Beneath the Night Read online

  Savard disappeared into Spirit and was at Osric’s side in seconds. He released his Spirit, became corporeal just long enough to take hold of Osric’s arm and drag the Guardian into Spirit with him. He raced home, speeding through the trees and down the hillside, Osric in tow.

  They made the shelter of Balinese just before the sun brightened the east sky. Once inside, Osric stumbled as he fell haphazardly out of Spirit. Savard appeared a dozen feet away from him. They shared a glance, and for a moment Savard thought Osric would say something, point out the impossible feat. The marred Guardian only nodded, a quick and silent thank-you. Then all four were on the move again, headed through the kitchen, down the back stairs, into the cellar, and through the door to Balinese.

  When their feet touched the corridor that encircled the city, the men scattered. Each went a separate way, never saying a word, and acting as if the entire event had never happened. Unless Savard decided the skirmish would go on public record, it hadn’t happened. He trusted these men, and his Gatekeepers, to keep quiet and never acknowledge the incident unless directed otherwise.

  If the citizens of Balinese knew how many demons had been found above ground on their land, or how many had entered the city, they’d never sleep. Unless a citizen witnessed a demon, any encounters the Guardians had with demons never officially occurred.

  Savard walked alone now, taking the back route to his home. He needed to clean up. Black demon blood had spattered across his face, dotted his shirt. Thankfully, these exterior corridors in Balinese tended to be empty, lit only by sconces hung high on the wall.

  “M’lord?” Briona chimed through the radio.

  Savard scanned the corridor. Empty. “We’re clear. Go ahead.”

  “Bravo, then, you lived.” She took a breath, then pushed on as if his survival was expected and his response unnecessary. “You wanted notification if anyone was scheduled to enter the royal storage. Why am I still doin’ this? Isn’t this Soren’s job, since, I don’t know, he has the keys to the room?”

  “It is. I’m just overcautious when it comes to safeguarding Navarre’s possessions. What is Soren having removed?”

  “He just sent two Guardians to collect a golden birdcage.” There was a pause, but Savard knew better than to think Briona was finished talking. “We’ve a birdcage?”

  “No. We do not. The Casteel family was gifted with the large golden cage from a Chinese ambassador in the late 1600s, along with an assortment of birds. Did you fail history class?”

  “Nah, slept through it. Want me to send a couple extra Guardians up to help?”

  “No, I’m sure they can handle it. Make sure Soren has them log out the cage when they return the keys to him. Thank you, Briona.”

  “And now I’m your wee secretary,” she mumbled before the radio died. Savard shook his head, almost entirely certain she’d left the radio channel open a second longer on purpose.

  He continued past the corridor leading to his home and stopped a good four feet before the next. Taking Spirit once more, he floated up through the ceiling. When in the room above, a large attic with angled ceilings, he released his Spirit. This was the royal storage, and the Guardians would be here any moment.

  Treasures from all over Europe had been covered, hidden from view, while others lay exposed, collecting layers of dust. A gold, jewel-encrusted urn half the size of a man glinted in the dim light seeping from beneath the door. A golden yellow chaise in Greek styling was half hidden beneath a sheet, the craftsmanship elaborate. Yes, he grew nervous when Guardians were scheduled to enter this room, but theft was not his fear, nor was the handling of such priceless artifacts.

  He’d have given his life to protect what was beyond the row of five large French curio cabinets in the corner of the attic. Savard slipped into Spirit long enough to move through a curio, and once inside the makeshift seclusion, returned to his true form. Here, easily hidden behind the towering cabinets, was the most priceless treasure in Balinese.

  Navarre Casteel, the true lord of Balinese, lay motionless on a small bed, trapped in a deep healing sleep. Not waking, not dying.

  Navarre had fallen in the demon attack nearly seven years ago. A demon’s blade had pierced his chest, and from what they could tell, nicked his heart. Navarre had slipped into a healing sleep, his body shutting down to repair from the inside out. After that point, nothing could be done to help him. Their lord would have to heal on his own, or not at all.

  Every day since, Savard expected his lord’s death, even planned for the loss. It never happened. Months had passed. Years. Seven years of total stillness.

  Savard blamed himself. He never should have set foot inside Balinese. Decades ago Lord Navarre had taken him in, and the people of Balinese had hatefully labeled Savard “the stray.” They’d watched him, judged him, from the moment he’d stepped foot inside their grand home. While the people of the city suspected he did not belong in their rich and secluded world, Savard knew for a fact that he did not. Navarre seemed not to notice. Or care.

  Months into his tentative stay, Navarre had placed him in command of the city’s Guardians. Savard had objected, along with Navarre’s council, but the lord would not be swayed.

  Savard had reluctantly taken the position, and for the first time in his life buckled his sword to his hip with a great deal of trepidation. Becoming captain to such a great lord and legendary city had felt wrong.

  Every night Lord Navarre had proudly said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Savard’s consistent response? “It’s only a matter of time before I’m gone.”

  Navarre would nod, and they’d move on with life. The same conversation repeated. At first once a day, then as time went on, once a month. After five years Navarre had stopped triggering the conversation altogether, never believing his captain had any intention of leaving.

  Leaving was no longer an option. He had a responsibility, not just to Navarre, but to the city Navarre loved. Savard had done everything in his power to keep the city functioning smoothly, and to keep threats away. But if Navarre died? If his friend left this world, then there was no reason to care for the things Navarre had held dear, and Savard couldn’t live surrounded by memories of yet another massive failure.

  The padlock outside the door rattled, the heavy hinge laid back against the door. Then the large wooden slide latch was moved, wood scraping wood, until the handle hit the end of its range with a solid thud.

  Savard knelt beside the bed and took his lord’s lifeless hand in both of his, ready to weather the brief intrusion, prepared to Spirit Navarre away should it become necessary.

  The hinges on the thick door creaked as it opened. The Guardians stepped inside, flipped on the lights. Boots scuffed the uneven floorboards beneath their feet, and long, purposeful strides quickly carried them deeper inside the room.

  “There it is,” Dyre said, his young, smooth voice trapped in the low ceiling of the attic. “It doesn’t appear heavy, only awkward.”

  “Why are we putting an empty birdcage outside the dining hall?” Cat said, suspicion bleeding through her tone.

  The presence of these two was unexpected. As arena Guardians, Titus and Graydon often drew the short straw, being sent on random missions that sometimes involved moving furniture. Not today. Somehow Dyre and Cat had taken their place.

  “Don’t ask, just do,” Dyre said.

  “Ugh.” She exaggerated the guttural sound. “I hate your motto. It’s stupid.”

  “It’s not my motto,” Dyre said, the effort of sliding wooden furniture across the floor temporarily halting his speech. “And you seem to like it just fine when you’re the one barking orders.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, relenting.

  Savard smiled slightly, shaking his head. In public those two barely spoke a word to each other, and after the parade of Guardian partners Cat had gone through, he never would have thought Dyre would be the one she’d accept. But then, Dyre was one of the fe
w able to bring her unpredictable temper down to at least a simmer.

  “Here, take this end,” Dyre directed. “I’ll go down the stairs backward.”

  “You think I can’t go backward?” Cat snapped at him, instantly geared up for a fight, offended her partner might find her lacking.

  “No,” he said calmly, his tone hinting at simple honesty. “I think you’re short.”

  If Cat gave him a response, Savard didn’t hear it. Boots scuffled across the floor, the lights went out and the door closed, the bolt slid home, and the padlock clunked into place. The room was left in silence once again. Savard peeked through a crack between the dressers to make certain they’d left.

  Turning Navarre’s hand over, Savard pressed his fingertips to his lord’s exposed inner wrist. As he did with each visit, Savard searched for a pulse, craved confirmation that Navarre still lived. Beneath his fingers, the normally slow, lurching rhythm of Navarre’s pulse seemed to have sped up. Not rapid or racing, but simply stronger. This could be his body’s last surge of energy before death. Savard looked at Navarre’s face, fearing it might be the last time.

  Navarre, still deep in a healing sleep, turned his face slightly toward the door. He wasn’t dying. He was waking.

  “Oh, God. It’s her.” Jaw slack, Savard sank back onto his heels.

  He shoved his hair off his face. How had he not seen this connection? When Cat had first arrived on the night of the attack, he hadn’t known what to do with her. He’d put her in one of Navarre’s extra homes. That home was on the floor beneath this attic, not terribly far from where Navarre lay sleeping.

  Most vampires could recognize the beckoning call of their fated mate. Supposedly, though he’d never seen it happen, the presence of your mate could even negate the deadly call of the sun. Her proximity was most likely the only reason Navarre still clung to life. Cat must be his mate. If so, then she was the key to Navarre’s awakening. Ironically, her continued presence in the city was contingent upon Navarre allowing her to stay once he woke.

  Plans quickly took form now that Savard at long last had a clear solution. If Navarre’s condition was going to change, it would happen tonight. He would make it happen tonight.

  While this new development should bring elation, Savard’s skin crawled with a morbid anticipation. Something unstoppable was happening in the world around him, a life-altering force headed his way. He’d felt this same unease the night he’d become lord, an awareness that he balanced at the top of a mountain and would soon fall. He just didn’t know in which direction.

  Chapter 2

  Cat smacked the blaring alarm on her nightstand without opening her eyes. She always slept in, was always a little late to work. It was her way of avoiding people. Even so, something felt off today. She couldn’t shake this abnormal grogginess. Her body wanted to stay right here, to curl up under the covers and not move a muscle for hours on end. Her eyes had no interest in observing the world around her. Cat yawned, wishing for the first time in years that she could call off work. Not possible. She had a job to do and mouths to feed. Five hungry mouths to be exact.

  A floorboard creaked, the sound muffled beneath the carpet. One of them tiptoed into her room now. All was quiet for a moment, then the edge of the mattress dipped slightly. Cat planted her face into her pillow and groaned. “What time is it?”

  Softly, a happy little voice answered her. “Wake up time.”

  Cat popped one eye open to see Oriana watching her with those big, round, bright blue eyes. The girl had changed rapidly over the years. Her cherub cheeks had disappeared, along with her toddling strides and bizarre little language. She was now nine years old, and only those beautiful eyes remained exactly the same, gleaming with adoration. Cat reached out, tugged gently on one of Oriana’s many stray black curls. “Did you leave me anything to eat?”

  “No, but Rollin made you something. Get up, will you?” Oriana grabbed her wrist and pulled, barely budging her.

  “Fine.” Cat moaned the word. She rolled, making an earnest attempt to fall out of bed, but her head remained in place, jerking her body to a stop. Someone was on her hair, pinning her in place. Oriana pointed and laughed. Cat reached back and swatted at the offender, her hand colliding with a solid wall of fur. “Barro, get off me.” She shoved Barro, but the ridiculous panther only let loose a throaty rumble, and leaned into her hand. Cat changed tactics, rubbing the panther’s shoulder until he curled his thick paws in bliss and rolled away.

  Finally free, she stood, and tilted her neck left and right to work out any feline-induced kinks. Barro stretched out on his back in the middle of her bed, mouth gaping as he chuffed, rubbing his head on her blankets.

  Cat combed her fingers through her straight hair. “Oriana, where’s your brother?”

  “In his room,” she answered, then dashed off. Oriana never had to ask which brother.

  “Jovan!” Cat yelled through the small home. A rush of heavy footsteps came closer, and Jovan barreled into her room, skidding to a stop before her. “Why didn’t you let Barro out?”

  “I did,” he said quickly.

  “Liar. He wouldn’t step all over me, begging for attention, if you had let him out. Go.” Her sharp words threw her home into silence, everyone waiting to see if Jovan would give her any lip. Unfortunately, his defiance had nothing to do with being a thirteen-year-old boy. He’d been this way from the start.

  “Come on, Barro. You got me in trouble. Again.” Jovan glared at Cat as he motioned to the panther with an exaggerated wave, then turned and stomped through the kitchen to the door. The panther leaped off the bed, trotted after him, and snorted at Jovan as he left the room. Jovan gaped open-mouthed at his hand. “Gross! He got snot all over me!”

  The door slammed shut, but didn’t startle anyone. Jovan’s outbursts were a normal part of life. Cat walked into the kitchen and dropped into a chair, folded her arms, and thumped her head on the small table.

  “He’ll grow out of it,” Rollin said. The sound of a mug sliding across the table immediately followed his smooth baritone voice. Cat cranked her head back to look up at him. Way up. Oriana’s speedy growth might have marked the passing of time, but Rollin’s threw it in her face. The boy… No, she couldn’t call him that anymore. He towered over her, his height and broad shoulders cutting an intimidating figure. Rollin was a grown man. He sat across from her and folded his hands, his arms taking up most of the table’s surface.

  Cat yawned again, and curled her fingers around the warm mug of coffee. “Got him figured out then, do you?”

  “No, not really. It’s just…” Rollin began to mouth a word, then bit down on it, staring at his folded hands. “We’re growing up, that’s all.”

  “I noticed.” Cat took a sip of coffee, testing the heat. Then suddenly she noticed something else. “You haven’t looked me in the eye once. What do you want?”

  Rollin didn’t deny her accusation. Instead, he squared those big shoulders, tipped his chin up, and met her gaze. “I’m eighteen. I want to train to be a Guardian.”

  Cat closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She didn’t have enough coffee in her to have this conversation. Drinking down a gulp, then two, she set the mug down and calmly asked, “Why?”

  “I don’t intend to leave home. That’s not why I want this. It’ll take time, I know, but being a Guardian would mean a second income, and—”

  “No.”

  He stared at her, jaw slack and shoulders slumped. It clearly hadn’t been the answer he’d expected.

  “My father was a Guardian. You’re a Guardian, and you’ve trained me. I’m not anywhere near your level, I know that, but I’m good. Why not give me a chance?” His voice remained even, his words pure logic.

  “This isn’t a job to pick up extra cash, or a family tradition to uphold. It’s a way of life. Your father had his reasons for taking up the call. I had mine. I have yet to hear yours. Until you figure out why you want it, the answer is no.�
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  He simply nodded. Rollin never truly argued with her, never got angry. His calm, levelheaded personality didn’t seem to allow him such nonsense. Instead, he set his elbow on the table and rested his chin on the heel of his palm, his thoughts shifting inward.

  The door swung open and hit the wall with a loud bang. Barro bounded past Jovan to get inside, nearly knocking him down. Stomping his way in, Jovan smacked the door when he closed it, the wall as he went by, and some unknown object in his room. By the sound of it, that unfortunate object had taken a good long flight before crashing against the wall on the other side of his bedroom.

  Cat sighed. One more lecture on his temper, then she had to get going. She sucked down the remainder of her coffee and left Rollin alone at the table.

  Maeryn raced from her room, stopping just in time to avoid crashing into Cat. The girl, only one year younger than Jovan, looked up at her with those pleading chocolate brown eyes. She wrung her hands together, nervously twisted her fingers, and leaned forward like she was ready to bolt to Jovan’s side the second she had permission.

  “Oh, go on.” Cat waved her along, rewarded with the briefest flash of a smile before Maeryn darted into Jovan’s room, her long black hair a blurry streak behind her. Shoulder propped on the door frame, Cat stood just outside his room, watching the odd and often unspoken language between Maeryn and Jovan.

  Jovan sat on the edge of his bed, kicking a box on the floor, still angry because Cat had caught him in a lie. Maeryn sat beside him, and when he didn’t acknowledge her, she scooted closer. Without halting his abuse on the box, Jovan held out his arm. Maeryn took the invitation, latched on to his waist, and hugged him tightly, not caring if he paid her any attention. His anger had never once been directed at Maeryn, and his outbursts never frightened her. Her only fear was that her family wouldn’t return home to her, and she feared losing Jovan the most.

  Speaking of losing people, she was missing a child. Cat stepped away and poked her head into the girls’ bedroom. Dulcina was easy to spot. Stretched out on her belly, she flipped through a magazine with her earbuds in, blocking them all out. Sixteen and a regular whirlwind of hormonal rebellion, she’d chopped off her hair when Cat brought her home a dress. Message received. Her wild mop of hair curled around her ears and at the base of her neck now, framing her high cheekbones. Dulcina was solitary and unpredictable, yes, but never when it came to her siblings. They were the exception. Dulcina would do anything for them, and that included keeping them in line when Cat had to work.