by then there was a swarm of humans in and around the lighthouse, clearly excited about something.

As they stood there, listening to the crowd, it became apparent that a rather unusual lightning storm had caught the attention of the humans. Person after person gathered there spoke of sheets of lightning, both horizontal and
vertical, that had struck along the beach, as well as thunder so powerful it had knocked pictures off walls.

But Christopher knew it had been no ordinary storm.

Even now, after hours of watching and waiting, the wisps of great power lingered, wafting throughout the people crowding behind the barricades the police had set up just beyond the lighthouse.

A sudden surge of the crowd ahead of them alerted him that something was finally occurring. With a look from the corner of his eye at Ryan, he and his captain pushed forward, weaving through the crowd until they could see what had prompted its reaction.

From their height head and shoulders above the crowd, Christopher easily saw the two big blobs being pushed along on gurneys by the EMTs. As the sunlight touched them, they glittered, and he realized then that he was staring at two large bits of irregular glass.

“I’ve heard about lighting strikes in sand making glass… one person ahead of them began.

“Fulgurites,” Ryan said from beside him.

Christopher nodded, though these were nothing like the hollow tubes caused by a lightning strike superheating sand. The kind of power needed to create such large pools of glass had to have been extreme. And it had to have been concentrated outward, along the surface, rather than traveling deep into the sand the way the power of a bolt would normally descend.

These fulgurites spoke of immense energy and control. But why two of them? he wondered, until something occurred to him.

“Have we heard from William and his friend?” he said, and with a final stare at the glass being loaded into
the back of an ambulance, presumably for further examination down at the local coroner’s, he pivoted and walked away from the crowd.

Ryan chased after him, but not before craning his head for another look at the unusual fulgurites. “We haven’t. Why do you—”

Christopher stopped and raised his hands, turning in a circle as he picked his head up like a dog chasing a scent. “Do you not feel it? They were here—Light Hunters. And the Quinchu we seek as well. The traces of his power linger.”

“You think William found them here?” Ryan asked, mimicking Christopher, his eyes opening wider as the remnants of power finally registered. “I feel it, Añaru. The Light Hunters were here.”

“And so were my father’s men, before someone turned them into those blobs you saw back there.” Christopher jerked his thumb in the direction of the ambulance and then charged forward toward his car.

It had been a late night and he needed to rest.

His captain chased after him once more, like a puppy after its master. “What do we do now?”

Christopher smiled patiently. “We wait. Power that strong can only hide for so long.”

On that Christopher would stake not only his life, but the continued existence of his people. For that reason, he could not fail in his quest. He would find the Quinchu and once he had discovered the secret of that power, there would be nothing to keep him from seizing control of his Shadow clan.

T
he flares of energy shooting off Alexander’s aura were Christopher’s first clue that his father could be defeated.

The second clue was the way his father rubbed at a spot on his chest. The action left dirty streaks on the pristine white fabric from the pustules beneath that ruptured with each angry stroke of his father’s hand. Clearly his father was too weak to control the pox.

“What happened to my men?” Alexander repeated, agitation apparent in every jerky movement and the emerging red rash along the edges of his collar. Soon the rash would blossom into even more angry sores.

“I suggest you call the Monmouth County Coroner’s Office. I hear they have some unusual objects in their possession,” Christopher replied drolly, and walked to the bar tucked along one side of his father’s office. He picked up the cut crystal decanter and waved it toward his father.

“Would you care for a drink, Alexander?” Christopher
asked as if his future and the very fate of his people weren’t at risk. Inside, however, his gut churned with the possibility that since his father’s control was so diminished, he wouldn’t hesitate to attack to replenish his energy.

The sly glance that Alexander shot the other occupants of the room—Christopher’s cadre captain, Ryan, and Christopher’s fiancée, Maya—hinted that some part of Alexander’s twisted mind was, in fact, considering a strike. That his intentions were obvious to the others was evident as Ryan dipped his head in deference and said, “Añaru. We only live to serve. We believe William and his man were killed by the Light Hunters.”

“And I can guarantee it was not the same death that my man Andrew suffered,” Christopher added, still angered by the fact that his father had drained his cadre member’s life force.

Alexander shrugged, but shot a sly glance at Maya. For some time Christopher had believed that his fiancée had known the truth about Andrew’s murder. The look confirmed his suspicion and reinforced another: Maya could not be trusted.

With a dismissive flip of his hand, Alexander said, “Andrew betrayed you, Christopher. He came here with tales—”

“Not tales, but you know that, don’t you? You tasted the power the Light Hunter infused in Andrew when you fed from him,” Christopher said as he uncapped the decanter and poured brandy into three matching snifters.

“Amazing power. Have you discovered the source of it?” Alexander asked, wringing his hands before him like a hungry man staring at a feast.

Christopher strolled to his father’s desk and placed the glass on its surface. “Possibly.”

Not wanting to get too close to Alexander in his unstable state, he continued across the room toward Maya, glancing at Ryan, who stood at ease a few feet away. Ryan’s hands were held before him loosely, but Christopher could tell from his stance that he was ready to take action if necessary.

Maya lounged in a leather wing chair, her legs crossed, displaying their elegant lines. Her skin was a flawless creamy expanse, a testament to the fact that she had recently fed to abate the pox in her body. Her demeanor was seemingly relaxed, but Christopher knew her well enough to recognize the changes in her aura that signaled her unease. Small tendrils of silver and blue shivered in the dirty red of her visible life force.

Christopher balanced on the arm of the wing chair and handed her a snifter. This close to her, he could feel the pulse of her sexual energy, awakening need in him. Too bad it was empty need, he thought, and took a sip of the aged brandy.

His father continued with his plea. “You cannot be so selfish, Christopher. The clan needs such power.”

“You mean you need it, father.” He glanced at Alexander over the rim of his snifter as he took another pull on the liquor.

“You ungrateful bastard,” his father growled as he charged around the edge of his desk, all vestiges of control gone.

With practiced ease, both Christopher and Ryan jumped to action and raised their hands, discharging waves of power that stopped Christopher’s father in his tracks.

Alexander lifted his hand and pushed against their combined energy fields. “You dare defy your Añaru?” With a determined push, he dug his fingers into the wall of energy.

Tiny tendrils erupted from his fingers and slowly wove a web across the surface of the field. Like the spiders for which the Añaru were named, Alexander spun a web to capture the men’s energy and drink it in along the rapacious tendrils.

“Break off, Ryan,” Christopher called out.

Christopher experienced a ripple through his body as Ryan pulled back his life force, leaving only him and his father connected. As the Añaru, his father’s power should have been devastating, rendering Christopher weak and listless in a matter of minutes. Instead, Christopher sensed only a negligible draw.

“You are weak, Father,” he said as he took a step closer and pushed his father backward with the strength of his energy.

“I am your Añaru. You will obey me,” Alexander replied, but there was little conviction in his words. He, too, recognized that the son had become greater.

If Christopher had been like Alexander, he would have issued the challenge for leadership of the clan now, the way Alexander had done to his father. But Christopher had no desire for the fight to the death that was demanded by the traditions of his people.

Christopher was not his father.

He took another step forward, and Alexander stumbled back again until he was pinned to the edge of his desk. “You are weak because you continue to feed on the humans and Hunters. That only strengthens the pox that blights us.”

“You are wrong,” Alexander replied, wild-eyed from the euphoria of his feeding and fear of the power imprisoning him against his desk.

“You forget the ways of our people. We were stronger when we worked to gather energy,” Christopher chastised.

Shaking his head in denial, his father increased the size of the web ensnaring Christopher’s field of power.

“You see. I am stronger,” Alexander said, and as Christopher watched, the red rash along his father’s neck slowly faded.

With a sharp mental command, Christopher jerked away his power, severing the connection with his father, who slumped against his desk, obviously weakened by the disruption.

“The problem with your way, Alexander, is that eventually either you run out of people to drain or they revolt.”

With a sidelong glance at Ryan and then at Maya, Christopher gestured with a flick of his hand to the door. “I will not challenge you, Father. But I cannot allow my people to follow this path to ruin.”

He strode to the door, Ryan at his back, protecting him. When Christopher reached the entrance, he paused to look toward his father and Maya, who stood hesitantly in the middle of the room, glancing from his father to him, as if trying to decide with whom to cast her fate.

“Maya?” he questioned, having no delusions that his fiancée would make her choice out of love. She was his mate solely because she was the most powerful female in their clan and nearly at her Equinox, as was he. When that peak came, a mating between them would
heighten their power and bring forth even more powerful children to ensure the continuation of their Shadow Hunter clan.

He had no need to wait for Maya to make a choice. He walked out of the room with Ryan. In the hall outside his father’s office, the remaining members of their respective cadres waited.

Christopher inspected his men and women, aware that he would be asking them to make a difficult choice. Go with him and they would likely be banished from the clan. To a people who often relied on their collective energies to sustain them, exile was almost like death.

And yet Christopher had no doubt that continuing down the path on which his father was leading the clan would be their downfall. Those who chose to follow Christopher would return to the old ways of their people. He was certain that would not only make each of them more powerful in his or her own right, but lift the prospects of all within the clan.

“Do you go with me?” he asked his people after his father’s cadre members had stepped back into Alexander’s office and closed the door.

One by one the members of his cadre lined up before him. Almost in unison they dipped their heads and raised their right hands to their chests. In a chorus of powerful and united voices, they said, “We live to serve, Añaru.”

Christopher glanced at Ryan and Maya, who left his side and came to stand before him. As the others had done before, they saluted him and repeated the vow.

Christopher walked from one Hunter to another, shaking hands and clapping their backs, acknowledging the trust they had placed in him and the sacrifice they had
made. When he was done, he stepped before them once again. With a regal nod, he said, “Let us leave the past. Our future awaits.”

Christopher’s one hope was that the future would be peaceful, but knowing his father, that was unlikely.