Chapter 24
Even the ichor of other sanguinant was near-tasteless now, though it did not stop him from gorging.
Simple matter to hunt down a quartet of fledglings, since a glance at the listed crime scene locations revealed a certain pattern.
Even the appearance of their Maker—an elder of some power and potential, perhaps pleased that his gambit had brought a response, however tardy—was dismally predictable.
Lukas had thought to question said elder, but the shag-haired beast howled in a guttural tongue from the Teutonic forests before Varus lost his legions, tipped into bloodcraze as the last and probably most favored of his get was drained, decapitated, then torn to pieces in a twinkling.
Really, they should have known better than to provoke a daywalker.
Lukas rose from the ruins of the elder’s corpse, gobbets of swiftly disintegrating flesh shaking from his flickering hands, the deathdust immediately dampened by rain.
Freight cars stood stolidly under lashing sleet, uninterested in the drama; a rumbling of live engines echoed nearby was accompanied by bright white trainlights.
Still, any mortal out tonight would be entirely preoccupied with spending as little time as possible in the cold.
Fresh, welcome strength surged through his veins; the most potent claret was that of another predator.
Distilled by his own body, it would also strengthen his prize, perhaps speeding her transition.
Pleasant to anticipate the event, though speculating upon her likely mood once he returned was not quite cheerful.
The railroad yards were either a wonderful place to hide—screened by cold iron, adjacent to districts where prey was easily found, busy yet deserted at once—or an entirely stupid choice, since it was naturally where the one holding this territory would look first. Especially since the pattern of the few attacks delineated in the files carefully avoided that space.
The elder had survived this long, but perhaps ossified beyond the point of flexible planning.
Incursions upon prime territory often came in cycles as populations both mortal and demimonde shifted, and of course Lukas’s move from Everly to Andranov might denote enough weakening to provide others of his kind with good hunting grounds.
The only concerning bit was his suspicions in another area, but those could be addressed at leisure.
He made certain all evidence of sanguinant presence was erased, weighing the advisability of taking a measure of mortal claret as well in order to be certain of satisfying his leman’s demands.
A short hop over the high fence on the northern side yards, a quick plunge through a dripping greenbelt, and he was in a residential area.
It was early yet; winter nights fell during rush hour and many mortals were settling into their homes for dinner.
Did she long for an approximation of modern mortal life?
Easy enough to provide, especially since she would teach him the proper responses by mere, sweet context.
Lukas crouched on the roof of a brightly lit home, watching the yards with an unblinking stare.
Just in case.
I want something different this time. The memory sent opulent shivers all through his ageless frame; sleet starred with tiny snow-granules was chilly, yes, but a few feedings after the true teeth appeared and a fledgling was impervious to most weather.
How best to proceed? She might discover a few pleasures in her new existence—travel, luxury, patronage, perhaps even art.
How would she welcome him? He listened to the restless sweep-slap of precipitation, the varied symphony of mortal life inside their ingenious houses—tricks of modern construction were fascinating, and now that he was free of calcification he might study more of the advances in that area.
Wise denizens of the demimonde were always interested in science and progress, if only to protect their own existence.
Finally, he judged this part of the problem solved enough.
Despite his eagerness to return, Lukas took a long looping route through certain parts of the city between the yards and the Causeway, alert to any further sign of trouble.
The rot may not have spread too far; if he were still sunk in the slowly congealing resin of age, would he be conscious of the infection right under his nose?
Or had her arrival been the precipitating event?
Even this short absence was uncomfortable.
The longer spent away from a bonded leman, the more swiftly calcification would return.
The habit of checking his own responses and perceptions was old and very nearly comforting, save for the fact that he had not known how close he was to suffocating in his own hoary pile of centuries before the first tinge of her scent brushed him.
Moving alongside the freeway, he absently calculated the rate of traffic, testing the pattern for discrepancies.
None audible, visible, or sensed. Perhaps the plans had not moved very far; yet it seemed her arrival had set certain affairs in motion.
She could vivify more than his own existence, clearly.
Meditation upon her responses, even if falling far short of the mark, was a pleasant companion. It did not matter if all leman were so intoxicatingly stubborn; he had his prize, and that was enough. Adorable was a much better word than cute; he would simply have to be old-fashioned.
Finally, Lukas turned for the lair, plans and contingencies boiling just under conscious thought as icy water falling from the sky’s blind vault sluiced the evidence of battle from torn, fluttering cloth.
The thicker-soled shoes held up admirably, a wonderful suggestion on Hardison’s part, but he must needs make himself presentable before visiting his lady’s bower.
* * *
Unfortunately, he arrived to find a house in ferment, a high window shattered, and his tender, vulnerable fledgling flown.