CHAPTER 3 RAGNOR
CHAPTER 3
RAGNOR
A book fell onto the table so loudly that people from nearby tables jolted simultaneously at the sudden noise.
Ragnor stared at the book, then at the person who’d dropped it so carelessly, who now took the seat across from him. “Is that what I think it is?”
Eliza Wains, one of the very few Ragnor called a friend , pushed her long hair behind her shoulder and trained her single eye on him. “It took some time, but I found it,” she said, grinning cockily.
This was quite the achievement. This book had only three printed editions in existence, and finding—not to mention acquiring—just one copy was quite the significant feat. “That means it’s not online,” Ragnor deduced as he took hold of the book and pulled it to his lap.
“Nope,” Eliza said. “Not even in the darkest of corners of the dark web does this book exist.”
Meaning Eliza’s skills had been growing. That was the only explanation as to how she managed to lay her fingers on this rare find. “What would you like as payment? Money or information?”
She perked up. “This time, I’ll settle for money, Rayne.”
He had a feeling her request was related to how she acquired the book, but he didn’t ask. “Consider it done.”
“Good,” she said. “Now look at the last page. That’s the only one you can read, anyway.”
Right. The book was written in a language Ragnor didn’t understand. He flicked through the pages until he reached the last instead of simply opening to the final page. It showed a large family tree and words printed in tiny English letters.
He took a sip of his beer and looked at the bottom. “It has no record beyond the fifteenth century, I see.”
“The first-century generations are also missing,” Eliza promptly said.
“Not very comprehensive,” Ragnor murmured and closed the book, looking back up to Eliza. “But it will definitely be helpful.”
Eliza didn’t reply, simply studied him. Then, she suddenly asked, “Are you okay?”
That was a good question, Ragnor thought. It’d been over a week since the Auction, and he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. He worked, started making new Imprinting appointments, signed several trade contracts with other Leagues, and had his usual Friday-night drinks with Magnus, his senior Lieutenant and friend.
And yet he wasn’t okay. Not really.
“There are too many loose ends,” he now said, staring at the book. “I don’t feel comfortable not knowing who I had in my very own League for months.”
It wasn’t a lie, but Ragnor believed there was more to it. Much more than he was willing to admit even to himself.
Eliza gave him a loaded look before she ordered a beer and said, “I think I know what your actual problem is.”
He leaned back. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Wains.”
She rolled her eye, and the effect was just as strong as if she hadn’t been wearing the eye patch. “You have it regardless,” she said and sipped her beer before leaning forward. “You like her far more than you think, and the fact you sold her in the Auction is eating you up inside.”
There was no question who her was, but he was not having this conversation. “Eliza—”
“Let’s recall what happened in the Auction.” She cut him off with her eye blazing, the heat of her accusation afire between them. “Aileen Henderson is a descendant of the Children of Kahil. The cult your kind had once upon a time worked hard to wipe off the face of this planet. She’s the daughter of a fanatic psychopath who kidnapped, raped, and killed girls so young, it’s absolutely sickening. On top of that all, she attempted to summon the Morrow Gods at the Auction.” She paused, her face tight with anger. “Do you know what would’ve happened if the Morrow Gods actually answered her call?”
Ragnor knew. But still he said quietly, coolly, “The Morrow Gods are dead. They’ve been dead for centuries.”
“And what if they aren’t?” Eliza pushed. “Are you willing to take that chance?”
Ragnor’s anger rose. “But they are, Eliza,” he said in a strained, gravelly voice. “I’ve seen to that myself.”
She shook her head, completely unaffected by Ragnor’s show of anger. “You refuse to see the point I’m trying to make here,” she said, and now she looked exasperated. “The Children of Kahil are your—our—enemies. More so than any other being on this damned earth. They might not have the powers of the Morrow Gods, but their existence is just as dangerous. You yourself taught me about the Massacre of Euphorrey!”
Ragnor’s expression refused to soften. Instead, he became even more determined to convince Eliza about how wrong she was concerning his feelings for Aileen. Even if he had managed to successfully compartmentalize his emotions for this long since the Auction, her insistence now brought anger and frustration to the surface in a way that made him uncomfortable.
“But right after that massacre, the Malachi came and wiped them out. That’s why Aileen can’t possibly be a true Child of Kahil,” Ragnor growled, losing his calm. “She might be a distant descendant, but to actually be a Child of Kahil, one needs not just to have the real Kahilian powers, but to follow the Tefat, and even though I can’t read the Tefat, I know what’s written in there.” He felt his eyes glow as he fisted his hands over the ancient book. “There is simply no way she’s ever done any of the Three Commandments.”
Ragnor could still remember that day, a long time ago, when he spoke to one of the last Children of Kahil. That terrible man had told him about the contents of the Tefat and about the horrible Commandments. “Thou shalt find pleasure in the agony of the feeble. Thou shalt seal thy allegiance with a pact written in the blood of kin. Thou shalt be the harbinger of discord, for the Gods thrive in the turbulence of the suffering.”
To execute the Commandments, one had to part with their very soul in exchange for absolute devotion. There was simply no way that Aileen could’ve done all that in the name of the Morrow Gods to resurrect them and bring absolute chaos to the world.
A little voice whispered in his ear, murmuring, Though that may explain how she recovered from the Imprint so quickly to begin with ...
Eliza slapped the table in loosely contained anger, jerking him out of his disturbing thoughts. “Just how well do you think you know Aileen Henderson, Ragnor?”
“Enough to know that she’s not a religious fanatic like her father,” he snarled back.
She stared at him for a long moment before she let out a sigh. “You’ve got it bad, Rayne. Really, really bad.” She gave him a pitying look he did not appreciate. “But what does it matter anyway? She’s Atalon’s now.”
He looked away, grinding his teeth.
Silence stretched between them, and Ragnor didn’t bother breaking it. Because deep inside him, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew Eliza was right.
If there was one thing he’d learned from that Auction, it’s that he hardly knew Aileen Henderson at all.
After Eliza left, the remaining guests exited the pub. The bartender, Moses, came over to him and said, “My Lord, my shift is over ...”
“You can leave for the night,” Ragnor told him, checking the time on his pocket watch. “I’ll lock up the place.”
Relieved, Moses bid him good night and left. Once the door closed behind him, Ragnor said, “You can come out now.”
Out of thin air, a man appeared. He was tall and muscular, with curly jet-black hair and light-brown skin. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a black shirt, and if it weren’t for the fact he had a pair of large, feathery, silver wings coming out of his shoulder blades, he would’ve looked like a regular human.
Though there were his eyes, too, of course. They were like a jungle, full of green, with slivers of red and orange intertwined. No human, or vampire, had eyes like his. Even among his kind, those eyes were unique.
And despite their colorfulness, they were the coldest, most emotionless eyes Ragnor had ever seen.
“Luceras,” Ragnor greeted him quietly. “It’s been a while.”
Luceras turned the chair Eliza had vacated and sat down, leaning his arms against the chair’s back. “She was here” were his first words, said in a deceptively melodious baritone voice.
Ragnor couldn’t help himself. “She was,” he confirmed. “She’s also staying in the city for a while. In my town house, in fact.”
The jungle-eyed man gave him a look that would’ve made anyone else shrivel. “I know.”
Of course he did. Luceras’s sense of smell was better than even a vampire Lord’s, and especially when it came to Eliza Wains. “Maybe it’s time for you to hash things out with her,” Ragnor suggested in a drawl. “Don’t you think it’s been long enough?”
Unfortunately, Luceras did not rise to the bait. “You called me here for a reason, Deveran.”
Ragnor’s lips curled down at the derogatory term. “Yes,” he said, refusing to acknowledge the insult. “I would like to ask for a favor.”
Luceras’s eyes narrowed. “My favors do not come cheap.”
That much Ragnor knew. “I’m willing to pay in whichever form you’d prefer,” he said, knowing the last thing Luceras was after was money.
That seemed to satisfy him. “Then what’s the favor?”
Ragnor looked at him. “I need you to go to Vermont,” he said slowly, “and find out if there’s any abnormal shift in the ether.”
The memories of Vegas came rushing into his mind. Those creatures that kidnapped Aileen and held her hostage. Their elation at capturing a vampire for their sinister needs. It had been since then that Ragnor had looked for them, for their hideout.
No one laid a finger on what was his and got away with it.
He tensed at that last thought and refocused on the man before him.
If Luceras was surprised at his request, he didn’t show it. “Anything specific I need to watch out for?”
“No,” Ragnor replied, despite wishing he could request that of him too. But as he’d once told Eliza, Ragnor did not consider Luceras a friend. He hardly considered him an acquaintance. Their relationship, if it could even be called that, was something far too convoluted to be labeled. Still, as long as he paid the right price, Ragnor knew Luceras could be trusted, if only to a certain extent.
And this was worth the price. Because if what he suspected was true, and Vermont was home to a certain type of being, then he had to know. He needed to protect his League, after all.
He was definitely not out to protect her .
No matter how much his conscience begged to differ.