Silk Over Razor Blades

Time seemed to slow.

  Tristen gritted his teeth. Balled his hands into fists.

  Though her stomach and head shrieked a complaint at every move, Lenina shoved off from the cupboards and ran. Shouldering past him, back over Thorne’s body and to the front door. ‘Help me, please!’ Desperation added volume as she went.

  Locks clicked and the door swung open before she could reach it, admitting a scatter of rain and a shabby figure in grey. He peered through a scraggle of knotted ginger hair and stepped forward. Lenina glared at Jason and skidded to a stop. Her fingers itched as she balanced on the edge of attacking or fleeing.

  ‘I blocked you,’ she cried, checking the mental image of the door in her mind. Sure enough, the locks, chains and deadbolt remained in place. She felt no trace of him in her head, just the frantic shrieking of her own fear. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘I wasn’t following you.’

  Tristen stepped into the hallway, kicking aside Thorne’s legs to clear a path. One hand rested on his hip. ‘Where have you been?’

  Silence in the hallway. Lenina frowned. Looked toward the door.

  Shuffling his hands, gazed fixed on the ground, Jason hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. When he spoke next, his voice quivered. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I lost an asset. I had to buy time playing lovey-dovey. What took you?’

  More hand shuffling. ‘I stopped to give tribute. I had to make sure I was strong enough.’

  ‘Are you?’

  In answer, Jason lifted his head. His thin lips pulled into a sly smile.

  Lenina screamed. Pain exploded across her skull and the carefully constructed mental door burst open. Imagined splinters pierced her brain like needles. Through the gap came a scalding wave of emotion from Jason, washing over her to drown out everything else. She felt his pleasure, his pride, his excitement. Beneath those more immediate emotions came more subtle ones and her body quivered as traces of love flowed through. Respect. Deep, visceral longing.

  Lenina stared at Jason and understood. ‘You know him.’ Cradling her head in both hands, she gathered together the shattered pieces of her mental defences and tried to repair them. ‘You bit him, like you bit me.’

  Tristen snorted. ‘Don’t be so crass. I Kissed him.’

  ‘You did?’ She shook her head again, her gaze flicking across his face as if to find a clue in his expression.

  ‘I invited him to share a gift with me.’ Tristen eyed her injured cheek. ‘When he accepted I sealed the agreement with a Blood Kiss.’

  ‘He drank your blood?’

  ‘If you insist.’ He smiled and that brilliant white light returned to his eyes. ‘Get in here, Jason.’

  The longing she felt winked out, quickly replaced by fear. Lenina felt the change and shoved the last few pieces of the door back into place. The weight of Jason’s thoughts leaned against it, but she gritted her teeth and pinned it shut.

  He grimaced at her. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, love. You need more than that to keep me out.’

  His words gave Lenina a new idea. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swapped the image of a broken door to a sheer, impenetrable wall, built with concrete slabs three feet thick. No door, no cracks, no way through.

  Jason’s smile faded. ‘How?’ He stared at her and, though his eyes narrowed with concentration, Lenina felt nothing. She slumped against the wall, panting.

  Slow claps came from Tristen’s direction. ‘When you’re quite finished, we all need to have a—’ he broke off. Thrust out one hand. ‘Wait!’

  The order came just in time.

  Breathless and dizzy from her mental acrobatics, Lenina didn’t see Jason move until he stopped, the tip of his rusting dagger quivering an inch away from her chest.

  His wild expression matched the rasping breathing making his chest rise and fall. She smelled old meat and fresh blood on his breath. The sight of the weapon brought on another wild surge of hate and fury. It bubbled up within her, threatening to overcome reason until an answering stab of pain from her left cheek drowned it out. She shuffled sideways and when equidistant from the two men, she shared her gaze between them. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

  ‘Yes, it’s always about you, isn’t it?’

  Jason’s grip tightened on the dagger. ‘She’s not allowed to live. I gotta kill her.’

  ‘Then you should have done it properly instead of cutting up her face.’

  ‘I tried—’

  ‘Shut up.’ The light in Tristen’s eyes flared, then dropped back to its creepy white glow. ‘And give me that before you do more damage.’ He raised one hand in a scooping gesture. The dagger jerked from Jason’s grip, flying through the air to land on Tristen’s outstretched palm.

  Lenina clutched the wall. Dizziness came and went in waves. ‘How did you do that?’

  He smiled, but didn’t answer.

  She sank to the floor. That seemed preferable to falling. She bit her lip. ‘If you made— Kissed him, then you knew what I was. You knew what really happened in the park.’

  ‘And what really happened to Nick,’ he added.

  She stopped breathing. Just for a second. When she started again, the breaths were short and fast. Too fast. Dizziness welled up again. The hallway blurred before her eyes.

  ‘I can still do it.’ Jason’s voice held a note of desperation. ‘Before Kallisto finds out. No one will know but me and you—’

  ‘Shut up.’ Tristen didn’t raise his voice, but Jason broke off as though slapped. ‘It’s too late now. I can’t go back to the police after tonight. I need something to satisfy Kallisto and the other Majestics.’

  ‘But then she’ll know I did it. Please don’t. She’ll kill me.’

  ‘Not my problem.’

  Though unsure, Lenina thought she saw the hint of a smile on Tristen’s lips. Bemused, she glanced at Jason, watching him shuffle his fingers.

  He stared at her as though seeking answers, his stare performing that same slide over her features. They stopped on the stitches across her left cheek. Colour drained from his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His lips trembled. ‘That’s the Neeva,’ he whispered.

  Tristen’s lips flattened. ‘What?’

  ‘On her cheek. Look at the cut— the way it curves. The Neeva.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  Jason crawled across the floor. Though she tried to scramble back, the walls blocked her passage, forcing Lenina into stillness as his hands grasped her chin. Firm but gentle, he turned her face to the light. His fingers were warm, a peculiar energy prickling between his skin and hers.

  ‘It is. I’d know this sign anywhere.’

  ‘Not possible,’ Tristen snapped. ‘It’s a myth.’

  Jason ignored him, shuffling back and dropping to his knees. He leaned forward, holding Lenina’s gaze until his forehead touched the floor in a clumsy, prostrate bow. He turned his hands palms up to expose the wrists.

  ‘I didn’t know, love,’ the cocky nickname died on his lips. ‘I wouldn’t have touched you if I knew. You gotta believe me.’

  Lenina narrowed her eyes. Though she scrabbled through her memories, nothing could account for this abrupt display of reverent respect and fear.

  ‘Get up and bring her.’ Tristen moved towards the living area. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

  ‘Master, I serve you,’ Jason spoke right over him. ‘I didn’t know it was you. Please.’

  Inching her toes away from his fingers, Lenina looked at Tristen. ‘What’s Neeva?’

  ‘It’s an adapted form of the Hebrew word “niv”.’ His voice was tight, his lips pursed. ‘It means fang.’

  Then she heard it. Like an echo or a whisper directly between her ears. She heard Kiya’s voice from one of her visions, picking the name of Saar’s army in honour of the birthmark on his right thigh.

  All great men have memorable titles. Saar . . . leader of the Red Fang Army.

  With that memory came another, this one more recent.

/>   Passages from the crazy autobiography on the Internet. Xerxes’ account of the vampire known as Saar and his promise to return following his death at Waterloo.

  ‘The Vessel.’

  Tristen’s eyes widened. ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘I read about it.’ She backed away again, trying to keep both men in her line of sight. Jason didn’t move, but Tristen followed, backing her along the hallway until her spine met the front door. Like before, the locks clicked into place.

  She licked her lips. ‘The Prophecy is true?’

  ‘No.’ He almost shouted it, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. After a deep breath he continued. ‘Some believe it. I don’t.’

  Lenina glanced at Jason. She had no need to ask what he believed.

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything. Most God-Touched can’t even agree on what it involves. Who the Vessel is supposed to be. When he shows up. It’s like the Second Coming of Christ— not happening.’

  Turning to the mirror, Lenina looked again at her reflection.

  The stitched up wound looked red and angry. A smooth curve across her left cheek, reminiscent of a large fang.

  Even the colour matched.

  Jason made a sound like a kicked dog. He crawled across the floor and touched her foot. ‘You’ll protect me,’ he said, lifting his head at last. Gone was the terror of moments ago. In its place was hope, so raw he appeared childlike. ‘I made a mistake, but you’re the Vessel, yeah? Kallisto and the others have been looking for so long . . . she’ll forgive me if you tell her to. She’ll thank me for finding you.’

  Snarling, Tristen stretched past Lenina and grabbed Jason by the scruff. He heaved the other man off the ground and shoved him against the wall, pressing the point of the wavy dagger to the base of his throat. He held the position for long seconds, breathing hard through clenched teeth. When he looked up again the white light faded from his eyes.

  ‘She’s not telling Kallisto anything. There’s nothing to tell. She’s not the Vessel, she’s not Saar and she isn’t saving anybody. She’s just a girl you Kissed when you should have known better. Kallisto’s going to eat you for breakfast.’

  ‘But . . .’ Jason’s slate grey gaze flicked to Lenina. ‘Tell him. Tell him you’re the Vessel.’

  From the expression on Tristen’s face, she didn’t think it would help.

  Instead she said, ‘I don’t want to die.’

  Jason mewled, deep at the back of his throat. ‘But it is you. Your face— how can you not see it?’

  ‘You cut me with your dagger, that’s all. There’s nothing special about it.’

  ‘Saar’s dagger!’ he insisted. ‘And it would have healed if it were a normal wound. Vampire powers manifest after your first tribute and you’ve done that now. You drank. So why hasn’t it healed?’

  Lenina watched the point of the dagger shift away from Jason’s throat. She saw him sigh and sink down the wall, but her own chest tightened when the blade swung towards her face. She froze as Tristen laid the weapon against her injured cheek.

  ‘He’s right,’ he whispered. ‘I saw you outside the house . . . any other wound would have healed before we got to the hospital. Before we even arrived at the scene. Why not this one?’

  Words clogged Lenina’s throat.

  Tristen pressed closer, leaning his body into hers, his heat a stark contrast to the cool metal against her face. ‘What are you?’

  The point pricked her skin. A tiny drop of blood ran down the blade.

  With it, Lenina felt another scalding rush of hate and anger, this time accompanied by a memory. She saw the same dagger through Saar’s eyes, admiring its gems and wavy blade. He handed the weapon to Mosi with a smile, a kiss and the words, ‘A gift, my love. From the gods to me, from me, to you.’

  Shaking her head cleared the image in time to see Tristen staring at her, his mouth hanging open. ‘What did you say?’

  Until then Lenina hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud.

  ‘Say it again,’ he snapped. ‘Say exactly what you just said.’

  ‘A gift,’ she whimpered. ‘He said it was a gift from the gods. “From the gods to me. From me, to you”.’

  A gust of peppermint-scented air billowed over her face. ‘This dagger did belong to Saar. He gave it to Mosi and he passed it down the line to me. I gave it to Jason. It always passes with those words. Those exact words.’

  Lenina fought to keep her voice steady. ‘I saw him give it to Mosi. They were standing in Cleopatra’s palace in a room filled with pillars like an entry hall.’

  The moment she said the words, she saw what had followed not long after.

  Saar lay on the sand, crippled by the pain of his dying soldiers and the agony of watching Kiya die. Bleeding, helpless, he watched Mosi crawl closer, holding a rusted dagger with a wavy blade. It plunged down. Hit his chest. Pierced his heart.

  ‘Oh, God.’ Lenina’s voice trembled.

  ‘Saar took the dagger the same time he took the gods’ gift,’ Tristen tightened his grip on her face. ‘No one knows the exact details, but some say it once belonged to Set. Legend says it has the blood of Horus and Set in the metal, from when they fought over Osiris’ death.’

  Jason gave a small moan. ‘That’s proof. It must be her. No one else sees Saar or gets his memories when they join us. She knows the ritual words. Where else would it come from?’

  The point of the dagger left her cheek and trailed down the front of her borrowed sweatshirt.

  She held her breath, watching the rusty metal leave tiny flakes on her chest. It stopped between her breasts.

  ‘You can’t be the Vessel.’ Tristen stared into her eyes. ‘You’re just a spoilt brat with bad luck. Jason wasn’t even interested in you. He loiters outside bridal boutiques waiting for the grooms to show up.’

  Scrambling off the floor, Jason rushed over and put a trembling hand on Tristen’s arm. ‘Think. Even if you distract Kallisto with my cock-up, you’re dead if she knows you killed the Vessel. We both are.’

  ‘She’s not the Vessel!’

  ‘Then test her. The dagger will know. Give it blood and we’ll know for sure.’

  Lenina held Tristen’s gaze. She watched the battle behind his eyes and felt the tension through his arms and shoulders as he shifted his weight on the dagger.

  ‘Fine.’ His expression never changed, but an instant later Tristen’s hand plunged forward, driving the sharp point of the dagger through Lenina’s sweatshirt.

  The breath she held rushed from her body, propelled by the terrible impact. Pain tightened her lungs and she struggled to draw a fresh gulp of air. Then the dagger slid out, blade red and dripping. Blood followed in a slow ooze, rapidly soaking the sweatshirt.

  Lenina cupped her hands around the entry wound, as if she might be able to catch the precious fluid.

  Eyes wide, hands shaking, Jason lunged forward and caught her as her knees gave way. He lowered her to the ground, apologising over and over.

  Tristen watched, the dagger hanging loose in his grip. Crimson drops rained from the tip. ‘If you are the Vessel, this shouldn’t be a problem for you to heal.’ His voice softened, his gaze darting left and right as though unsure of the outcome he wanted. ‘A stab to the heart would kill a normal God-Touched as young as you. But this dagger won’t kill the Vessel.’

  Lenina had just the time to catch the scent of cinnamon on the air before darkness swept in and swallowed everything.

  ALEXANDRIA 5 MAY 36 BC

  Chapter Twenty-One