Chapter 22 – Arlan
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RAMBLINGS AND REVELATIONS
ARLAN
Every time I ask Maya what she saw, she focuses on details that few others in our world are aware of. She’s basically delirious, but her recount of the Legion always includes their eyes and the weapons they carry.
Sometimes when I ask her, her lips barely move, and other times, fear chokes her, making the words tumble out haphazardly. But the specifics never change.
I check the computer screen I set up in her room as often as I check on her, watching as she moves restlessly in sleep. I know it’s not unusual for Noms to have visions, but it concerns me how fast this one struck. And how much it wiped her out.
I shouldn’t worry, but it’s hard not to. Without the information she gave us, the exact location of the portal might have remained hidden until the next time the Legion attacked.
Her body jumps, and I go to her.
“Maya.” I barely say her name or touch her shoulder, and her eyes open. The color is always so vibrant and clear, the blue reminiscent of a lake in summer. There’s trust in them, too, which I’m not sure how to read.
She blinks, fighting through the fatigue again, looking as exhausted and confused as when she first collapsed.
“Maya, it’s okay. Can you see me? It’s Arlan. You’re in your room, and your annoying raven is with us.”
As soon as she nods, I move fast, forcing my essence past her internal shields, taking liberties reserved for a union we don’t share. What I’m doing is wrong on so many levels, but she needs rest, or she might never recover.
“Se resposa.” Sarlat flows from my lips, transporting me to the small province in France where I was sired. As opposed to getting caught up in times past that are impossible to change, I drill my mind on nothing but the girl.
Her pupils dilate as my enthrall catches her psyche, twisting its way through her subconscious, holding her captive.
She responds instantly, and with each breath she takes, she is weighed down by the instruction I gave her.
Before she closes her eyes to drift off to a heavy, dreamless sleep, she succumbs completely.
Despite bulldozing my way into her vulnerable center, shattering her inner protections, I want to shake her awake and swear at her when I see how easily she surrenders.
Maya rolls onto her side, putting her back to me, and then she catches her long dark hair and flicks it over her pillow, baring her slender throat to the world. She might just be getting comfortable, but her lack of self-awareness and survival instincts feeds the irritation burning in my veins.
Who in their right mind does that to a vampire?
Surely, she can’t be that na?ve to my kind.
Or perhaps she is, and this is all part of her cunning disguise.
Cane doesn’t trust her, and Emrys is blaming her for a dip in his energy, so maybe they’re on to something and I’m the one getting thrown by a sense of familiarity that ruins me every time I see her or hear her voice.
A ping from my laptop is a welcome distraction. I’ve already spent more time on her than is warranted.
I turn around right as the raven swoops in, the clip of his wing against the side of my face as intentional as a slap. He lands on her hip, then stares me down better than Cane on a full moon.
I flip the bird to the bird, which is more amusing than it should be, leaving him as he protects her, and return my attention to where it should be—the computer screen.
I sit-down at the same time as Em walks past the camera and salutes, Cane’s wolf stalking behind him.
The two of them look disheveled, but neither of them appear hurt; actually, the wide grin on Em’s face tells me he enjoyed the run-in with the Legion and probably didn’t even break a sweat.
The visual display on my screen adjusts as they walk past each camera.
I don’t greet them when they climb the stairs to the front door, instead, I wait for them to come down here.
Before our visitor arrived, we used this room as our command center, since the door down to the cellar is the most secure and gives us the added protection of a hidden escape route.
Speaking of which, the telltale chime of the rear entry point lets me know Bael has arrived.
I turn to welcome him, but before I can take a step, her raven takes flight and swoops close enough for its wing feathers to clip my cheek again.
It’s deliberate, but before I can come up with some witty retort centered around draining the damn thing dry, I hear the bird twittering and Bael’s response.
Bael’s voice is as distinctive as the smell of eternal flame that trails behind him like his favorite fragrance.
I find him at a standstill in the space we use as a gym. The raven roosts on his arm, as the both of them stare and chatter.
“Is he one of yours?” I ask.
Bael doesn’t shift his focus from the raven until the bird flies off. I presume he’s going back to his watch, but I don’t follow. I get caught up in Bael’s appearance.
“Shit, are you okay?”
He waves his hand, cutting off my concern before it starts. It’s a rhetorical question, as Bael’s face is marred by fresh, vicious demon marks, and though his crisp black suit is in place it doesn’t hide how tousled he is.
I ignore his unspoken suggestion to leave him be and rush forward, supporting his entire weight. He leans heavy on my shoulder, and the colorless void of his eyes is further proof he’s hurt again.
“Who was it this time?” I ask as I lead him toward one of the benches situated along the wall.
“If I sit-down, I won’t get back up,” he warns.
“You need to rest.”
“Grab me a couple of the sparring mats, and put me in the corner of the room,” he insists as he walks toward the space we normally use.
“She’s in there.”
He chuckles, and Bael’s laughter is very much like how you’d imagine a demon to sound.
Everything about him—the way he speaks, laughs, looks even—used to freak me out, but then he admitted my being a vampire used to spook him too.
Thankfully, that was a long time ago, because if we’d met when we were older, the prejudice between our kinds would have ruined any attempt we made at friendship.
Growing up and coming into our designation all together ensured nothing would destroy our friendship.
“Cane told you she was here, then?”
He turns to face me. Bael still has voids in place of his eyes; after a few hours, they will resemble actual eyes again, but right now, his sockets are pitch-black.
I can read all the subtle cues in his expression, but he’s also grinning like he can’t believe I even bothered opening my mouth. “Yeah. He’s good like that.”
Bael’s being generous. Cane is an Alpha coming into his prime. From his point of view, conversations are a waste of time and reserved for the weak who lack conviction in their own intentions and actions.
“I put her under,” I admit as he limps toward the mats.
I lean him up against the wall, then take a couple of trips to get a makeshift bed set up for him. Until we’ve debriefed and Cane’s spoken with the department heads, we’ll be locked down here so Bael’s king-size bed will have to wait.
Maya is sleeping like the dead, and her raven is still standing guard. I drop the mats onto her floor, adding a couple of blankets and pillows before going back to get Bael.
“Why’d you put her under?” he asks as he settles his weight onto my shoulder again.
“Cane wants to ask her a few questions, and I know the grilling she’s going to get from him. It’s only fair she’s well-rested if she’s getting interrogated.”
He hums a response, and neither of us speaks again until we’re walking through the door.
“What’s with the bird?” I ask.
“Not one of mine,” he offers back quickly.
It would be a cryptic response if you didn’t know Bael is a direct descendant of Raum, one of Hell’s Great Earls, who is imbued with the spirit of the raven. It allows him to manifest in both forms—demon and raven.
He sits on the edge of the makeshift bed, a soft groan escaping in the process. I kneel in front of him and help him get rid of his suit jacket, silent until my hand touches a large wet spot.
I hiss in agony as soon as my hand touches the soaking material.
Then I leave Bael to fend for himself and race away, needing to get the toxins off straight away.
Infection isn’t the worry; possession is.
Depending on who attacked Bael and what weapon they used will decide who could own my soul.
Being owned by anyone is not something that’s high on my agenda.
Flinging open the cupboard we use for supplies for exorcism, I grab the salt, an old book of prayers, and a bottle of moon-blessed water.
I take a gulp of air, then start the process Bael taught each of us.
Everything must happen at the same time, and we’ve practiced enough that the words and actions flow easily, though not without effort.
Sharp pain rips through my hand, making it hard to open the jar of fresh salt, the demon’s mark adding difficulty as the entity fights to take hold.
I block out the pain and spill salt on my hands, massaging it anywhere on my body that had contact with Bael, causing steam to rise along with the smell of evil.
“In the mighty name of gods old and new, I reject and cast your spirits aside. By the power of gods old and new, you are ordered to leave my life and not return. I repent, I renounce, and I slam the door in your face. Begone.”
I repeat the process another three times, which is also part of the routine Bael set for exactly this scenario.
And the final thing I need to do is take a cold shower.
I step under the stream of icy water and start rinsing all the bad energy from my skin and psyche.
The cubicle stinks of sulfur, and I stay there until the smell disappears.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I grab a juice box from the cupboard and check in on Bael and Sleeping Beauty.
The two of them are completely out of it.
My eyes keep drifting back to the steady beat of her pulse on her bare neck.
The points of my fangs break through as hunger scratches my throat dry.
I look down at the juice box in my hand, then back to the Nom.
Moving so fast the bird can’t even take flight, I catch him, holding him in such a way that I avoid getting stabbed by his beak.
He’s making a heck of a racket, but the need to feed roars louder in my ears.
Stepping into the doorway, I throw the bird like a football down toward our gym before slamming the door and locking him out.
Bael stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake, not that it would bother me if he watched me feed from our housemate. Using the same urgency as I did when dealing with her feathery guard, I move unnaturally fast to lift her before I settle in behind her.
There’s no question, no self-flagellation clouding my judgment, as I lick along her carotid, chasing the right place to feed. Her skin is soft, even delicate, as my fangs sink into her artery. Vibrant life—rich and precious—pours down my throat as I pull in mouthfuls of her blood.
She might be a Nom, but she tastes fine. Really fucking fine, actually.