Darkness Avenged
Page 16At last her attention turned toward the female standing in the center of the floor. She was tall with the long, black hair of most Harpies. There were a few silver strands threaded through the darkness, which indicated she was several centuries old, and a hard-fought wisdom in the gray eyes. At the moment she was wearing a plain white gown that was slit down the back to allow room for her wings and wide gold bracelets around her wrists that indicated she was the leader of this particular nest.
“Matron,” she murmured with a respectful bow of her head. Unlike most men, Nefri understood that good manners were often more persuasive than any amount of bluster and intimidation.
“Vampire,” the woman responded, the low voice rumbling through the room like thunder.
“Please, call me Nefri.”
The woman nodded. “And I’m Solaris, Matron of this nest.”
“I am honored to meet you.”
“We shall see.” The storm gray eyes held a warning as she waved her hand toward the built-in bar. “I have refreshments. Or I can call for one of my sisters. There are a few who enjoy donating their blood to vampires.”
“No, thank you.” Nefri’s smile remained, but the sudden realization that Santiago might even now be at the throat of some willing Harpy jolted through her, exposing a raw emotion she hadn’t felt in centuries. Was that . . . jealousy? Good lord, she was losing her mind. “Where is my companion?”
The Harpy regarded her with a piercing intelligence. “He’s your property?”
Nefri paused to consider her answer. In Harpy society males were treated as possessions that were meant to be shared with the entire nest.
“He is under my protection,” she at last said. “And unavailable.”
“A pity.” A mysterious smile curved the woman’s lips. “We have several younglings about to enter their first mating heat.”
Nefri’s expression never altered, but she couldn’t control the frigid burst of power that made the overhead chandelier sway and at least one crystal vase shatter.
“A vampire can’t breed.”
Solaris arched a brow. “I’m aware of your reproduction deficiencies, which is why I encourage the young ones to choose a vampire for their first lover. They can have all the pleasure of mating without the concern of pregnancy. Most aren’t ready yet for motherhood.”
Oh no. Hell no.
Two more vases shattered.
“As I said, Santiago isn’t available.”
The Matron ignored the destruction of her expensive collection, her own power a steady pulse that could unleash a deadly barrage of fire.
Don’t overreact, Nefri, she silently warned herself, the woman is only trying to provoke you.
“For now I have need of his skills.”
“Will you return him when you’re done with his”—deliberate pause—“skills?”
“No.”
“Ah.” Solaris gave an abrupt laugh. “Be careful, my sister. That one will not be easily trained.”
Trained? Santiago was a barbarian.
Not that his primitive passions didn’t have a certain appeal, she grudgingly conceded. In fact, she was beginning to think that a few hours of raw, untamed sex might just be what she needed to bring an end to her annoying fascination with the male vampire.
With a silent curse, she shoved Santiago to the back of her mind. Soon enough she would have to deal with her disturbing reaction to him. One way or another. But for now she needed to focus on the most immediate danger.
And the Matron was a danger, despite her gracious manner. One wrong answer and Nefri would go from being a guest to a prisoner.
Or a pile of ash.
Something she intended to avoid.
“Perhaps we should discuss the reason you’ve had me brought to your nest,” she suggested.
“Straight to the point?” Solaris shrugged. “Very well. I want to know why the vampires have declared war on us.”
Nefri was on instant, full alert. War? Was this a trick?
“I assure you the vampires have no desire for war with anyone, least of all the Harpies,” she cautiously addressed her companion.
Solaris allowed her power to thicken the air in the room. As if Nefri needed a reminder that she was more than a match for a vampire, even one as ancient as Nefri.“Then why are they attempting to poison our lands?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Peace had finally settled among my people with the death of the Dark Lord.”
“It has been a blessing for all of us,” Nefri agreed.
“A blessing as well as an opportunity for the more powerful demons to flex their muscles.” The gray eyes turned dark with the threat of a looming storm. “It wouldn’t be the first time vampires enslaved those too weak to fight back.”
Nefri wasn’t stupid enough to deny the charge. The vampires had once been little better than savages who’d wielded their superiority to use and abuse the less fortunate. Even if they were fellow vampires.
“That’s the past,” she pointed out, meeting the accusing glare with a calm composure. “The new Anasso is eager to build alliances, not to make enemies.”
“And yet he sent a vampire to the border of our lands who has been spreading his infection.”
Damn. Nefri had harbored a small measure of hope that the local demons hadn’t been aware of Gaius. Or whoever (or whatever) had caused the bloodbath in his lair.
Fooling humans was simple. Demons wouldn’t be nearly so easy.
“You’re referring to Gaius?”
“I didn’t ask his name. He was medium height with dark hair and a prominent nose. And a most”—the female shuddered—“pungent aroma.”
Nefri hesitated. The Oracles had wanted this mess cleaned up as swiftly and quietly as possible, but with every passing minute it was obvious the danger was snowballing at a terrifying rate.
This was no time for diversions or discreet lies.
She not only needed whatever information the Harpies could offer, but she had to make sure they were safe. Her duty to the Commission would never be more important than the lives of innocents.
Of course, she’d been a diplomat for centuries. A small amount of truth was often preferable to a full disclosure.
“The vampire you refer to is a traitor to his people and a servant of the Dark Lord,” she admitted. “I traveled here to make sure he faces punishment for his crimes.”
Solaris emptied her glass before setting it aside. “A convenient claim.”
“I can only give you my word.”
“And what of his strange abilities?” the Harpy demanded, her voice thickening with a dangerous power. “Do you want me to believe they come from his worship of the Dark Lord?”
Solaris’s wings gave an impatient flap. “His ability to infect others with his bite.”
Nefri frowned, not having to pretend her confusion. She expected claims of brutal killings or missing younglings. Not . . . infections.
“I don’t fully understand. What do you mean by infecting others?”
The Harpy studied her with a piercing gaze, perhaps seeking some sign that Nefri was lying. Then, with a powerful stride she was headed toward a door hidden behind one of the tapestries. “Come with me.”
Nefri followed behind Solaris, startled to discover herself being led through a steel-lined corridor that opened into a large room filled with a number of high-tech computers and surveillance equipment.
“I had no idea that Harpies built such elaborate nests,” she murmured as Solaris paused before a heavy door, using a key card to trip the lock.
The last Harpy nest that Nefri had entered had been little more than a few walls and a thatch roof.
“We’ve had to keep up with technology, although there are still matriarchies who prefer to live in a more primitive environment,” she said, leading Nefri down another corridor, this one lined with doors.
A glance through one open door was enough to reveal they’d reached the prisons.
“Is Santiago being held in these cells?” she demanded, uncertain why Solaris had brought her here.
Solaris glanced over her shoulder. “Of course not. For now he’s a guest and being offered our finest hospitality.” A taunting smile touched her lips. “Happy?”
Well aware that Harpy hospitality included food, drink, and sex with a willing female, Nefri was forced to swallow a low growl. “Not particularly,” she muttered.
“Here.”
Coming to a halt at a door being guarded by an older Harpy with a hard face and the air of a seasoned warrior, Solaris gestured toward the small window set in the steel door.
With a frown Nefri moved forward, studying the gaunt human male who was pacing the cell with short, jerky steps. He looked young, perhaps twenty, dressed in filthy jeans and a Polo shirt that was torn and covered in blood. His hair was matted with dirt and his face shredded by claw marks that Nefri suspected were self-inflicted. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">