Chapter 15

OCTAVIA

X avier and I stand in the club's rear exit doorway waiting. Both of us nestle in the shadows of the porch.

One breath. Two.

"Good evening, Lady Beaumont," Broodmire says.

"Good evening. If anyone asks whether you saw us, you didn't. You've no idea where we've gone. Can you do that for us?" I ask.

He inclines his head, so I tickle his chin until his mouth opens and deposit three drops of blood as a thank you.

"Most generous," he says and settles himself down for a nap.

"Do you know where we're going?" Xavier says.

I nod. "Edge of the city there's a safe house. It's a neutral point between this city and the fae's. Rhea uses this house in the middle of the forest as a mediation point. Rhea works there most of the time, but even if she's not in, someone will be. It's manned twenty-four seven and they'll be able to reach her."

"In that case, after you, favourite."

I glance at my watch. The sun should be setting in thirty seconds. I hesitate and risk leaning out past the porch. The sun is low enough that the last dregs of hot light are dipping below the horizon, and I don't get anything more than a mild hiss.

"Ready?" I say.

"Born ready, Tave," Xavier says, and he leans forward, placing one foot in front of the other.

I glance back out, no hiss, no burn. But Xavier is younger than I am, so I wait another minute to be sure. The sky is a glossy mirage of oranges, burnt reds and ochre colours. They're shifting like molten lava into pinks and purples. It's the kind of sunset promises are made under and…

"In three," I say.

Xavier stiffens like he's going to race me.

"Two." This time, I bend into a racing start position.

Ahh, sibling rivalry. Adrenaline flutters in my belly. The kind of hot dancing breeze that races across skin and burrows into my bones. The kind of high that tells me he wants to play.

He tilts his head to look at me. "Last one to City Edge Point buys the drinks tonight." He grins, showing his fangs, and I am so ready to show the little twerp what an extra five hundred years looks like.

"One," he says. And then he bolts like lightning.

"Mother fucker," I shriek. But I'm already sprinting to catch him.

I don't lose.

I haven't run like this in years. Maybe a decade. The wind whips my hair so hard it leaves little sting marks on my back and spine like needles.

Harder and harder I push my legs. We have miles to run. Though it's easy enough for us when we have the ability to move so fast, we eat up three miles before I even catch up to him.

But I do… Catch up to him, that is.

And then I kick his leg out from under him and he barks a laugh as he rolls headfirst over and onto a grassy park area.

But I don't have time to get much of a lead. He's up and on his feet with his longer legs giving him the advantage that no amount of years or power give me.

It's an even race, but I am faster.

Just.

We reach City Edge Point neck and neck. I lean forward, pumping my arms harder, faster. We're both stretching forward, our fingers straining for the lamppost. But I manage to brush the skin of the lamppost a millisecond before he does.

"Fuck," he says, careening to the ground and rolling to slow himself down. It takes me a second to stop running too.

"Well played, Octavia," he pants, bending over forward and retching.

I join him and leave a little bit of sick on the pavement.

He slaps me on the back. "We need to do less shagging and more cardio."

I laugh hard enough I'm sick again. I wholeheartedly agree with him. "Except we won't," I say.

"Not a fucking chance. Right. Beers on me tonight. Where are we going from here?"

We meander down several narrow alleyways. The city shifts in appearance this far out of the centre. While our city has a distinct border, the next city has spread out. It's a sprawling area with seven distinct regions. One for each of the ruling families. Because of the sprawl, there are scattered villages and towns that aren't quite in their jurisdiction but not really in ours either. The villagers live a little like us and a little like them.

No one pays them much attention, and they don't really bother or cause trouble for us. But these villages and towns make for excellent neutral ground.

We pass out of Sangui City's border and into a forest area heading for a specific village. Finding Rhea takes longer than I'd like because I can't remember the exact road the cottage is on. I have to edge my way through the forest, trying to recognise buildings and the landscape. At this point, running would get us lost.

Eventually I find it; a little cottage nestled in a set of about ten other houses, three of which are set above the ground. We're stood outside when my back prickles.

I scan the trees looking for someone, and I find nothing. But the scents of cinnamon, mint, and smoke drift on the air.

"Octavia Beaumont, as I live and breathe. What's it been? Four? Five years?"

"Rhea Nightfall," I say grinning. "Son of a bitch, where are you?"

She drops down from a tree less than fifteen feet from us; she was utterly cloaked in the shadows of the night, and I'd missed her.

I never miss a threat, and she really is a threat. Gods dammit. She's getting good.

"What can I do for you?" she says and takes a puff of her cigarillo. She blows several rings of smoke and then taps the cigarette out on the tree trunk.

"I need your help."

She tilts her head. "Help is expensive."

I smile. "I expected nothing less."

"Then come, friend. Let us have a drink and discuss what help you need."

Xavier and I enter the cottage, and she guides us to her office. Rhea is as tall as me, though her body is far more toned. I have to remind myself not to stare at her ears and the strange point they have at the tip. They poke out from her shorn hair. Most of the fae I've encountered have long hair, but Rhea never was one to follow the rules.

She leads us into her office and Xavier whistles.

"Gods. There must be a hundred ways to murder a man in here."

Rhea laughs as she takes a seat behind her desk and kicks her legs up on it. She pulls an ashtray back towards her and opens a fresh packet of cigarillos. She knocks the bottom of the packet and yanks one out, shoving it in on the edge of her lips.

She lights up and then pulls in a deep drag. "Three hundred and eighty-six weapons. Seven hundred different poisons, sixty-nine different types of bullets and I dare say more than a few things I can't confess to owning. Doesn't matter whether you're a fucking vampire, fae, magician, demon, shifter or any other fucking species. If you're living and breathing, I got a way to kill you in this office."

"And you're friends with this woman?" Xavier says, his eyes startled.

Rhea huffs a laugh and takes another drag on her cigarillo. "Being friends with me is better than the alternative... no?"

I glance around the room. Each wall is filled floor to ceiling with shelves and display cabinets. Each of them rammed with equipment, weapons, arrays of jars and vials and herbs and gods know what.

She leans back in her chair and gestures for us to sit in the seats on the other side of the table. "By all means, make yourself at home."

Xavier glances at me, giving me a look of, are you sure about this? I wave him off. I'm absolutely sure.

"Sit down, boy," Rhea says.

He does, rather promptly, and it makes me laugh, which I turn into a snuffled cough when Xavier glares at me.

"Now, what can I do for you, Octavia?"

"We're looking for information."

"Information is expensive," she replies.

"Everything with you is expensive."

She smiles at me; her face is more lined than the last time I saw her. Her hair a little greyer. She must have aged fifteen years in the five it's been since we last met. But fae don't age like humans. Their long lifespans often rival vampires—we get killed before they die of old age. I still remember her when she first came to the safe house three hundred years ago. Rhea was never allowed in the field. She was born with bones that didn't form properly in one of her feet, which meant she couldn't run fast enough to pass the fitness tests. You can't be in the army or an assassin if you can't escape. So, she became a trainer instead—the most brutal and respected of them all, no less. And I dare say an equally accomplished assassin in her own ways. I've watched her career progress with pride over the years. Besides, I've known her to take enough lives that I would rather stay friends.

Especially because she's less of a guns-and-arrows killer, and more of an up close and personal one. The kind that would shove a knife in your femoral artery and vanish before you even knew she was there.

Hence the collection of weapons. She reasoned that if she couldn't get away, she'd perfect taking the life instead.

That's why she's always been good for off-books jobs. No one actually knows how accomplished she is because she's not a registered part of the fae army.

The office door creeps open and a woman in her mid-thirties sticks her head around the door.

"Hey boss, where's that report? The new client that needs… oh," she stops herself.

"Evening, Orion. File is in the cabinet in the end office. This is Octavia, one of the original three vampires. I dare say you'll have dealings with her eventually."

"Octavia," the fae woman says, inclining her head. "I'm Orion Isles." Orion's hair reminds me of Sadie's, white as snow, but her eyes are breathtaking. They're the colour of autumn leaves, auburn and chestnut and a hint of orange.

"Nice to meet you, Orion. This is Xavier, my brother."

"I'll leave you to it," Orion says and walks out of the office.

"She's like no one you'll ever meet. The most incredible killer. Now. Tell me, how can I help?"

"Information on a series of attacks that are targeting hunters in the city. You know anything about that?" Xavier says.

Her fingers trail over a brown file on her desk. "No," she says as her eyes snap up to meet mine.

Xavier leans forward ready to have a go at her, but I put my hand on his leg.

Rhea always says no to every job. You might think that counterintuitive, seeing as she needs jobs to pay the bills.

But it's a test. I've seen her do this to a couple of clients that have come in while I was visiting.

She likes to assess how much her clients really want murder on their conscience. I don't need murder today. But I guess the habit is ingrained.

Her fingers pull open the file and push a piece of paper towards us. "Well, maybe I do, as it happens. It's your lucky day."

Xavier leans forward and takes the paper. But she pulls it back.

"Payment first," she says closing the file again.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"At the moment, nothing. Let's call it a favour at some point in the future."

"I dislike having debts around my neck, Rhea."

She presses her lips together. "Unfortunately for you, you're the one asking, and I do have the information you need. So, agree or get out."

"Fine. But I know what you fae are like. For clarity, I agree to a favour of equal magnitude and not an ounce more."

Her expression narrows, but she smiles. "I always liked you, Beaumont."

We shake hands, and she gives the piece of paper back to Xavier.

"A gang?" he says, scepticism leaching through his words.

"Of vampires. Yes. Ones for hire who are good at keeping their mouths shut. You're not the only one sniffing around for information."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

She shrugs. "One favour, one piece of information. You'll find the gang in the west of the city, not far from here, as it happens."

"Thank you," Xavier says.

"Good seeing you, Rhea," I say.

She stubs her cigarette out and flicks open the lid tapping the base for another.

"Those things will kill you," I say.

She huffs out a raspy laugh. "With the business I'm in, there's always someone trying to kill me."

* * *

T urns out, this particular gang of vampires is rather dense when off duty. There's a group of six vampires built like castles sat around a metal fire barrel spit-roasting a keg of blood.

"Gods, could you be any more uncouth," Xavier says.

"Could they be any more obvious?" I shake my head. "There is six of them, though."

"Oh darling, you'll be fine, you're a savage when you want to be."

I crack my neck, let my fangs drop, "Hold my jacket."

My plan is to drop two of them before they figure out what's going on. If I can do that, I shouldn't have too much trouble taking on the rest. They might look like athletic enthusiasts, but they're young—which means they'll be weak and probably reckless.

I sprint across the field, hand out, nails sharp and ready to slice. I draw my hand across the first vampire's neck, slashing his throat and use the momentum to grip and rip. His head pings off, and unfortunately for me, drops straight into the barrel, causing the fire to spray sparks everywhere.

The three vampires the other side of the barrel spring up. But I'm already on the back of the second, my nails sunk into the underside of his chin, which I clench and rip, tearing his jaw clean off.

He collapses to the floor; I leap off his back and land with my foot in what's left of his face. Stamping down, I squish my foot into the ground, squelching through what's left of his neck. Then I reach down, punch my fist through his rib cage and pull his heart out. A sweet smile forming on my lips as I chuck the heart on the fire and use my other leg to kick the severed body away, makes the other vampires take one look at me and scarper.

The vampire still sat down is the one I have my eyes set on. The one who, given his stature and the brief flash of his eyes I remember from that night, is the one I want.

He stands, his eyes widen and then my luck runs out because he too runs.

It takes another ten minutes of chasing this motherfucker through the park to hunt him down. I'm quietly cussing Xavier for the race earlier this evening because my energy is spent.

Thankfully, the lazy arsehole decides to get off his pretty little backside and help.

The vampire tears across the field towards a copse of trees. I catch the flash of Xavier's movement right as the vampire cocks his head over his shoulder to glance at me.

As he breaches the woody area, he goes flying and careens headfirst into a thick tree. I skid to a halt and pick up his bleeding carcass.

I drag his leaden body by the scruff of his shirt towards Xavier. The shirt rips, the seams splitting under the pressure of his body weight. That's when I see Xavier found something that looks like old, discarded rope and tied it between two trees.

"Are you going to help or are you going to stand there watching?" I snap.

"I thought I was the pretty face? I helped." He gestures at the rope the vampire tripped over. "You have vampire. What's the problem?" He examines his nails all the while leaning against a tree, and my blood boils.

"Xavier," I bark.

"What? Come on, you didn't expect me to actually do any real work did you?"

"I swear on the Mother of Blood if you don't get the fuck over here and help me sprint this body across the city, I will tell Mother who actually b?—"

"—Fine," he sighs, dramatic and exaggerated, then flicks his hair back as if this is a great endeavour. He sidles over to me and then turns his nose up at the unconscious vampire.

"It smells."

"Yes, well, he was drunk, and then he got a serious head injury. What do you expect?"

"Here's the drug Rhea gave you." Xavier hands me a heavy-duty needle.

I stick it in the vampire's neck.

Xavier's nose wrinkles. "He's probably going to piss his pants or defecate. There was enough drug in that dose to sink an elephant. Now. Come the fuck on, Xavier, before we end up ashing ourselves because dawn breaks?"

He picks up the man's arm and a leg while I pick up the other arm and leg, and then we run. We're slower than we were at dusk, but nonetheless, we make it to the Whisper Club in good time, and we only have to change paths twice to avoid being seen, thank the Mother of Blood.

The club seems to behave itself and know that we need shelter because the door appears the minute we step into the Midnight Market. I shove the door open, placing my finger on Broodmire's spike.

"Should I ask?" he says.

"No, get Erin." His eyes roll shut and however he sends messages, it gets across because Erin appears, panting, a few moments later.

She's covered in blood.

"What the fuck?"

"There was an incident earlier. But it's all sorted."

"Fine. Clear the dungeon. Make sure no one is in there and that the back corridor is clear too. We need to interrogate him."

She sprints off, her booted feet clapping against the tiles. She's back just as the vampire we're carrying starts to stir.

"All clear, I left a chair and silver chains. I can tie him if you want, or I put gloves in there too for you," Erin says.

"You've done more than enough. Thank you, Erin, we will take it from here," Xavier says.

We race past her and drop the vampire into the seat. I put on the gloves and chain him to the chair. This son of a bitch isn't going anywhere.

The club's dungeon is gloomy but not like Mother's castle dungeons, which are all cold stone cobbles, iron bars and damp puddles. This is mostly a clean space. Grey walls, and plain, empty rooms. No clocks, no windows, and a muted light that is continuous no matter the time of day.

Xavier picks up a piece of plastic from the back of the room and prods the vampire's cheek.

"Oi," the vampire says, biting and tearing at the plastic, only to realise he's tied up. "What the fuck?" he hisses. And then the panic sets in.

He tries leaping up and down and writhing his body around, but the chair is bolted to the floor, and he is chained to the chair. This motherfucker is going nowhere.

Erin knocks on the door and hands Xavier and I a goblet of blood each.

"Ooh, my favourite," Xavier says.

"Essence of hope and essence of despair. Gods, Erin, you're more twisted than I thought. You're going to make a wonderful vampire."

The chained vampire growls as the scent of blood drifts into the air.

I thank her and place the goblets just out of his reach.

"Only good boys get blood," I say.

"Bad boys get bloody," Xavier continues and swings his fist at the vampire's face, landing a savage blow that makes his head recoil backwards and a splatter of blood spray onto both Xavier and the floor.

"Annnnd I'm done. Do you know how expensive this shirt is?"

I roll my eyes at Xavier.

The vampire groans as his head lolls forward, his eyes drooping in their sockets.

"My, my, Xavier, have you been in the gym? I don't think I've ever seen you land a blow like that."

He shrugs. "Have to keep this body in exquisite shape somehow."

"What the fuck do you want?" the captive vampire says.

"Your name, first," Xavier answers.

It's a tactic of course. Rhea already told us his name is Drax Clayborne, but he doesn't know that. We need him to acquiesce, so he understands who is in charge here and that fighting is futile.

"Fuck you," Drax says.

I laugh.

"Okay, fine," Xavier says. "One more won't hurt." He lands another vicious punch to Drax's jaw. This time, he's knocked out for a solid minute before he rouses back to consciousness.

I pick up the goblet of hope Erin gave us, and I hold it just in front of Drax's nose. Close enough to smell the sumptuous liquid, but an inch too far to actually drink it and heal himself.

"Name," I say.

He growls under his chest. "Drax Clayborne."

"Good," I say and edge the cup to his lip so he can take a sip of blood. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now. Who are you working for?" I say and withdraw the cup after only a single sip. His tongue skitters over his lips trying to mop up every morsel of blood. The split in his lip mats back together.

He stays silent. I tut at him, "Come now, Drax, do you really want to make this harder than it needs to be?"

I slide my finger over his healed lip and down underneath his chin, resting it against a pulpy bit of flesh.

"I'd answer her if I were you," Xavier says, leaning against the back wall.

"I work for… none of your fucking business," he says.

I snarl and then I punch my finger through the pulp of his chin and up into his mouth. He screams and screams, and I ignore it as his blood spills down my finger.

I yank him forward by his chin and lean into his face.

"Now you listen to me, you spineless sack of shit. You are going to tell me exactly what I want to know, or I am going to make this…" I wiggle my finger around the flesh and muscle of his mouth making him scream all over again, "look like child's play. I know a lot of fun ways to make you bleed, cry and beg for desiccation. But I'd rather not get blood all over this outfit. Play nice, and I'll give you the rest of this blood so you can heal, hmm?"

He nods, gently, wincing the entire time.

There's a rustling at the door and Amelia's face appears.

"Evening, boss," she says, her eyes bright.

"I'm busy," I say without breaking eye contact with the piece of shit in front of me.

"I can see that, but I think I am going to head to the library," she says.

That gets my attention. "Good."

She lingers in the door, shifting from foot to foot.

"What is it, Amelia?" Xavier sings.

"Things seems to have… er… progressed."

"Progressed how?" I say never removing my eyes from Drax's.

"There are talents developing."

Xavier kicks off the wall, as interested as I am.

Amelia continues. "I think we need to find out as much about the umm… condition as possible. We need to know how…" she pauses and glances at Xavier and then the vampire in the chair. "Things will develop."

I pull out of the vampire's chin and suck the remnants of his blood off my finger.

"Good thinking. Take Xavier. He can be helpful when he wants to be. Bring Red down here before you go. I think she earned the right to have a little fun."

Amelia raises her eyebrow but vanishes to a serenade of the vampire's screams: sharp and hollow, sweet and deep.

I close my eyes and listen to the rattling of the chair, the trickle of his piss hitting the floor and the shrieking pleas of each and every beg.

Delicious.