Twister Page 2

  A hiss sounded behind her. She gracefully twirled to one side as a spinning star cut through the air where she had been and sank into the wall. Guinevere didn’t waste any more time. She brushed her hand against another hidden button and jumped onto a stone chair as the floor lit up with electricity. A couple of the false handmaidens cried out and fell, writhing and convulsing.

  Two of the assassins managed to pull themselves up onto the massage table. Both drew knives from within the pockets of their dresses. Guinevere peered at them, quickly deducing which was the greater threat. It wasn’t a coincidence that they had chosen now, when she was in her more vulnerable human form, to attack. That didn’t mean she was defenseless, though.

  Both of her attackers were women; one was slightly taller and more muscular, but their facial features were so similar they had to be closely related.

  They leapt at her at the same time, one from each side while their companions still writhed. Guinevere rocked the stone chair back, bringing it to its back legs, and snatched her own daggers from the wall. She deflected both blows coming toward her but gave enough ground to her left, causing that assassin to overreach. Her foot slipped off the stone chair, and Guinevere kicked the other one out from under her. Her knife swung at Guinevere’s face.

  She ducked. Grabbing the other assassin, she yanked her forward toward the blade. The assassin hissed, striking out at her with both hands as she did.

  One knife bit into Guinevere’s arm, but it was already too late for the assassins. The doors burst open and her guards raced in, weapons drawn. Their thick, rubber-soled boots protected them from the electric currents as they grabbed the single standing assassin and dragged her back.

  Guinevere held her arms to one of the guards, who picked her up and carried her to the door where she entered the code to turn off the electricity. The guards quickly shackled her attackers, not looking at her body. Good.

  “Find out where they came from and who they’re working for,” Guinevere said calmly as she pulled on her robe. Blood leaked from her arm, thick and starting to become black. Already, she was reverting back to full vampire form. She scowled as she glared at the blood. If there were going to be attacks starting up on her again, she was going to have to avoid becoming human for a while.

  Dying was the only thing she hated more than being a vampire.

  The guards dragged the failed assassins out of the room and Guinevere shook her head. As far as attempts to kill her went, that one had been very poorly executed. It was one thing to get in here, that took connections and skill that she could respect, but they had been far too hesitant once in. Not to mention not finding out the first thing about what protective measures she had in her private chambers.

  “Oh,” she drawled as the last guard made to shut the door, “if they’ve killed any of my handmaids, put them outside. In sunlight.” There was a gasp from one of the assassins, and Guinevere met the terrified gaze evenly. “You may have heard that I am a weak queen who abhors violence. It’s true that I prefer not to kill… but that doesn’t mean I am without a sense of vengeance.”

  She gestured for the guards to take them out, and as soon as they were gone, she crossed the floor and locked her door. Only then did she let the adrenaline pounding through her blood take effect. She sank to the floor, her heart hammering. A sick feeling crept into her stomach; that look of terror on the assassin’s face indicated that at least one of her maids had been killed, or at least close to it.

  If there was one thing she hated about her bouts of humanity, it was when tears started to press against her eyes like this. As a vampire, it was physically impossible for her to cry.

  Pain crept from her arm where she had been sliced, moving up and down her arm in a way that made her fear the blade had been poisoned. When she shrugged the robe down to take a closer look at it, though, it looked normal. Her heart pounded, and her stomach twisted tighter.

  It hadn’t been that long since the last attempt to dethrone her. That had been people working on the inside of her kingdom, going after her because they were angry that she had any sympathies toward shifters. And she knew where they were coming from. How often had she herself wanted nothing more than see the ground red with shifter blood? They had killed some of her closest friends; from her view, for no reason.

  But she also knew enough to look at it from another angle. How many shifters had lost loved ones, killed by vampires for no reason?

  There was a cycle of violence between their peoples, and if it didn’t stop, it wouldn’t stop. Not until one or both sides were utterly destroyed.

  Of course, not everybody saw things as clearly as she did. She was used to dealing with people who wanted to kill her for her politics. Recently, though, it seemed to have gotten even worse. She thought that by striking an alliance with the Brotherhood, she could start getting things moving towards a mutual peace. All that seemed to be happening was that the Brotherhood blamed her for the actions of other kingdoms and other kingdoms blamed her for actions of the Brotherhood.

  If she found a shifter willing to be her sugar baby and give her a pint of blood every day, maybe she’d be able to retire and live for eternity on Caribbean cruises. Guinevere snorted—she had seen regimes rise and fall, and the human governments would not last. The cruises wouldn’t last. No, that was as good an idea as sticking her head in the sand and pretending there wasn’t an inevitable war creeping up on them.

  Or a war creeping up on her. She knew of at least one rival kingdom preparing to march on her. And she couldn’t call on the shifters for help. Not only would it be a slim chance that they would help, but it would fire up the other vampires more hatefully toward her. The only way the shifters could help was if she told Typhoon about the intricate system of tunnels that they had spent hundreds of years digging.

  And then what? Typhoon would use them against the vampires. The kingdoms she was allied with would turn on her in an instant, and vampires would die. Her goals were to try to curb more violence, not encourage it.

  Tears leaked down her face, and Guinevere allowed herself to indulge these fears before she wiped them away and stood. It had been a close call. Too close to be a careless mistake in the end. Those assassins had been chosen not for their skill but for the surety that they would mess up. Which meant she doubted her guard would get anything from them before they were thrown into the sun—whoever sent them would have made sure they couldn’t be traced back to them.

  There was one thing, though. There had to be someone on the inside working with the assassins. She crossed the room and withdrew the clothing she had discarded earlier. They still smelled slightly of Gloria’s Gates and the sex she had had there. Her movements became sharp as she dressed, the hollow fear in her chest fading away to a burning rage.

  One of her guard had let them in. One of her guard. Men she had vetted carefully, men she trusted implicitly. So, for one of them to betray her? Why?

  It wouldn’t be jealousy. When she chose her guard, she made sure that they either had strong mate-bonds or weren’t interested in women at all. Better not to risk one of them falling in love or lust with her. So, was it money? She paid them well. Treated them well. Gave them plenty of perks and time off. They were all comfortable in their lives. Power, prestige? A sleeper agent playing a long game?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Finished dressing, Guinevere bound her bleeding arm and strode from her personal chambers. Her head of security, Earl, stood nearby and saluted smartly when she marched up to him.

  Before she started in, though, there was something she had to know. “Were any of my handmaids killed?”

  Earl’s eyes flashed, filling her with dread. “Not yet. Most of them weren’t injured too badly, but Amelia was staked.”

  Guinevere’s hands clenched.

  “She’s with the healers now, but it’s uncertain if she will survive.”

  Guinevere turned on her heel, expecting Earl to follow her. “I want the men on duty
brought before me. One of them let those assassins in, and I will have him held accountable.”

  It wasn’t long before she sat on her throne, the guards kneeling before her. The humanity might still be clinging to her bones, but her fangs were growing already, along with other, rarer abilities among vampires. There was a reason she had been able to work her way from slave to queen. As her gaze swept over the guards, she focused on two of them and stood.

  “You.” She pointed at one. “Tell me, what do you think of me as your queen?”

  The guard lifted his head in surprise, then dropped it again. “I think you are wise and courageous. I am happy to serve you.”

  “Hmm…” Guinevere kept her tone bored. “What a terrible liar you are. I will ask you again and this time if you lie, I will have you punished. So. What do you think of me as your queen?”

  The guard flinched. His breathing became ragged as the silence stretched on. Just as Guinevere lifted a hand to gesture Earl to encourage the man to talk, he blurted out, “You have lost your way.”

  Earl growled, and this time Guinevere’s hand came up to stay him with a gesture. He fell back a step and glared at the guard. Guinevere, however, wanted to hear what he had to say. He thought she had lost her way? He wasn’t the only one who would be thinking that.

  “Where have I lost my way?”

  The guard lifted his head again. “You have allowed the shifters too much leniency. You have bowed to their demands too many times. I love you as my queen, and I believe in the future you see. I fear that you are compromising too much, though… giving up too much of what being a vampire means. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, and I have tried to believe that you have a plan. It’s just hard.”

  Guinevere kept her expression blank. “I see. And you?” she looked at the other man she had sensed disloyalty from. “What do you think?”

  The vampire, who had started to smirk, jumped. He stared up into her eyes, and she was enveloped by a sense of raw disgust. Her nostrils flared. Terror sprang to his eyes, but it was quickly gone. He knew what she had seen, though, and didn’t bother with lies. He threw back his shoulders and glowered at her.

  “Lost your way is too kind a way to put it. You have betrayed your own kingdom. Even now I can smell shifter spunk all over you. Building alliances is one thing, they are a formidable force that would be better as allies than enemies. But fucking them?” The guard spat at her feet. With just that movement, half a dozen of the others pounced on him.

  Guinevere nodded to Earl. That was all she needed to know. Above the din of fighting, the fallen guard still screamed at her. She forced herself not to react. It wasn’t the first time she had slept with a shifter, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  But as the guard was dragged away by the others, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this was just too big for one person to handle.

  Never mind. She had found the culprit and would get more information from him about what to expect in the future. Besides, she had her guards and maids to help her. It wasn’t like she was completely alone…

  Chapter Three

  Twister

  It was a dark night. New moon, overcast, and even the street lights seemed dimmer than normal. It made the hidden entrance to an abandoned subway station even more difficult to find, but Andy found it anyway.

  He'd been tracking the lone vampire Frieda told him about for almost three days now. At first, he had considered taking out the vampire and presenting it to Typhoon, but after only a few hours of tracking, he realized there was something far bigger than one vampire going on. So, he had taken it upon himself to find out what… If it was big enough and if he could prevent it, then he would have a much better chance of getting back into the Brotherhood.

  Several days later, after he had found their hideout deep underneath the city and the Subway Lines, he managed to hide himself above them in a small crack in the structure above their filthy nest. The strong smell of sewer hid their scent, even though there was evidence that they’d been camped out here for several days at least, so it was certainly strong enough to mask his scent.

  When the vampires came back lugging four heavy-looking containers, Andy knew he had struck gold. This was far bigger than one vampire, or even a handful of them. It was clear they were planning something big. Especially when they opened the containers to reveal several dozen machine guns and many other explosives.

  Are they going to move against the Brotherhood?

  Normally only vampires who were exiled from their lands, whose crimes were so unspeakable even their own people would tear them apart, risked venturing into Brotherhood territory for more than a couple hours. These vampires had made a home here. He had assumed they were like the others of their ilk, exiled and hiding here because death by shifter was preferable to the punishments their people would put on them. But if they were planning a move against the Brotherhood? Then they could have moved into the Subway to mask their origins and hide what kingdom they came from.

  His muscles itched to leap from his nook and tear these vampires apart and then go to Typhoon. But there were a good dozen of them. Andy was a good fighter, and in his wolf form, he could withstand a good beating. He wasn’t so good that he could be assured of killing all dozen of them. If he was killed, then nobody would know what was happening here. The vampires would pack up and move. Perhaps put their plans into action quicker.

  Besides which, he didn’t know what they were planning yet. So, he clenched his hands to fists, staring through the dirty grating of his hideout, and watched.

  One of the vampires yawned as she lifted a gun to her shoulder. “Months of planning and we’re finally in position. This is going to be like sucking a baby dry.”

  A male on the other side of the room snorted. “Do you really think so? After that botched attempt to get her, Guinevere’s going to be on high alert. You don’t end up a queen for a couple hundred years without knowing when to expect an attack. The smart thing to do would be to bide more time.”

  The woman turned to him with a hiss. “We’ve been biding enough time. That shifter-lover is bringing us all down. Before you know it, that fucking bastard alpha’s going to be her king and then what? He’ll move onto the rest of us!”

  Andy rolled his eyes. Did these bloodsuckers really think that Guinevere would give Typhoon her kingdom? Sure, she had provided the shifters with a lot of insider knowledge that had helped them out, but that? It was laughable. She wanted peace, but her first priority would always be her people. It was something Andy admired about her.

  The vampires below growled and murmured to each other, and he allowed himself a moment to think about Guinevere. She was different from the others, at least in some ways. She wasn’t interested in expanding her kingdom’s borders or ruling over humans. But then, what she had done to Hurricane was another thing. She’d lured him in, slept with him and gotten him kicked out of the Brotherhood. So maybe not so different after all.

  Maybe she just had a different approach to her plans for global domination.

  Andy glared down at the vampires as they stopped arguing and went back to preparing their weapons. Typhoon was right—vampires didn’t deserve mercy. Look at what had happened to him when he tried to offer mercy. He’d ended up nearly getting his crew killed and was ousted from the Brotherhood. Maybe Guinevere was worth having as an ally, but she was the type of ally you had to be ready to kill as soon as she showed any sign of turning against you.

  And it wasn’t something he should have forgotten in the first place. Not after the way his parents died. A vampire had taken their family hostage, bitten their mother and, when she had gone full rabid, set her on their father. The screams and scent of blood were something Andy would never forget. And after she had killed their father, he had watched his mother kill herself. He had been too young at the time to understand that she had done it to prevent herself from turning on her children.

  Hatred, hot and empty, welled in his chest. His wolf howled and battered
against his chest, demanding that he jump from his hiding place and slaughter the bastards below him. It was hard for him to root himself to his spot.

  “Let’s move out,” one of the vampires said. “It’s time to get into position.”

  Andy watched them as they filed out, carrying the weapons with them. Only two remained behind, tapping their fingers and pacing. What were they staying behind for? He glanced over what was left. A few dozen explosives. Were they hanging back in order to bring more supplies if needed? Well… no matter.

  The need for blood rose in him, and he kicked out the grate he hid behind. With one movement, he leapt from his hiding place and shifted in mid-air. The two vampires twisted, crying out in shock. The first was too late; his jaws crunched on its head and tore its neck clean through. The other vampire snatched up one of the guns and fired off a bullet that grazed Andy’s head. The burning path singed fur and opened a gash in his cheek.

  Then Andy was on the vampire, and it was over.

  He shifted back to his human form, grabbed his cellphone from his tattered jeans and dialed Typhoon. It went to voicemail—to be expected. Typhoon didn’t answer the phone from outcasts. Andy didn’t care. He left a message, detailing what he had seen, then grabbed a hand grenade from the weapon’s store and tore after the vampires who had already left.

  It wasn’t long before the scent of sewers was left behind, and he caught the scent of vampire. He followed it, loping along in his wolf’s form with the grenade clamped firmly between his teeth. He moved almost silently but knew that vampires were even quieter. He kept his ears rotating for any odd noise but mostly relied on his sense of smell. As the scent of vampires grew stronger, he slowed, careful to keep a wary eye out.

  The passages widened, going from cramped, poorly-dug tunnels to corridors made from meticulously carved rock. The floor was even and well cared for, and there were dim lights set in the ceiling every few feet. Enough to see by, even if there was the occasional shadow that he had to squint at. Soon enough, these dim lights became strips of lighting. The walls became plastered and then painted. He’d been going for what felt like hours now without any sign of the vampires he’d been following. Had there been a branching tunnel that he’d missed?