Shadow Rising

Damien leaped out of the way just as the sharp and glowing edge of the ornate scimitar sliced mere centimeters from his head. He got an up-close look at the engraved blade and decided that was quite enough.

“I didn’t kill him! Aren’t you Grigori supposed to be analytical? Patient?” He gave another shout as the blade whizzed by his ear. Damien jumped and landed on one of the waiting room couches. “Hang on, will you?”

Ariane advanced on him, wielding her sword as though it were an extension of herself. Even in the way she held it, her skill was obvious.

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You already threatened to turn me in. I’m being hunted. And now I have nothing left to lose. Do you have any idea what I risked coming here? What I gave up? What’s going to happen to me now? Or worse, to Sam?”

Another slice, far too close before he leaped to a chair. It looked like his initial impression of her as a guileless, untried innocent had been a bit off base. Ariane certainly looked like a goddess of vengeance. Her hair tumbled in platinum waves around her shoulders, the light reflecting off of it so that it seemed to glow. The cupid’s bow of her mouth was open, her lips pulled back over fangs that glittered in the light she gave off.

She swung the blade up and around her head, ready to bring it down in a final blow. Damien froze, his heart caught in his throat, arrested by the sight of her. In that moment, he wasn’t sure whether he was desperately attracted to her or terrified out of his wits.

Coherent thought returned just in time for him to leap onto the desk that dominated one corner of the room. Behind it, Manon’s head gazed placidly up at him from dead, dull eyes. Damien glared at it before focusing again on Ariane, who sliced the scimitar through the air, once, twice, in graceful, dancing, deadly motions as she approached.

Damien put his hands up in front of him, knowing he had nowhere left to go. “Damn it, woman, calm down and hear me out before you decapitate me! Manon was dead when I got here! That’s why What’s-His-Face is sitting over there in a puddle of vampire vomit wetting himself!”

He heard a soft wail and just caught sight of the fledgling vampire crawling across the floor and trying to wedge himself into a corner, hands thrown over his head.

Ariane didn’t even glance in the fledgling’s direction. The force of her fury surprised him, but what surprised him even more was the pain and hopelessness in her eyes. Just that glimpse of her emotions resonated all the way through him, awakening feelings and memories long—and better—buried.

It made Damien wonder what had happened to her, that she was so different from her fellows.

Then the blade was at his throat, and he couldn’t move. Only one thought was left: Oh, hell.

Damien swallowed hard, and the movement of his Adam’s apple caused the blade to nick his skin. He felt a thin rivulet of blood snake its way down his neck. She’d caught him, and he’d never been caught. Not like this. The woman was nearly as fast as a Ptolemy, and far more skilled than he’d given her credit for. Her beauty, so delicate, was deceptive. It looked as though he’d made his final mistake in the “don’t judge a book by its cover” department.

And yet… she hesitated.

The suspense didn’t settle well with Damien. Not when he was bleeding, slowly but steadily, all over one of his favorite shirts.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it. I’m not going to beg. I’m hardly worth it.”

Damien didn’t realize what he’d said until he saw the surprise on Ariane’s face. He clenched his jaw, his anger now directed fully at himself. He’d sounded like a typical, self-loathing lowblood. And he wasn’t. He just didn’t care all that much about staying alive. In his mind, that was an entirely different issue.

Of course, he also didn’t much care for pain, so if the woman was going to do him in, Damien wished she’d just get it over with instead of staring at him with that odd look of… understanding.

“I don’t believe you,” she repeated, more softly now. The question Damien found himself asking, however, was which thing she didn’t believe. That he hadn’t killed Manon? Or more disturbingly, that he wasn’t worth her time?

“It’s a free country, last I checked,” Damien replied with a shrug, making an effort to keep his own tone low and even. Ariane made him feel off balance. Uncertain. He needed to find some solid ground on which to deal with her, and soon.

“If you didn’t kill Manon, who did?” she asked. The vicious, curved blade didn’t move from his throat, where the sting of it slicing into his skin was rapidly becoming torment.

“Are you saying you believe me, after all that?”

Ariane didn’t reply, and she didn’t have to. Damien could see that she would stand there forever, if necessary, waiting for an answer. Of course, he’d be out of his mind by then from the slow-dripping blood, the insistent sting of the blade’s edge.

“This is interesting,” Damien said, wanting her to do something, anything to break the impasse. “I didn’t figure you at all for the sadistic type, and yet here you are, watching me bleed. Does my blood turn you on, love?”

Violet eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that. It’s very obvious you’re only in love with yourself. Nothing about you interests me.”

It stung, which was ridiculous. Her petty verbal slaps at him were the least of his worries. And yet everything about Ariane smacked of a challenge. Her rejection of him most of all.

Not interested? We’ll see about that.

“Deadly and astute,” Damien said, his voice a bored drawl. “Look, are you going to separate my head from my body, or are you going to lecture me? I had a governess growing up, you know. I don’t need another. And you’re even duller than she was.”

He lashed out from habit, accustomed to being as cutting as he pleased without anyone thinking much of it. Ariane’s flinch was barely noticeable, but Damien caught it… and immediately felt like a cad, something he thought himself incapable of feeling even before he’d been turned.

“I may be dull to you,” Ariane said evenly, her chin tipping up just a little in defiance, “but I’m the one holding the sword. I’ll decide what to do with it after you tell me what happened here.”

“I discovered a headless corpse and a simpering moron moments before being attacked by a crazy vampiress with a ridiculously large sword.”

The slight curve of her lips was cool. “Funny.”

“I was being deadly serious,” Damien snapped. “Though it’s nice to know Grigori have a sense of humor.”

“We don’t.”

“Well… shit.” He bared his fangs at his own reflection in the gleaming blade. It wasn’t supposed to end like this for him, done in by a beautiful woman immune to his charms over something he hadn’t even done. For once.

Still she watched him silently, until he wanted to scream. Instead of that, however, he did something unthinkable: he told the truth.

“I arrived only a few minutes before you did,” Damien said, his voice clipped as his accent thickened the way it always did when he was angry. “I’m sure you’re aware that Thomas Manon is—was—a wealthy broker with a lot of high-profile accounts among the dynasties. My information was that your friend Sammael supposedly saw him before he fell off the face of the earth. I had an appointment.” He glared balefully at her. “I don’t usually kill my appointments.”

Something flickered in her eyes. “Usually?”

“Look, everything’s got its occasional exception.” He hated the way his voice sounded, strained and petulant, like a child facing his inevitable punishment after being found out. What was the point in defending himself to her?

Damn it, stop reacting and do what you’re good at, he told himself. Quit whining and start saving your own ass!

It seemed an odd time to try and appeal to the better angels of Ariane’s nature—whatever those were—but charm, normally his first line of defense rather than his last resort, was all he had left. She’d been immune the last time. He’d just have to try harder.

Or maybe not. He caught her eyes drifting down to the blood still trickling slowly from his neck, staining his clothes. Damien could see her anger had faded considerably. And discomfort had come to replace it. She might be a skilled fighter, but it looked like she wasn’t in the habit of killing after all. It would explain why he was still alive.

“Ariane,” he said gently. “I think you know I’m telling the truth. Our purpose is the same.”

“I doubt that,” she replied, her expression wary. “Men like you aren’t usually chosen for simple reconnaissance work.”

Well. She was no fool, no matter how naive she was. Damien tried for his most innocent expression.

“I can handle myself in dangerous situations. I’d say anyone capable of taking down a Grigori qualifies as quite dangerous.”

“You’re a killer,” she protested.

He tilted his head at her. “As are we all. You realize that if you kill me,” he said slowly, lifting a hand to touch hers where it was wrapped around the scimitar’s hilt, “it would simply be more senseless bloodshed.”

Skin brushed skin, and he sucked in a breath. Touching Ariane was like touching a live wire… and yet, there was a pleasure in it, enough that he let his fingers wrap gently around her wrist.

He saw her startled blink, the sudden rise of her chest, and knew she enjoyed his touch as well. And that she hadn’t expected to.

“You’re a Shade,” she said. “You lie for a living.”

“In fairness, that’s only one part of what I do for a living. And not nearly as lucrative as others. Ariane, love… you’re hurting me.”

“How else am I supposed to get you to talk?” she asked, sounding unnervingly like someone from an old gangster movie. Hopefully she hadn’t gotten many ideas from any of those. 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">