Drake Chronicles: 02 Blood Feud (25 page)

And it was the only part of this whole mess, of the emotions and needs bubbling inside the cauldron of my chest, that I could control.

So I’d damn wel control it.

“
Je viens
,” I said tightly. When he looked at me blankly, I repeated myself in English. “I’m coming.” Something broke inside and there was pain and sorrow and then, surprisingly, lightness. Ironical y, it was as if I could breathe again.

Logan stepped close to me and slid his hand through my hair, cupping the back of my head, bone beads dangling against his fingers. He didn’t kiss me but he looked at me with such a fiery kind of joy that I felt scalded al over.

And naked.

“Let’s hurry,” he said huskily. “So I can kiss you for an hour or two.”

It was surprisingly good incentive.

“The window,” I said as he stepped back. “It sounds as if most of the Host are busy with Montmartre. We couldn’t ask for a better chance.”

We quietly dragged a chair to the door and very careful y tilted it so it was shoved tight between the handle and the floor.

We moved with studied caution since the guards would have hearing as good as ours. When no one raised the alarm we carried a table and set it under the window, then climbed up on top. I could just reach it. Logan nudged me out of the way and stuck his head outside, looking right then left.

“Clear,” he mouthed before hauling himself up and out. He stayed low in the grass, reaching down to pul me out. We lay side by side for a long moment, just listening. The night was innocuous, crickets and frogs and an owl somewhere in the forest. I looked up, noting the stars.

“We’re east of the courts,” I told him. “They’l have guards posted just inside the trees.”

“Can we outrun them?”

“Maybe.”

“We’re mounting a rescue without weapons,” he muttered.

“They stripped us bare.”

“I know.” I was very aware of the empty scabbard strapped to my back and the bare loops on my belt. They’d even taken the dagger hidden in my boot.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded, smiling grimly. I had enough pent-up frustration that taking on Host guards seemed like a calming pastime. Nearly as good as a bubble bath.

We managed to crawl to the lilac hedge before we noticed anyone at al . The house was quiet, windows casting squares of yel ow light on the lawns. There was a carriage house behind the main building but it was dark. We were pressed in the mud, waiting for the wind to shift the leaves. Moonlight caught the metal zipper on a Host vampire’s jacket. He was leaning against a tree, bored. I reached up to snap off a branch of the lilac. It wasn’t exactly a sophisticated weapon but it was marginal y better than my bare hands.

Logan touched my wrist, jerked his head toward the backyard, where the pool wafted chlorine fumes to tickle our backyard, where the pool wafted chlorine fumes to tickle our noses. I had to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stifle a sneeze. Two more guards came toward us, from behind the pool shed.

We froze, hunched in the roots. They turned right, fol owing a flagstone path that curved away from us. We waited a little longer before easing out of the hedge, rol ing to a circle of birch trees. It was the last bit of cover between us and the forest. The guard yawned, shifted against the maple, startling a bird asleep near enough to notice a predator shifting.

Logan picked up a large stone, hefted it in his hand.

“Ready?” he murmured in my ear so low it was more of a tickle than an actual sound. I nodded, shifting into a crouch. He tossed the stone low but far enough so that it dropped into the bushes to the left of the guard. The leaves rustled.

The guard leaped into action, hurling himself toward the sound. We threw ourselves into a run, heading into the edge of the woods on his far right while he was momentarily distracted.

He wasn’t the problem.

A shout came from the house, closely fol owed by a bright spotlight suddenly swinging across the lawn, bright as sunlight.

Every blade of grass stood in sharp relief, the peeling bark of the birches, the blue ripple of the pool water.

Us.

“Hel ,” Logan muttered, tugging my hand. “Run!” My feet barely touched the ground. Judging by the voices, there weren’t many Host left behind, as we’d thought.

But certainly enough to kil us.

I stopped, spinning around, splintered branch held high.

Logan skidded in the dirt.

“Are you
smiling?
” he asked incredulously.

“Just a little bit.”

“Okay, wel , could you run and smile at the same time?” The guards thundered out of the house, racing through the gardens, toward the forest and the fields behind the carriage house.

“I’d rather fight.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He shoved me, forcing me into a backward stumble. “Let’s run anyway.”

“There!” someone yel ed. “I see them.”

Logan kept pushing me until I had to run or trip over my own feet. We leaped a fal en trunk, blossoming mushrooms and moss. Branches slapped at us, catching in my hair. Leaves rained down on us. We darted around trees, zigzagging to make our trail harder to fol ow. We ran, splitting up at a clearing and rejoining on the other side, further muddying our trail. A rabbit darted out of our way and then we were truly in the dark secret of the forest.

Safe.

I was perversely disappointed.

Logan shot me a knowing grin. “Cheer up. You can hack someone to bits soon enough.” He shook his head when I brightened, heartened.

I was even more heartened when I heard a plaintive dog howl.

I paused, the abrupt switch from al -out running to dead stop making me briefly dizzy. When Logan realized I was no longer keeping pace, he doubled back. I held up my hand before he could say anything, listening harder. The howl came again, trailing at the end.

I knew that howl.

Grinning and watery-eyed at the same time, I stuck my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and whistled. It pierced the forest, shril enough to leave Logan wincing.

“My ears are bleeding. Thanks for that,” he said. “And so much for stealthy.”

“We left the Host miles back,” I assured him, whistling again.

A series of yips answered. And then barking from across the river. A different howl from the mountainside.

It wasn’t long before Charlemagne came running at me from between the trees. He leaped on me, tongue lol ing happily. He wiped it across my cheek, tail wagging furiously. He gave Logan a swipe in greeting and then leaned so joyful y against me, I staggered under his weight.

“Good boy.” I scratched his ears, then ran a hand over his fur, searching for wounds. He was unmarked.

More dogs came at us from al directions until we were surrounded. Logan raised his eyebrows, impressed. There were six aside from Charlemagne, three of them massive, trained Rottweiler war dogs.

“Final y,” Logan remarked. “We have weapons again. Except that one looks like it wants to chew on my leg.”

“He probably does,” I said cheerful y, snapping my fingers to get the dog’s attention.

Logan led the pack to where he’d arranged to meet his Logan led the pack to where he’d arranged to meet his brothers and sister. Dogs sniffed ahead of us, ran behind us, and ran along either side.

I felt more like myself than I had in a long time.

CHAPTER 23

LOGAN

Solange, Nicholas, Connor, and Quinn were waiting for us.

Connor was pacing; Quinn was crouched in the ferns. He rose when he spotted us, and Solange came running. The dogs mil ed around our feet.

“Logan!” She hugged me so tightly I grunted, extricating myself after tugging affectionately on her hair.

“I’m fine, brat.
Oof
,” I mumbled, tripping over one of the eager dogs.

“I told you the Drake boys are harder to kil than that.” Quinn smirked and clapped me on the shoulder. Nicholas and Connor did the same. They turned to Isabeau cautiously.

“Isabeau,” Solange said politely.

I bumped her with my shoulder. “She didn’t murder me, as you can see, so chil out.”

Solange looked a little sheepish. “Sorry.”

“I understand,” Isabeau said quietly. “Could I borrow someone’s phone?”

Solange handed hers over and Isabeau dialed quickly.

“Magda? Are you al right? Kala?”

I could hear Magda’s reply. “Kala’s fine. We set some of the dogs loose to find you.”

“I know. We found each other. Did you get rid of the
Hel-Blar
?

” Isabeau asked.

We eavesdropped without pretense.

“Yes, but only just,” Magda replied. “And we haven’t had a chance to go back to the caves and make sure none are nesting.”

“Listen, Montmartre’s making his move tonight, right now, against the Drakes. We have to stop him.”

“Why?” Magda snapped. Isabeau glanced my way, wincing.

“What do I care about the royal courts? And we have enough problems of our own tonight, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Believe me, I noticed,” Isabeau shot back. “And if you want to know why, it’s because we’re next.”

“Fine,” she grumbled.

“I’l keep you posted.” Isabeau clicked off.

“Where’s Lucy?” I asked the others.

“At the farmhouse,” Nicholas said with grim satisfaction.

“How’d you manage that?”

“She’s in a closet.” Solange rol ed her eyes.

I stared at Nicholas. “You locked your girlfriend in a closet?

Smooth.”

“She’s going to eviscerate him,” Quinn said cheerful y.

“Yeah, wel , she’l be alive to do it,” Nicholas said. “And that’s al I care about right now.”

“What about the others? Mom and Dad at the courts?” Connor shook his head. “No, and they never made it home.

It’s nearly sunrise, so they must have gotten caught in between.

Sebastian and Marcus are with them.”

I checked my pocket watch. “They can’t have been ambushed that long ago. They’l stil be alive. They have to be.” I looked at Solange. “Did you cal Kieran?”

“Yeah, but the Helios-Ra can’t help us.”

“Why the hel not? What’s the point of dating a hunter if you can’t use him?”

“They’ve got their hands ful ,” Connor explained. “
Hel-Blar
are close enough to town to cause a serious problem.”

“Greyhaven,” I said, disgusted.

“What does he have to do with it?”

“He’s been making vamps on the sly,” I answered. “I guarantee most of them went feral. The ones who didn’t are helping him plan a coup to oust Montmartre, while the others are being used as misdirection.”

“Shit,” Quinn said. “Bastard.”

“You have no idea.” I looked at Isabeau, but her expression was careful y blank. “So now the problem is, how do we find Mom and Dad in time?”

“I can help with that,” Isabeau said confidently, “but I need something of theirs. A piece of clothing would be ideal.”

“Magic?”

She shook her head, half smiling. “Dogs.”

“Oh. Right.”

Solange and my brothers looked at one another and shook their heads. “We’ve got nothing on us and no time to go home and get it,” Quinn said.

“Wait.” Solange opened her pack. “I have something that belonged to Montmartre. It was left at the property line in the woods. We found it on the way here.” She pul ed out a slender, delicate silver crown, dripping with diamonds and rubies. She made a face. “He doesn’t go for the subtle metaphor, does he?”

“He gave you a tiara?” I grimaced. “Tacky.”

“I know, right?”

“It’s perfect,” Isabeau said, plucking it out of her hands.

“Gwynn,” she cal ed over one of the hounds. He was huge, tal er than Charlemagne with a distinctly regal bearing. He padded over to her and she held out the crown. “Scent,” Isabeau demanded. Obediently, he sniffed the ornate filigrees, the egg-sized rubies and seed pearls. “Good boy. Now find Montmartre!

”

H e
woofed
once and fit his nose to the ground, smel ing through the undergrowth. Isabeau made sure the other dogs received the same instructions, giving them a good thorough scent of the crown. “Find Montmartre!” she repeated.

“Your dogs have a ‘find Montmartre’ command?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered with a dark smile. “You forget how much we dislike him.”

We trailed after the dogs and it wasn’t long before Gwynn lifted a paw and then resumed his sniffing, more fiercely this time.

“He’s got the scent,” Isabeau murmured.

“Good. Let’s go kick some ass,” Quinn said, withdrawing a stake from the leather strap across his chest.

“Hey, give me one of those.” I took one from Connor as wel and handed it to Isabeau. She’d tossed the broken lilac branch into the bushes earlier.

“Wait,” Isabeau said repressively as we jogged after the dogs. “We need a plan.”

“We find them, kil the bastards, rescue our parents,” Quinn explained.

“You can’t just run in there and hope Montmartre trips on his own stake,” Isabeau said. “He’s real y good at this sort of thing.

He’s been doing it for centuries and we … haven’t. And there’s only six of us, and most of us are newborn. Once the sun comes up, he can keep fighting. We can’t.”