Beneath the Night Read online

  Great kids, all five of them, but they weren’t hers. They weren’t anybody’s. The attack on the city seven years ago had left them without parents. Not one of these children were related by blood, but bound together by something stronger. Survival.

  Cat happened to arrive in the right place at the right time, and in the hour nearest dawn, had saved them from demons. She’d returned them to their city, her panther at her side. Initially, Maeryn had called her Kitty, while Dulcina had labeled her Miss Cat, but within two days of her arrival, all five put their heads together and decided to simply name her Cat. Like they’d brought home a stray pet they intended to keep. The nickname had stuck, which was for the best. Cat had no attachment to her real name, no reason to ever speak it again.

  “You’re late,” Rollin said absently.

  “I’m not late yet.” Cat moved away from the girls’ room, heading to her own bedroom.

  “Then you’re behind schedule,” he insisted.

  Rollin had a knack for keeping her on point. Even after she’d just turned down his request for Guardian, he wasn’t smug, didn’t rub in the fact that she was late for the job he wanted. He was sweet, thoughtful, and he kept track of everything she’d missed. Annoying, huge child. She loved him. Loved all of them.

  Cat grabbed her clothes and ducked into the bathroom. Accustomed to running late, she changed quickly into her worn suede leather pants and thick leather corset. The red-brown coloring had worn away along the seams, and where a blade or two had grazed the leather. Some days she thought it might be easier to slip into some type of uniform, but clothing standardization wasn’t necessary, not when Guardians were the only ones marching about the city in pairs, visibly carrying an array of weapons. That, and she had no intentions of giving up the protection and intimidation the corset provided.

  Sliding open the top dresser drawer revealed a small arsenal, but she was only interested in her favorites. She pulled out two leather braces, each holding a twelve-inch blade. When she had strapped one to each thigh, she stepped into her calf-high boots and tugged them on. Reaching back into the drawer, she searched for a brief moment, then stopped. What she needed was missing. “Hey, have you seen my—”

  “In here,” Rollin said, and when Cat entered the kitchen he was holding up her belt lined with silver throwing blades in one hand. “I sharpened them.”

  She snatched her belt from him and threw it around her waist, secured the buckle, then pointed to Rollin as she backed out the door. “Don’t just sit there all night. You have things to do and not much of the night is left.”

  Rollin was still planted at the table pondering her question, but he nodded, and that was good enough for her. The door latched behind her and she broke into a light jog, the royal blue carpet passing quickly beneath her feet. The hallway ended ahead of her, an iron railing blocking a long drop to a large pond surrounded by a variety of canopying plants. She rounded the corner, the pond to her left, and the carpeted floor shifted into a hard marble that caught the sound of her boots and echoed through the hall.

  Cat worked the day shift, or what most Guardians called the dead shift. A majority of the city slept through the day. The upper levels consisted mostly of the dining hall, council room, and homes of the aristocracy. These areas were calm and quiet, truly a boring area to patrol. Cat patrolled the lower levels, and the vampires living there worked hard and drank harder, often well into the daylight hours. The combination practically guaranteed multiple fights would break out. The job kept the kids fed, but the fights quieted her urge to run, to resume her nomadic demon-hunting lifestyle.

  Cat never wore a watch, but knew she’d missed the Guardians’ meeting, and that had been her intention. Being surrounded by that many men didn’t work for her, and for whatever reason, Savard understood.

  She kept up a healthy pace through the main hall, her boots solidly connecting with the ground, pushing her forward. Two couples walked just ahead of her, on their way home for the day, probably returning from a long evening with friends. The first couple she passed gasped, leaped out of her path, and backed against the wall. As Cat neared the second couple, the male turned his back toward her, gathered his female against him, and shielded her as best he could.

  Cat clenched her teeth and raced past them. The people in this city hated and feared her, all because of two things she couldn’t change. First, she was a woman, fully capable of holding her own with the best Guardians in the city. Such a thing was unheard of, and made them uncomfortable. Even if they’d never seen her use a weapon, if she’d never gone out in public in her leather pants or buckled corsets, they would still fear her. She’d been born with an unforgivable flaw, one that terrified them. Red hair.

  No one had flat-out said her coloring was the reason for the unease, but she wasn’t stupid. Cat had lived above ground long enough to know she was in no way human, and after a short time of living here in Balinese, she’d instantly discovered she wasn’t entirely vampire. Cat was the only redhead in a sea of raven black.

  As she neared the Guardians’ meeting room, Dyre stepped out wearing his black pants and billowing white shirt, a familiar look for him. With his long black hair tied back to fall between his shoulder blades and sword on his hip, he looked like a damn pirate, and not the grubby kind with dirty bare feet and gold rings lining his ears. Dyre, more so than any vampire she’d yet to encounter, defined debonair. Half the time she expected him to draw his sword and leap into a duel to defend a lady’s honor. Either that or break into song.

  “Auditioning for Pirates of Penzance?” she asked sweetly. Her reward was his scolding glare as he came to her side. Together they headed back out the corridor.

  “Nothing troubling,” he informed her, putting a little hustle in his step to match her purposeful stride. “We’re on level nine again, but we have to make a stop on level six. Apparently the Woodruffs are still harassing their neighbor, this time on an entirely different scale of inappropriate.”

  Cat nodded and kept walking, at ease in these upper corridors with her partner by her side. Strange, but she’d become comfortable with calling Dyre her partner. She’d had a long string of half a dozen trial partners when she’d first joined the Guardians’ ranks. Two had been utter morons, incapable of keeping up with her. One man refused to let her break up a fight, claiming it was a man’s job and she could injure herself. She’d busted that Guardian’s nose, a finger or two, and then broke up the fight on her own. The next three potential partners couldn’t keep their eyes off her, and the moment they touched her unnecessarily, she’d sent them back to Captain Savard, bleeding and rejected.

  Dyre was a perfect gentleman and a brilliant swordsman, a combination she could respect. Most importantly, he fully trusted her skills. Over the years they’d fallen into a routine. She helped him. He helped her. Keep it simple. Get the job done. That’s how it had started. Cat still preferred the job-only relationship, but since Dyre had never been invasive, simple conversations often sprang up at random. She even allowed light teasing from him, as long as there were no witnesses.

  Halfway down the main corridor, Dyre tensed by her side, his shoulders tight, jaw clenched. Poor thing. She’d read his cues long enough to recognize his discomfort. He hated passing the dining hall, and Cat suspected she might be the only person in the city aware of the fact.

  Flocks of giggling, swooning young ladies lined up outside the door, waiting to gaze after him longingly. Sadly, their parents condoned this sort of behavior. Looking to catch a man of a higher station for a husband, the young ladies emerged late in the evening to watch the Guardians parade by as they changed shifts.

  Dyre was a handsome man, but the other half of his appeal was his wealth and position within the aristocracy. The perfect blend of nobility and Guardian seemed to be an aphrodisiac. These ladies knew his schedule, and waited for him.

  Dyre was fully aware of what they were after, and it made him self-conscious. Yet, being a true gentleman,
he would still nod and smile politely at them, which often left him trapped in meaningless conversation.

  Cat had his back as a Guardian, and it burned her that she couldn’t safeguard him from these ninnies. Usually she ignored them and moved faster, hoping that if she set the pace, he’d have no choice but to keep up, and they would swiftly be on their way. It worked, sort of. Dyre rarely had to linger for long. Still, the girls persisted in their efforts to gain his attention.

  As they neared, one girl made a show of savoring small bites off her plate as her bright blue eyes drank in Dyre from head to toe. It was all Cat could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Or maybe she had without conscious decision, because she found herself looking at Dyre. He struggled valiantly to avert his eyes, to focus on anything but the twittering females eying him with open sexual interest.

  Irritated with the entire display, Cat glared at the blue-eyed female, but when the girl glared back, her pouting face full of jealousy, Cat latched on to a solution.

  She pulled a throwing knife from her belt, then flipped it between her fingers as she sauntered over to the group of six richly gowned girls. She stopped before them, flipped the knife into the air, caught it, and quick as a snake, she stabbed a chunk of cheese from Blue Eyes’s plate.

  “Keep your eyes off what’s mine,” Cat said, biting the cheese from the end of her knife. “And you and I won’t have a problem. Understand?”

  Cat sent each girl a meaningful smile before turning, tapping her blade on her thigh as she leisurely returned to Dyre. She heard the girls scatter behind her, frightened and fleeing.

  She and Dyre walked together, once again their steps falling easily in sync, but he stared at her, eyebrows drawn together as if she was some great puzzle to work out.

  “What?” She shrugged defensively. “It wasn’t a lie. On shift, you are mine.”

  Dyre raised an eyebrow, sucked in a long breath, then nodded as if they’d just made an arrangement. In a way, they had. Cat had heard the gossip claiming she’d taken Dyre into her bed a time or two. It hadn’t happened and never would, but as long as the rumor kept men away from her, and these simpering girls away from Dyre, everyone could go on thinking what they wanted. Fueling the rumors would make life a great deal easier on both of them.

  They followed the corridor until it narrowed, then ended. The only exit was an open, dark doorway. Dyre went first, the blackness swallowing him whole. She followed, one hand dropping to the hilt of her long knife as the shadows wrapped around her. Deftly, her feet hit the steps in rapid succession. Narrow and steep, the stairs curved tightly.

  The stairways of the city were rarely traveled, most opting to use the elevators. Often the lights along the stair walls burned out, their replacement delayed by lack of awareness. Light streamed in just ahead, brightening the bottom three stairs. Leaving the confines of the stairway, they moved quickly through the sixth level. This level was clean, as well as visually appealing with wide, brick-edged corridors and arched ceilings. These mid-levels were generally quiet and self-sufficient, and this early in the day only a few people wandered about.

  At her side, Dyre tapped his fingers on his scabbard, a dead giveaway to a serious conversation.

  “Oh, God.” Cat rolled her eyes. “What?”

  He stopped, checked the hallway to make certain no one was around, then spoke. “I’m doing this one alone, okay?”

  “Why?”

  Dyre sent her an apologetic look, then quietly said, “The Woodruffs are not fond of you.”

  No surprise there, not many people had an interest in being told what to do by a woman. “Do I look like I give a damn?”

  “Allow me to at least attempt to control the situation with a little charm. I’ll speak with Mrs. Woodruff first, then Ms. Simms. If this doesn’t work, I promise you can march in and scare the life out of them.”

  “Fine,” she said as they approached the Woodruffs’ home. “Whatever gets us on our way faster.”

  “Stay just around the corner and out of sight.” Dyre stepped away, but quickly spun back around, pointing at her hand. “I saw that. Put the knife away.”

  “You remember last time you went in to have a chat with old Zombie Simms? Didn’t think you’d make it out.”

  Dyre sent her a scolding look. “You’re not going to hurt an old woman.”

  She shrugged. “Depends on how long this takes.”

  Shaking his head, Dyre stepped up to a lovely white paneled door and knocked heavily. It opened a crack and a woman peeked out, her narrow face fitting in the small space.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello, ma’am,” Dyre said with a blinding smile Cat could see from where she stood hidden. “We’ve received several complaints—”

  “You should have been here weeks ago. I have every right to complain, and I’ll complain again and again until you lazy good-for-nothings do something about that woman.” She slammed the door in his face.

  Dyre knocked again and spoke to her through the closed door. “Ma’am, my name is Guardian Ashford. You’ve heard of the Ashfords perhaps?”

  “Of course!” She threw the door open, her brief confusion shifting into a bright smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Guardian Ashford, we’re honored. No one has helped us, but I know you will. Being of your station, I’m sure you can understand how frustrating this is for us.”

  “Actually, I’ve come to speak with you.” Dyre paused, just long enough for her to register the change. “I do understand how your neighbor’s lively music must grate on your nerves, Mrs. Woodruff, but you simply cannot slip mice under her door. It’s unacceptable.”

  “But…but she only plays those bawdy brothel songs. It’s all I hear night and day.” She made a show of covering her ears and shaking her head. “And she sings! I simply can’t take it anymore.”

  “Tell me, now,” Dyre said gently, tilting his head toward her as if he expected her to impart her secrets. “What purpose did the mice serve? They can’t absorb the noise or ask her to stop, can they?”

  “Well, no. But I have tried asking her to stop. She won’t even open the door to speak with me.” Mrs. Woodruff looked down, wringing her hands together, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “She only laughs.”

  Dyre smiled again, this time kindly. He had one of those smiles that seemed to work on most women, including Mrs. Woodruff. He spoke low, as if just for her. “I’m sure you are unaware, but Bertie Simms was once a famous dancer. The memories are all she has to hold dear to her heart since she’s allowed herself to age. She’s refused to drink blood for some time now.”

  “I’m so sorry. She hasn’t lived there long. I didn’t know.”

  “The problem is, Bertie’s mind is slipping, and in her confusion, she believes the mice are lost and have no mother. She’s been caring for them.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Woodruff brought her hand to her mouth, shook her head. “How terrible. What can I do?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll explain to Bertie that we’ve found the mother to all her little mice and remove them from her home.”

  “I’m so very sorry, Guardian Ashford. It won’t happen again,” she said most sincerely. “There should be six.”

  “I believe you, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of the mice,” he promised, sending her a wink. “If you ever need anything, Mrs. Woodruff, please don’t hesitate to contact me personally.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Woodruff brightened just a bit before shutting the door between them.

  Dyre turned toward Cat and gave her a slight bow, palms out, as if to say That’s how it’s done. Then he took a deep breath, went to the next door on the left, and knocked.

  The door didn’t open, but Bertie’s aging singsong voice came from the other side. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Dyre. We spoke last week about the orphaned mice.”

  “Oh! You handsome thing, I just knew you’d come back,” she said, locks quickly snapping open from the
inside. The door flew open.

  Dyre leaned down and planted a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. “How are you, darling?”

  The gray-haired woman, in a glitzy red and abundantly fringed flapper dress, grabbed his arm and hauled him inside. “Much better now, love!”

  Cat had to smile. Some Guardians were all brute force and no forethought. Dyre? The man shamelessly dropped his family’s illustrious name with Mrs. Woodruff to gain her cooperation, then turned around and used his handsome face on old Bertie. No doubt he’d charm her into behaving as well.

  Several minutes later, Dyre backed out of her home, trying to pull his face from Bertie’s wrinkled hands, but she kept dragging him back down to plant kisses all over his freshly shaved cheeks.

  Dyre came around the corner, ruffled and covered in red lipstick, but holding up a small cage of mice triumphantly.

  “Nice work,” Cat said, a teasing tone to her voice. “How did you manage to escape her lusty clutches?”

  “Funny.”

  “So the natural progression of harassment goes from shouting to rodent infestation. Who knew?” Cat glanced back down at the full cage. “No way you caught them all.”

  “Sadly, she already had. They’ve been very well fed.” He lifted the cage eye level to inspect the fuzzy mice. “And there’s seven of them.”

  “She caught an extra one?” Her lip curled at the thought of picking up a little furry creature with clammy naked feet. She peered in at the little scurrying mice. “I’ll feed them to Barro.”