Page 118 of Blood Stone

Sebastian wasn’t quite next to Nial, but he was closer to him than the woman. And he was on the same side of the room as the stranger. So…Sebastian’s warning was about the stranger, then. That was the danger. Sebastian was going to try and take the stranger out first if anything happened.

Garrett picked the chair that put him closer to the woman and on the opposite side of the room from the stranger. If Sebastian was going to take on the stranger, the least he could do would be to deal with the woman. That would leave Nial to protect Winter.

Nial’s mouth quirked in a quick grin as Garrett sat down. Then it disappeared. He pulled one of the light chairs closer to him and patted it. “Winter,” he said quietly.

She smiled her thanks and settled on it.

Nial caught Garrett’s gaze once more, briefly, then looked at the woman. “Madam, may I present Calum Micheil Garrett of the clan Bruce?”

The woman nodded at him. “You are most welcome, Garrett.” Her accent was very old, with inflections that spoke of ancient roots and times long gone.

“Thank you, madam.”

“I am Khurshid Tabrizi Amirmoez. You have heard of me?”

Garrett kept his face still while his mind raced.Heardof her was a mild understatement. She was one of the unspoken ones, one of the ancient blood that had moved silently down through history. They came from such ancient times, they often found modern humans too taxing. Unable or unwilling to adjust, they found ways of stepping out of the mainstream of life and letting it pass by them, leaving them untouched, while they lived in their own little timeless pockets of existence. Vast compounding streams of wealth certainly helped them to achieve such isolation. So did their powers, which it was rumoured were more extended than the average vampire’s.

“You honour me with your name, Khurshid,” Garrett said carefully. Names were another touchy subject with the unspoken ones. They liked their anonymity.

She gave him a small smile. “It seems my name will be public property all too soon.”

Garrett slid his glance toward Nial. “Then you have been acquainted with Nial’s plans. That is why I am here, then.”

“I see he has a modicum of ability to think.” The dry tone and deep voice issued from the stranger, who stood neatly at equidistance between Nial and Sebastian, his hands loosely held at his sides.

Garrett looked directly at the man, assessing him. Memories stirred and tried to surface. Roman had spoken once about an English lord, who ran with the unspoken ones… Garrett stretched for the memory. It brought to mind a tavern in olde London town, horses’ hooves clinking on cobblestones, a fire built high against chilly winter rain, and stagecoach drivers’ calls outside. Raucous laughter and the smell of cheap beer.

“Cyneric Pæga, the Assassin,” Garrett intoned, remembering even the tone that Roman had used to invoke the man’s name as he’d told his tale over the beer-soaked table.

Cyneric gave a bow so brief it was nearly just a nod of his head. “At your service,” he said, his tone so dry deserts seemed like oceans in comparison.

“But that isn’t why madam Khurshid finds you such a useful companion, is it?” Garrett added.

Cyneric smiled. “She has learned to value true intelligence.”

“And true arrogance,” Sebastian muttered.

“The ability to think – totrulythink – always includes the ability to properly self-analyse. It looks like arrogance to those who don’t appreciate clear thinking.” Cyneric didn’t seem offended.

Winter put her cup back in her saucer with an audible clatter. “You despise those of lesser intelligence?” she asked him. Her eyes were narrowed with anger, but she spoke with civil politeness.

“I’m kind to those of lesser intelligence when I recognize they are truly struggling to do their best,” Cyneric amended. “What offends me is someone wasting their natural abilities. Unfortunately, that particular disease is rampant in both humans and the blood so I am often offended.”

Garrett wanted to be pissed at the man for his superiority, but he had spoken with no particular emphasis. The dry tone had been missing completely. He had been stating a simple truth in his view. Garrett had a hard time arguing with it. The depth to which human and vampire stupidity ran sometimes staggered him. Worst, it recycled, over and over. No one learned, no one handed the lessons down, the same stupid shit continued over and over, week after decade after century.

Garrett would shake his head over it, sigh, and get back to work.

Cyneric chose to get offended by it.

Weren’t they simply choosing two different reactions to the same problem?

“You get pissed by it,” Garrett said. “But do youdoanything about it, or do you just go around clenching tighter and tighter by the decade?”

Cyneric’s eyes narrowed.

“Enough sparring,” Khurshid declared. “Cyneric, tell them what you told me.”

Cyneric stepped around to the front of the chair he had been hovering behind. He wore an expensive suit. Garrett had been buying business suits for decades and he eyeballed this one’s price tag in the two thousand pounds Sterling range. Definitely English and probably at the extreme end of conservative – Brooks Brothers or Saville Row. But it was a very modern cut, all the same. Slim and fitting, which made the most of Cyneric’s physique, which was good.