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There's a Fine Line...
Chapter 15
Blake stalked the encampment coiled and ready for battle.
Far from settling his mind, the brief mental contact with his mate had driven
his beast into a ravenous fury. He needed to see and touch and verify for
himself that she was well. He needed to know why the bond had formed now and
not the day they mated or in the days since. He needed her back by his side
where he could keep her safe. All who stood between him and satisfying that
need took their lives into their own hands, regardless of which side of the
battle they favored.
It was the waiting that was driving both his human and beast
insane. Though his human side understood the need, his beast chafed at the vast
amounts of daylight hours spent amongst the humans who pestered those setting
up the encampment. He and Elizabeth dodged questions from the local police,
dismissed reporters, and oversaw the growing arsenal that would outfit and arm
a small Third World country. Though his beast urged him to drain the curious
and concerned locals to corpses and leave them for the packs of stray dogs and
other vermin, and Blake saw the advantages to having such peace, the greater
attention that would garner wouldn’t be worth the transient pleasure.
Elizabeth had worked alongside him for several hours after
he’d communicated with Alicia but even their centuries of friendship couldn’t
withstand his peevishness and simmering violence. The only one who appeared
unaffected by his mood was the tiny pixie, Sapphire. She sat upon his shoulder,
chattering about this or that or singing in her lilting voice, until he
threatened to rip off her wings and use them to plug his ears against her inane
babbling. Where others cringed at the barely contained menace in his voice, his
minute companion merely tsked in disapproval as she faded away. She promised to
return only after he’d regained some semblance of control.
They’d heard nothing from the Royal Advisor, Lysavar, or the
Celestial, Camael, since their meeting in the ruined Simons Building. The
silence from the pair served to further degrade the vampire’s foul mood. Even
though Sapphire and Opal had reassured him that his friend would return in time
for the assault on the church, Blake scowled any time the elf’s name was
mentioned. Devereux’s faith in Camael wasn’t as solid and the normally
flamboyant vampire was unusually somber. He wanted to believe his extra-planar
mate’s promise to return and join the fight but their bond had yet to be firmly
established and the Celestial didn’t have the best track record.
Meanwhile, the Others began arriving early Wednesday afternoon.
Most came by car – a large caravan of black SUVs escorted by a choice number of
enspelled or nonhuman members of the state and local police forces. Before the
sun had fully set, the 20’x30’ canvas structure contained over sixty nonhumans from
nearly half a dozen races. Such a disparate group was rarely found together outside
the annual Summit and they each eyed the others with a mixture of curiosity and
suspicion. None were aware that a tiny pair of spies flitted amongst them.
The vampire covens sat in distinct clusters, sipped glasses
of <i>Sangue Vino</i>
from Elizabeth’s private stock, and contemplated the advantages of potential
political maneuvers. Occasionally, one of each group would stand as if choreographed,
glide elegantly towards one of the other covens, and sit to exchange names,
business cards, and tentative promises. The Russian and Persian covens were
especially keen to establish mutually beneficial ties while the New Orleans
coven watched it all with amused, and affected, ennui. They all made a grand
show of checking and loading their weapons as if there was a prize for who
could conceal the greatest number of pistols and knives in the most creative of
ways. Opal rolled his eyes at their posturing but flitted amongst the vampires
to ensure their plotting wasn’t against their host.
Along the back of the tent, six of the Eurytion Herd’s
finest Hunters checked buckles and retied cords while awaiting the start to the
meeting. The centaurs carried enchanted lances, sheaths with short swords resembling
Ancient Rome’s gladius, and a horseman’s bow with quiver slung low on their
withers where their human torsos melded with their equine bodies. Each warrior
wore modified horse barding crafted from a combination of metal and leather to
maximize both protection and maneuverability that melded seamlessly into a
metal breastplate to protect their vulnerable chests. Their tails were braided
and bound to avoid tangling in the branches and underbrush surrounding the
desecrated church on the hill. They ate little and spoke less, preferring to
hydrate before the coming battle to offset the humidity that still lingered in
the muggy autumn air.
The Shifters filled the rest of the metal folding chairs
placed in the tent and performed their own rituals before battle. Scents were
gathered and memorized so that recognition during battle was swift and
instinctual. Craig Leroux, the alpha’s younger brother, commanded the Pack’s fighters
and was eager to exact some measure of vengeance for the haunted look that
remained in the eyes of his favorite niece. After speaking with Kazeem Obasanjo, the wolves and tigers began working
out fighting tactics that utilized their particular skills. Sapphire perched
upon the back of a chair as they planned herding and ambush strategies. While their
tactics were sound for land-based prey, they were close to useless for the
flying creatures they would encounter like mephits and demons. Clearing her
tiny throat, she decided to point out the flaws in their plans and how she
might be of use to them.
When the sun began to sink into the horizon, Blake and
Elizabeth stepped into the tent, followed by Augustin, Johannes, Devereux and
the young Karen Walker. The Investigator’s crimson eyes scanned the impressive
number of nonhumans with cold satisfaction. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe
that the battle would be easy, but he was now more confident that the battle
could be won. As the small band of friends and compatriots moved through the
crowd, a slim and regal elf entered the tent and awaited the vampire’s notice.
“Lysavar.” Warmth colored his voice as Blake moved to greet
his elven friend. “I’m pleased to know I won’t have to kill you after all,
elf.”
“You could try, vampire,” the Royal Advisor chuckled softly
and gripped his friend’s forearm in welcome. “I come bearing good news, bad
news, and surprising news.”
“Not the time for games, Lys.”
Nice, need more
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