Текст книги "Awakened"

Автор книги: P. C. Cast

Соавторы: Kristin Cast,P. C. Cast
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The sun was beginning to set, allowing the sky to retain some of its illumination, but I was glad for the rows of torches that jutted from the stone base of the castle’s foundation.

Stark was alone. His back was to me and I got to watch him as I picked my way across the shore to him. He held a large leather shield in one hand, and a long claymore in the other, and he was practicing thrusts and parries as if he were facing a dangerous, but invisible, enemy. I moved quietly, taking my time and enjoying the view.

Had he gotten taller all of a sudden? And more muscular? He was sweating and breathing hard, and he looked strong and very, very male and dangerous-ancient-Warrior-like in his kilt. I remembered how his body had felt against mine the night before, and how we’d slept all pressed together, and my stomach gave a weird little lurch.

He makes me feel safe, and I love him.

I could stay here with him, away from the rest of the world, forever.

A chill passed over me with the thought and I shivered. At that moment Stark dropped his guard and turned. I saw the alert concern in his eyes that only faded when I smiled and waved at him. Then his gaze went to what I was holding in the hand I was waving, and his welcoming smile faded, even though he opened his arms to me, hugged me, and gave me a lingering kiss.

“Hey, you look hot when you do that sword stuff,” I said.

“It’s called training. And I’m not supposed to look hot, Z. I’m supposed to look intimidating.”

“Oh, you do, you do. I was practically scared to death.” I put on my best bad, fake–Southern belle accent and pressed the back of my hand to my forehead like I was gonna swoon.

“You’re really not very good at accents, ma’am,” he said in a seriously good fake-Southern accent. Then he took my hand and held it against his chest right over his heart, moving close to me. “But if you want, Miss Zoey, I could try to teach you.”

Okay, I know it’s silly, but his Southern gentleman accent made my knees feel all weak—and then his words actually got through the lust fog I was brewing for him, and suddenly I knew how to start getting him comfortable with his bow again.

“Hey, I am hopeless at accents, but there is something you could teach me.”

“Aye, wumman, there’s lots I could be teachin’ yu the now,” he leered, sounding totally like Seoras.

I smacked him. “Be good. I’m talking about this.” I raised the bow. “I’ve always thought archery was cool, but I really don’t know much about it. Could you teach me? Please?”

Stark took a step away from me, giving the bow a wary glance. “Zoey, you know I shouldn’t shoot that.”

“No. What you shouldn’t do is aim for something that’s alive. Well, that is unless the alive thing needs to be un-alive. But I’m not asking you to shoot it. I’m asking you to teach me how to shoot it.”

“Why do you all of a sudden want to learn?”

“Well, it makes sense. We’re going to be staying here, right?”

“Right.”

“And Warriors have been trained here for, like, zillions of years. Right?”

“Right again.”

I grinned at him, trying to lighten things up. “I really like it when you admit that I’m right. Again. Anyway, you’re a Warrior. We’re here. I’d like to learn some kind of Warrior skill. That’s too darn heavy for me.” I pointed at the claymore. “Plus, this is pretty.” I lifted the elegant-looking bow.

“No matter how pretty it is, you need to remember it’s a weapon. It can kill, especially if I fire it.”

“If you fire it and aim to kill,” I said.

“Sometimes mistakes happen,” he said, looking haunted by memories from his past.

I rested my hand on his arm. “You’re older now. Smarter. You won’t make the same mistakes again.” He just stared at me without speaking, so I lifted the bow again and went on. “Okay, show me how this works.”

“We don’t have a target.”

“Sure we do.” I thumped the worn leather shield he’d laid on the ground when I’d joined him. “Prop this between a couple rocks down the beach a little way. I’ll try to shoot it—after you prop it up and get back here out of my line of fire, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” he said.

Looking resigned and miserable, he walked a few paces away from us, hefted some rocks around until he had the shield held semi-steady between two of them, then came back to me. Reluctantly, he took the bow and set the quiver of arrows at our feet.

“This is how you hold it.” He demonstrated gripping the grip-thingie while I watched. “And the arrow goes here.” He rested it across the side of the bow, point down and away from us. “You nock it like this. These arrows make it easy to know which way to do it because the black ones should be turned like this, with the one red one up this way.” As he talked Stark began to relax. His hands knew the bow, and knew the arrow. It was obvious that he could do what he was showing me with his eyes shut—do it quickly and well. “Plant your legs firmly, about hip-width apart, like this.” He demonstrated and I checked out his excellent legs, which was one of the many reasons I liked the fact that he’d started wearing the kilt all the time.

“And then you lift the bow and, holding the arrow between your first two fingers, pull the string back, taut.” He explained what I was supposed to do, but he’d stopped demonstrating. “Sight down the arrow, but aim a little low. That will help adjust for distance and the breeze. When you’re ready, let loose. Be careful to bow your left arm or you’ll smack it and give yourself a nasty bruise.” He held the bow out to me. “Go ahead. Try it.”

“Show me,” I said simply.

“Zoey, I don’t think I should.”

“Stark, the target is a leather shield. It’s not alive. There’s nothing alive even vaguely attached to it. Just aim for the center of the shield and show me how it’s done.” He hesitated. I rested my hand on his chest and leaned forward. He met me halfway. Our kiss was sweet, but I could feel the tension in his body. “Hey,” I said softly, still touching his chest. “Try to trust yourself as much as I trust you. You’re my Warrior, my Guardian. You need to use the bow because it’s your Goddess-given gift. I know you’ll use it wisely. I know it because I know you. You’re good. You’ve fought to be good, and you’ve won.”

“But I’m not all good, Z,” he said, looking totally frustrated. “I’ve seen the bad part of me. It was there—real—in the Otherworld.”

“And you defeated it,” I said.

“Forever? I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Hey, no one’s all good. Not even me. I mean, if some smart kid left his test out in geometry, I’m telling you—I’d look.”

He smiled for a breath of a moment, then the tension was back in his face. “You joke about it, but it’s different for me. I think it’s different for all of the red fledglings and even Stevie Rae. Once you’ve known Darkness, real Darkness, there’s always a shadow on your soul.”

“No,” I said firmly. “Not a shadow. Just a different kind of experience. You and the rest of the red fledglings have experienced something we haven’t. It doesn’t make you part of the shadow of Darkness—it makes you experienced with it. That could be a good thing if you use your extra knowledge to fight for good, and you do.”

“Sometimes I worry that it might be more than that,” he said slowly, staring into my eyes like he was looking for a hidden truth.

“What do you mean?”

“Darkness is territorial, possessive. Once it’s had a piece of you, it doesn’t like to let go.”

“Darkness doesn’t have any choice if you choose the path of the Goddess, and you have. It can’t beat Light.”

“But I’m not sure Light can ever really beat Darkness, either. There’s a balance to things, Z.”

“Which doesn’t mean you can’t choose sides. And you’ve chosen. Trust yourself. I trust you. Completely,” I repeated.

Stark kept staring into my eyes like he was grabbing on to a lifeline. “As long as you see me as good—as long as you believe in me—I can trust myself because I trust you, Zoey. And I love you.”

“I love you, too, Guardian,” I said.

He kissed me and then, in a movement that was fast and graceful and lethal, Stark pulled back the bow and let the arrow fly. It thunked with finality into the absolute center of the target.

“Wow,” I said. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

He blew out a long breath, and with it the tension that had been so obvious in his body seemed to be blown away, too. Stark smiled his cute, cocky grin. “Center of the target, Z. I hit it dead-on.”

“Of course you did, silly. You can’t miss.”

“Yeah, that’s right. And it’s just a target.”

“Are you gonna teach me or not? And this time don’t go so darn fast. Slow down. Show me.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay, here.” He aimed and shot more slowly, giving me time to follow his movements.

And the second arrow split the first one down the middle.

“Oh, woops. I forgot about doing that. I used to waste a lot of arrows that way.”

“Here, my turn. I’ll bet I don’t have that problem.”

I tried to do what Stark had done, but ended up shooting my arrow short and watching it skitter off the smooth, wet rocks.

“Well, crap. It’s definitely harder than it looks,” I said.

“Here. I’ll show you. You’re not standing right.” He came up behind me, fitting his arms over mine and snuggling against my backside. “Think of yourself as an ancient warrior queen. Stand strong and proud. Shoulders back! Chin up!” I did as he said and inside the powerful circle of his arms I felt myself transform into someone powerful and majestic. His hands guided mine to pulling the bow taut. “Stay steady and strong—focus,” he whispered. Together we sighted the target, and as we let loose the arrow, I could feet the jolt that rippled through his body and mine and guided the arrow to the dead center of the target again, splintering the two before it.

I turned and smiled up at my Guardian. “What you have is magick. It’s special. You have to use it, Stark. You have to.”

“I’ve missed it,” he said, speaking so softly I had to strain to hear him. “I don’t really feel right if I don’t stay connected to my bow.”

“It’s because through it you’re connected to Nyx. She gave you your gift.”

“Maybe I can start again here. This place feels different to me. Somehow I feel like I belong here—like we belong here.”

“I feel it, too. And it seems like it’s been forever since I’ve felt this safe and this happy.” I stepped into his arms. “Sgiach just told me that she’s going to start opening the island up to Warriors again—and also to other gifted fledglings.” I smiled up at Stark. “You know, like fledglings with special affinities.”

“Oh, you mean like affinities for the elements?”

“Yep, that’s exactly what I mean.” I hugged him, and spoke into his chest. “I want to stay here. I really do.”

Stark stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. “I know you do, Z. And I’m with you. I’ll always be with you.”

“Maybe here we can get rid of the Darkness Neferet and Kalona have tried to bring to us,” I said.

Stark held me tightly. “I hope so, Z. I really do hope so.”

“Do you think it might be enough to just have one piece of the world that’s safe from Darkness? Is it still walking the path of the Goddess even if I’m just walking it here?”

“Well, I’m no expert, but it makes sense to me that what’s important is that you’re trying your best to stay true to Nyx. I can’t see that where you’re doing it is such a big deal.”

“I understand why Sgiach doesn’t leave this place,” I said.

“So do I, Z.”

Stark held me then, and I felt the bruised, battered places inside of me begin to warm and, slowly, I started to heal.

Stark

Zoey felt damn good in his arms. When Stark thought back to how close he’d come to losing her, it could still scare him so badly that it made his stomach sick. I did it. I got to her in the Otherworld and made sure she came back to me. She’s safe now and I’m gonna always keep her that way.

“Hey, you’re thinking awful hard,” Zoey said. Curled up with him in the big bed they shared, she nuzzled his neck and kissed his cheek. “I can practically hear the wheels turning inside your head.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to have the super psychic abilities.” He said it with a kidding tone, but at the same time Stark gave a little mental push and slipped around just on the outskirts of her psyche—not close enough to her real thoughts to piss her off with his eavesdropping, but just near enough to be sure that she really did feel safe and happy.

“Want to know something?” she asked, with a hesitant tone to her voice.

Stark propped himself up on his elbow and grinned down at her. “Are you kidding, Z? I want to know everything.”

“Stop it—I’m being serious.”

“Me, too!” She gave him a look and he kissed her on the forehead. “Okay, fine. I’m being serious. What is it?”

“I, um, really like it when you touch me.”

Stark’s brows went up and he had to struggle not to break into a giant grin. “Well, that’s good.” He watched her cheeks get pink and a little grin slipped through. “I’m guessing that’s real good.”

Zoey chewed her lip. “Do you like it?”

Stark couldn’t help laughing then. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Dead. Serious. I mean, how am I supposed to know? I’m not exactly experienced—not like you are.”

Her cheeks were flaming by that time and he thought she looked mega uncomfortable, which put a damper on his laughter. The last thing he wanted to do was to embarrass her or make her feel weird about what was happening between them.

“Hey.” He cupped her flushed cheek. “Being with you is beyond awesome. And, Zoey, you’re wrong. You’re more experienced than me about love.” When she started to speak he pressed his finger against her lips. “No, let me say this. Yeah, I’ve had sex before. But I’ve never been in love. Never until you. You’re my first, and you’re going to be my last.”

She smiled up at him with such love and trust that he thought his heart would beat out of his chest. It was only Zoey—it would always be only Zoey for him.

“Would you make love to me again?” she whispered.

As her answer Stark held her even closer and began a long, slow kiss. His last thought before everything went wrong was, I’ve never been this happy in my life …

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kalona

He could feel Neferet getting near and he steeled himself, schooling his expression and cloaking the hatred he had begun to feel for her with a careful demeanor of expectation and accommodation.

Kalona would bide his time. If there was one thing the immortal understood, it was the power of patience.

“Neferet approaches,” he told Rephaim. His son was standing before one of the several large sets of glass doors that opened onto the huge balcony that was the predominate feature of the penthouse loft the Tsi Sgili had purchased. Penthouse meant all the opulence Neferet craved and the privacy and rooftop access he required.

“Has she Imprinted with you?”

Rephaim’s question brought Kalona’s thoughts up short. “Imprinted? Neferet and I? What an odd question for you to ask me.”

Rephaim turned from the downtown Tulsa panorama to look at his father. “You can sense her approach. I assume she’s tasted of your blood and you’ve Imprinted.”

“No one tastes of an immortal’s blood.”

The elevator doors chimed just before they opened and Kalona turned in time to see Neferet stride across the gleaming marble floor. She moved gracefully, with a sweeping glide those who were less informed would believe vampyric. Kalona knew differently. He understood her movement had changed, shifted, evolved—just as she had changed, shifted, and finally evolved into a being much more than vampyre.

“My Queen,” he said, bowing respectfully to her.

Neferet’s smile was dangerously beautiful. Serpentine, she wrapped one arm around his shoulder and exerted more pressure than was necessary. Obediently, Kalona bent so that she could press her lips to his. He let his mind go blank. His body alone responded, deepening the kiss, letting her tongue slither into his mouth.

As abruptly as she had begun it, Neferet ended the embrace. Glancing over his shoulder she said, “Rephaim, I thought you were dead.”

“Wounded, not dead. I healed and awaited my father’s return,” Rephaim said.

Kalona thought that though his son’s words were proper and respectful, there was something about his tone that was off, though it had always been difficult to read Rephaim as the visage of a beast tended to mask any human emotion he had. If, indeed, he had any emotion that could be classified as human.

“I learned that you have allowed yourself to be spotted by fledglings from Tulsa’s House of Night.”

“Darkness called. I responded. That there were fledglings there was inconsequential to me,” Rephaim said.

“Not just fledglings—Stevie Rae was there, too. She saw you.”

“As I said before, those beings are inconsequential to me.”

“Still, it was a mistake for you to allow anyone to know you’re here, and I do not tolerate mistakes,” Neferet said.

Kalona saw her eyes begin to take on a reddish hue. Anger stirred within him. That he was in bondage to Neferet was bad enough—that his favorite son could be chastised and harangued by her was intolerable.

“Actually, my Queen, it could work in our favor that they are aware Rephaim remained in Tulsa. I am supposed to be banished from your side, so I cannot be seen here. If the local House of Night rabble hears rumors of a winged being, they will assume a Raven Mocker stalks the night and there will be no thought of me.”

Neferet raised an arched amber brow. “A point well taken, my winged love, especially as the two of you work to bring the rogue red fledglings back to me.”

“As you say, my Queen,” Kalona said smoothly.

“I want Zoey to return to Tulsa.” Neferet abruptly changed the subject. “Those fools at the House of Night tell me she refuses to leave Skye. She is not within my reach there—and I very much want her within my reach.”

“The death of the innocent should cause her to return,” Rephaim said.

Neferet’s green eyes narrowed. “And how do you know about this death?”

“We felt it,” Kalona said. “Darkness reveled in it.”

Neferet’s smile was feral. “How lovely that you felt it. That ridiculous boy’s death was pleasing. Though I am worried that it might have the opposite effect on Zoey. Instead of making her come rushing back to her weak, whining group of friends, it could fuel her decision to stay hidden away on that island.”

“Perhaps you should harm one closer to Zoey. The Red One is like a sister to her,” Kalona said.

“True, and that wretched Aphrodite has become close to her as well,” Neferet said, tapping her chin, considering.

An odd noise coming from his son drew Kalona’s attention to Rephaim. “Did you have something to add, my son?”

“Zoey is hiding on Skye. She believes you cannot reach her there, is that not true?” Rephaim asked.

“We cannot,” Neferet said, irritation making her voice hard and cold. “No one can breach the boundaries of Sgiach’s kingdom.”

“You mean like no one was supposed to be able to breach the boundaries of Nyx’s Realm?” Rephaim said.

Neferet skewered him with her emerald eyes. “Do you dare to be impertinent?”

“Make your point, Rephaim,” Kalona said.

“Father, you already breached a seemingly impossible boundary by entering Nyx’s Otherworld, even after the Goddess herself banished you. Use your connection to Zoey. Reach her through her dreams. Let her understand she cannot hide from you. That, the death of her friend, and Neferet’s return to her House of Night should be enough to coax the young High Priestess out of seclusion.”

“She is not a High Priestess. She is a fledgling! And the Tulsa House of Night is mine, not hers!” Neferet practically shrieked. “No. I have had enough of your father’s connection to her. It didn’t bring about her death, so I want it severed. If Zoey is to be lured from Sgiach, I will do it by using Stevie Rae or Aphrodite—or perhaps both of them. They need a lesson in showing me the proper respect.”

“As you wish, my Queen,” Kalona said, sending his son a pointed look. Rephaim met his gaze, hesitated, and then he, too, bowed his head and said softly, “As you wish…”

“Good, then that is that. Rephaim, local news reports say that there has been gang violence near Will Rogers High School. The gang is cutting throats and draining blood. I believe if we follow that gang we’ll find the rogue red fledglings. Do that. Discreetly.”

Rephaim didn’t speak, but he bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“And now I’m going to luxuriate in that lovely marble bathtub in the other room. Kalona, my love, I will join you in our bed very soon.”

“My Queen, did you not wish me to search for the red fledglings with Rephaim?”

“Not tonight. Tonight I need a more personal service from you. We have too long been apart.” She ran one red nail down Kalona’s chest and he had to force himself not to flinch away from her.

She must have seen something of his desire to avoid her touch, though, because her next words were cold and hard. “Do I displease you?”

“Of course not. How could you possibly displease me? I will be ready and willing for you, as always.”

“And you will be in my bed, awaiting my pleasure,” she said. With a cruel smile she spun around and glided into the huge bedchamber that took up half of the palatial penthouse, closing the double doors to the bathroom with a dramatic slam that Kalona thought sounded much like a gaoler closing a prison door.

He and Rephaim remained still and silent for almost one full minute. When the immortal finally spoke his voice was rough with repressed anger.

“There is no price too great to pay to break the hold she has over me.” Kalona swiped his hand down his chest as if he could wipe away her touch.

“She treats you as if you are her servant.”

“Not for all of eternity, she will not,” Kalona said grimly.

“For now she does, though. She even commands you to stay away from Zoey, and you’ve been bound to the Cherokee maiden that shares her soul for centuries!”

The disgust in his son’s voice was mirrored by Kalona’s own thoughts. “No,” he said quietly, speaking more to himself than his son. “The Tsi Sgili may believe she commands my every move, but though she thinks herself a goddess, she is not omniscient. She cannot know everything. She will not see everything.” Kalona’s massive wings moved restlessly, mirroring his agitation. “I believe you were correct, my son. It may prod Zoey to leave the ancient Isle of Skye if she understands that even there she cannot escape her connection with me.”

“It seems logical,” Rephaim said. “The girl hides there to avoid you. Show her your powers are too great for that, whether the Tsi Sgili approves or not.”

“I do not require that creature’s approval.”

“Exactly,” Rephaim said.

“My son, take to the night’s sky and track the rogue fledglings. That will pacify Neferet. What I truly wish you to do is to find and watch Stevie Rae. Observe her carefully. Note where she goes and what she does, but do not capture her yet. I believe her powers are linked to Darkness. I believe she can be of use to us, but first her continuing friendship with Zoey and the House of Night has to be corroded. She must have a weakness. If we watch her long enough we will discover it.” Kalona paused, then he chuckled, though the sound was utterly humorless. “Weaknesses can be so beguiling.”

“Beguiling, Father?”

Kalona looked at his son, wondering at his odd expression. “Beguiling, indeed. Perhaps you have been so long apart from the world that you do not remember the power of a single human weakness.”

“I … I am not human, Father. Their weaknesses are difficult for me to understand.”

“Of course … of course, just find and observe the Red One. I will consider what to do with her from there,” Kalona said dismissively. “And while I await Neferet’s next command”—he spoke the word as a sneer, like the very voicing of it was distasteful—“I will search the realm of dreams and give Zoey—as well as Neferet—a lesson in hide-and-seek.”

“Yes, Father,” Rephaim said.

Kalona watched him open the double doors and step out onto the stone roof. Rephaim strode across the balcony to the balustrade-like wall that ringed the edge, leaped up on its flat ledge, and then opened his huge ebony wings and dropped silently, gracefully, into the night, gliding black and almost invisible against the Tulsa skyline.

Kalona envied Rephaim for a moment, wishing he, too, could leap from the rooftop of the majestic building called Mayo and glide the black, predator’s sky, hunting, searching, finding.

But no. This night there was another hunting job he would complete. It would not take him to the sky, but it would also, in its own way, be satisfying.

Terror could be satisfying.

For an instant he remembered the last time he’d seen Zoey. It was the same moment his spirit had been torn from the Otherworld and returned to his body. The terror then had been his, caused by his failure to keep Zoey’s soul in the Otherworld, thereby killing her. Darkness, under the direction of Neferet’s oath, sealed by her blood and his acceptance, had been able to control him—to seize his soul.

Kalona shuddered. He’d long trafficked with Darkness, but he had never given it dominion over his immortal soul.

The experience had not been pleasant. It hadn’t been the pain that had been so unbearable, though it had, indeed, been great. It hadn’t been the helplessness he’d known as the tendrils of the Beast had encased him. His terror had been caused by Nyx’s rejection.

“Will you ever forgive me?” he’d asked her.

The Goddess’s response had cut him more deeply than had Stark’s Guardian claymore: “If you are ever worthy of forgiving you may ask it of me. Not until then.” But the most terrible blow had been delivered with her next words. “You will pay my daughter the debt you owe her, and then you will return to the world and the consequences awaiting you there, knowing this, my fallen Warrior, your spirit, as well as your body, is forbidden entrance to my realm.”

Then she had abandoned him to the clutches of Darkness, banishing him again without a second glance. It was worse than the first time. When he’d fallen it had been his choice, and Nyx had not been cold and uncaring. It had been different the second time. The terror the finality of that banishment caused would haunt him for an eternity, just as would that last, bittersweet glimpse he’d had of his Goddess.

“No. I will not think of it. This has long been my path. Nyx has not been my Goddess for centuries, nor would I want to return to my life as her Warrior, forever second to Erebus in her eyes.” Kalona spoke to the night sky, staring after his son, and then he closed the door on the cold January night and with it, once again, closed his heart to Nyx.

With renewed purpose the immortal strode through the penthouse, past the stained glass windows, gleaming wood bar, the dangling light fixtures, and the velvet furnishings, and into the lush bedchamber. He glanced at the closed double doors to the bathing room, through which he could hear water running, filling the huge tub in which Neferet so loved to luxuriate. He could smell the scent she always added to the steaming water, oil that was a mixture of night-blooming jasmine and clove made especially for her at the Paris House of Night. The scent seemed to slither under the door and fill the air around him like a smothering blanket.

Disgusted, Kalona turned and retraced his steps through the penthouse. With no hesitation he went to the closest set of glass doors that led to the rooftop, opened them, and gulped in the clean, cold night air.

She would have to come to him, seek him out, find him here, under the open sky, when she deigned to stoop so low as to actually look for him. She would punish him for not being in her bed, awaiting her pleasure as if he were her whore.

Kalona growled.

It was not so long ago that, drawn by his power, she had been enthralled with him.

He wondered briefly if he would decide to enslave her to him when he broke her hold over his soul.

The thought gave him some pleasure. Later. He would consider it later. Now time was short and he had much to accomplish before he had to, once again, placate Neferet.

Kalona walked to the thick stone railing that was ornate as well as strong. He spread his huge, dark wings, but instead of leaping from the rooftop and tasting the night air, the immortal lay on the stone floor, closing his wings over him, cocoon-like.

He ignored the coldness of the stone beneath him and felt only the strength of the limitless sky above and the ancient magicks that floated free and alluring within the night.

Kalona closed his eyes and slowly … slowly … breathed in and then out. As the breath left him Kalona also released all thoughts of Neferet. When he drew in his next breath he pulled, within his lungs his body and his spirit, the invisible power that filled the night over which his immortal blood gave him authority. And then he drew to him thoughts of Zoey.

Her eyes—the color of onyx.

Her lush mouth.

The strong stamp of her Cherokee foremothers that informed her features and so reminded him of that other maiden whose soul she shared and whose body had once captured and comforted him.

“Find Zoey Redbird.” The fact that Kalona pitched his voice low made it no less commanding as he conjured from his blood and the night a power so ancient it made the world seem young. “Take my spirit to her. Follow our connection. If she is in the Realm of Dreams, she cannot hide from me. Our spirits know each other too well. Now go!”

This leave-taking of his spirit was nothing like what had befallen him when Darkness, bidden by Neferet, had stolen his soul. This was a gentle lifting—a pleasurable sensation of flight that was familiar and enjoyable. It wasn’t sticky tentacles of Darkness he followed, but instead the swirling energy that hid in the folds between the currents of the sky.

Kalona’s released spirit moved swiftly and with purpose to the east at a speed not comprehensible by the mortal mind.

He hesitated briefly when he reached the Isle of Skye, surprised that the protective spell Sgiach had laid on the island so long ago could give even him pause. She was, indeed, a powerful vampyre. He thought what a pity it was that she had not answered his call instead of Neferet.