Page 24

Chapter 24

Duellum

Cian

“ H ello,” Cian greeted, twirling his daggers in his hands, his voice echoing through the shipping bay and the parking lot.

The vampire gave him a slow nod. “Greetings, Cian Brennan.”

Cian was still glamoured to look like someone else. “Cian Brennan is dead.”

“I smell your blood, old one,” the vampire disagreed, taking a few steps closer. “I know it’s you.”

Interesting. “How?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“My employer sent me a scrap of a prison uniform soaked in Cian Brennan’s blood,” the vampire replied, casual and at ease. “You’re bleeding now.”

He didn’t know this vampire, but that gave him a solid guess on his age, if he could sense Cian’s blood through the glamour— easily a thousand years older than Connie. That age range made him fast, durable, and capable of hurting Cian if he let down his guard. Young he may be compared to Cian’s years, but he was old for a vampire. And that made him a threat.

“You have me at a disadvantage, vampire,” Cian replied. “What’s your name?”

“Cato,” came the reply, with a pronunciation that Cian placed from ancient Rome. The name was appropriate to the accent, but then most vampires tended to acquire new names the older they got, so it might not be his original name. Cato was clearly old enough to recall the Bronze Age, before Rome existed.

“Named for Cato the Elder or Younger? Or both? They were both assholes,” Cian said, pleased to see a narrowing of the eyes and a tightness to the jaw of the vampire assassin.

Assassin he was for certain—whether Cian was the target specifically or someone else hardly mattered. Cato was there to fulfill a contract.

Cian wasn’t going to leave such a threat on the doorstep of the bloodclan. If he was right about the age of this vampire, he was older than all the bloodclan members, including Connie, and Rageshi was too chaotic to let out into the wider world just yet.

Cato prowled a few steps closer, boots soundless on the fresh pavement on the lot. This was the same place that Isaac melted into a puddle of asphalt with an inferno when he tried to stop the blood mage, Clemente, so the lot was now one smooth expanse without obstruction.

A perfect place to kill.

He sensed the approach of more vampires seconds before a small group burst out of another service hall in the shipping bay. Ricon Dumond led the group, and they came to Cian in a blur, standing at his side. Ricon sent a swift glance over the dead enforcer nearby then eyed him with some confusion, and Cian dismissed the glamour. Wearing it now was silly. Ricon’s brows went up and he smiled, showing a hint of fang. “Brennan. We’ve been sent by your brother to be of some help.”

“My thanks, Dumond.”

“Who is this?” Ricon asked, one of his curved swords in hand, pointing to the vampire in the lot.

“An assassin by the name of Cato,” Cian replied. “I believe he’s here to kill me.”

“Ahh,” Ricon murmured. “Will you need assistance?”

“Perhaps not,” Cian said, but he had a question to ask of Cato first. “Tell me, Cato the Eldest, have you a soulmate waiting for you to return?”

A ripple of surprise went through Cato’s placid expression, then a slight quirk to his lips before he answered. “There is no soulmate waiting for me, old one. I would not be in this profession if I were so bonded. You may attempt to kill me without qualm.”

“Well then,” Cian said. He twirled his daggers again, sending a rush of energy over them, cleaning the daggers from pommel to blade tip. With a sharp smile to Ricon, “You may have your turn if I fall.”

“Do not die,” Ricon ordered him firmly. “You have many who love you.”

Cian nodded slowly, and for the first time in a long time he understood the desire to bow out of a fight. He had Rory again, and Daniel, and now Fenric was returned to him by the grace of Fate. There was a little dragon to tend and a young necromancer to guide in shenanigans. He had plenty to live for, and everything to kill for.

Once this assassin was dead, he was going to ask Fenric to bond with him.

Rory? How is Fenric? he asked his brother.

Healing. I made him sleep to speed the process along. Do you need me? Rory’s mind was open to him and he saw the numerous injured people he had yet to help, and the swarming first responders in EMT and Fire rescue gear filling the casino.

I’ll deal with this threat. Keep helping the injured.

Be careful, please.

Cian dropped from the loading platform to the pavement of the lot, hands steady, resolve steely and sure.

Cato smiled, hands falling to his sheathed daggers.

Fenric

He groaned, mind a slush of chaotic thoughts and emotions, but the longer he was awake the clearer his thoughts became. He was on his back, tucked off to the side of the casino with a tablecloth bundled under his head as a pillow. Rory was nearby, helping an EMT triage a bleeding human.

“Fenric?” Rory saw him moving and came to his side, kneeling next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got blown up,” he grumbled. “How bad was it?”

“Several broken bones, a fractured skull, and severe internal bleeding,” Rory shared, shaking his head. “You were dying.”

“And now?” Fenric asked, Rory helping him sit up and rest on the wall.

Rory smiled, soft and kind. “You’ll be fine. I sorted it all out. You’ll need to rest to recover fully, but that won’t be more than a couple of days.”

“Cian?”

Rory’s expression went hard, amber eyes flashing. “He’s dealing with an assassin named Cato in the parking lot behind the Tower.”

“Fuck! He’s taking on Cato?” Fenric swore and struggled to rise. “He needs me!”

“Who is this Cato?” Rory asked, Daniel coming out of the crowd at the urgency in Rory’s voice.

“Only the deadliest assassin to ever live,” Fenric gritted out as he got slowly to his feet, Rory helping him stand. His entire body was shaking with strain. “Or undead, or whatever. He’s an old vampire and has never failed a contract.”

“Let’s go,” Daniel said, coming to his side and putting one of Fenric’s arms over his shoulder, Rory doing the same.

“Don’t they need you still?” Fenric gasped out, gesturing with his chin to the swarm of EMTs tending to the injured laid out along the wall.

“I have healed the worst of the injuries,” Rory replied. “Let’s help my brother now.”

Cian

The world went quiet, his senses narrowed to his opponent, the pavement under his feet, the feel of the air over his arms as he raised them in a simple guard, keeping himself a moving target rather than remaining static.

Cato drew his own daggers, dueling blades—they were heavier, thicker, and longer than Cian’s daggers. His were meant for throwing as well as combat and were thinner, lighter. Cato had the edge in weapons, but Cian had more experience.

Energy writhed around Cato, a translucent wall of power that shimmered like heat over a road in high summer. It blurred the edges of the vampire’s figure, and it pulsed against Cian’s awareness in an odd rhythm, a discordant tempo that was impossible to predict.

This vampire was one of the gifted.

Cian was impressed.

Cato strode forward, boots silent on the pavement, and Cian slipped out of the way of the first two strikes directed at his neck and chest, moving enough to stay in striking range and dart in with his own blades. He went for an inside slice along Cato’s forearms to cut the tendons in the wrist, and missed.

He missed.

He never missed.

The edges of Cato’s body were blurred. He was not where Cian expected him to be, where his eyes said his enemy was, and Cian grinned at the challenge, jumping back out of the way as Cato advanced. He needed to adjust his attacks to compensate for the misinformation coming from his senses.

Cian fell to defense, blocking and parrying blows, each more effective than the last as Cato advanced in a flurry of moves. Cian let him, giving ground with each attack, mindful of the chain-link fence coming up at his back and the curb of the parking lot nearing his heels.

With each move he avoided, he was able to peel away a bit of the blurring, his mind mapping the true location of Cato within the distortion field, which came out only a few inches from his body. It did not slow a blade nor injure Cian if he was brushed by it—the field seemed to only obscure Cato within it, the odd pulsing of the energy meant to prevent his opponent from deciphering the rhythm of his attacks.

His right heel hit the curb, and shouts from the direction of the shipping bay were frantic with alarm and worry. Cian ignored the onlookers and pushed off the curb with his foot, launching forward.

Dagger low, feinting, he drew a block from Cato, and his other dagger went not for center mass, but for the elbow of Cato’s other arm, ignoring the false sensory input from the field. A solid, deep slice through padded leather and into flesh, and Cato hissed, sharp and short, yanking himself back several feet from Cian.

Cold blood, vampire blood, dripped in a heavy splatter from the wound. Cian could not see where the strike landed but he had felt bone in the last drag of the blade, so he knew it was deep. The wound was grave enough it would kill a mortal from blood loss, and it would take even a vampire as old as Cato a few moments to heal it—but he would be losing blood in the meantime, and he was down one arm.

Cian had no interest in celebrating first blood—he now knew where Cato was not inside the field, and he launched into the offensive, determined to end the confrontation.

Fenric

Rory and Daniel were all but carrying him down the maze of hallways to the shipping bay at the rear of the Tower complex, having to take a few detours to get around the collapsed section of hallway they’d been in earlier.

By the time they got to the shipping bay, it was full of several vampires and human employees, and they were all standing on the edges of the upper level of the shipping bay, watching out the lifted garage doors into the parking lot. Rory and Daniel carried him to the loading platform and helped him sit on the edge, right beside Ricon Dumond and vampires that smelled like his fledglings.

Cian and the vampire Cato were fighting.

Their moves were so fast that even Fenric was having trouble keeping up with them, silver and steel flashing in the tall lamp posts illuminating the lot.

Fenric sucked in a deep breath, worry gripping him, trying to keep himself from calling out a warning when Cian got too close to the edge of the lot, foot striking the curb.

Others cried out, thinking Cian was backed into the fence and trapped, when Cian suddenly shoved off from the curb and made a slight adjustment as he struck and drew blood in a cold wave that rained down over the pavement. Cian went on the offensive without pause.

Cato glimmered. He was one of the vampires who developed a gift as they aged—his ability was one of distortion and confusion, messing with the senses of his targets and allowing him to finish them off with minimal threat to himself.

Somehow Cian was able to strike through the distortion field and managed to land a blow on Cato. The vampire blurred backwards, and the clang of steel on asphalt was loud.

The arm Cian struck was nearly useless, Cato unable to hold onto one of his long daggers, which clattered to the ground. Blood dripped in a steady splatter from the slice around his elbow, blood soaking the leathers he wore and dripping from his hand.

Cian ignored the fallen blade and continued his advance, stepping over the dagger and striking at Cato’s head with both blades, forcing the vampire to block with his remaining dagger, but Cian feinted and stabbed downward with one of his daggers, his blow finding its mark.

Dagger sunk to the hilt in Cato’s chest, and the vampire let out a choked hiss, the distortion field falling away. Dark blood poured out of the vampire’s mouth.

“Yield, or die,” Cian warned Cato as he knocked aside the remaining dagger, sending it to the ground with a harsh clatter of steel.

Cato staggered on his feet, his one functioning arm coming up, and Cian easily knocked aside the awkward blow. The vampire grabbed at the blade, hand bloody and wet, then talons found purchase in Cian’s flesh, tearing at his wrist and arm.

“Stubborn as your namesake,” Cian gritted out, and quick as lightning pulled the dagger from Cato’s chest and slammed the pommel into his temple with a sickening crunch.

Cato jerked and went limp, falling to the ground in a jumble of limbs.

Cian took in a deep breath and held up his arm, grimacing at the rivulets of blood dripping from the talon marks gouged in the flesh of his forearms, bright red mixing with the near black of the blood that soaked the daggers from hilt to blade tip. Black droplets of vampire blood covered his arms and chest, seeping into the gray dust from the explosion that covered Cian from head to toe.

He was a mess, but intact.

And Cato was alive, or as alive as one of the undead could be—his wounds were closing, and the vampire groaned in pain as he came around from the blow to the head.

“Cian!” Fenric gasped out, sliding down the edge of the platform to the pavement. He was barely able to stand but he was determined to get to his lover.

Cian saw him and left the vampire behind, striding across the parking lot to reach him. Cian dismissed his daggers into the ether a stride before he reached Fenric, and Fenric was swept up into Cian’s arms, neither of them caring about the blood and dust covering them both.

“Are you well?” Cian breathed into his ear, holding him tightly, feet off the ground. “We are not bound—I could not tell if you were alive or dead.”

“Rory patched me up, I’m alright.” Fenric wrapped his arms around Cian’s neck and pressed his face into mossy green hair, breathing in the scent of his lover. “I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry I did not return to you immediately, my kitten,” Cian apologized, burying his face in Fenric’s shoulder. “I could not leave Cato unchallenged.”

“You defeated one of the most fearsome assassins in the world. I’m not going to complain about that.” Fenric kissed the side of Cian’s neck. “Next time wait for me, I missed all the fun,” he teased.

Cian chuckled, and Fenric smiled at the sound. Cian pulled back enough to kiss Fenric on the lips. “I promise to share the fun next time.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Fenric asked quietly.

“I didn’t want to,” Cian replied lightly. “Once I figured out his ability, it was too easy to defeat him. Felt unfair.”

“Unfair?” Ricon dropped down to the pavement next to them and shook his head in amusement as he walked by, heading for Cato. “You spared an infamous international assassin because it felt unfair to win. I’ve heard everything now.”

“He’s all yours,” Cian called to Ricon over his shoulder. “Give him to Connie.”

“I shall! Now take your lover home, you’ve done more than enough for the evening,” Ricon retorted, turning his attention to the groaning vampire on the ground. Cato was moving slowly, and if he were any younger he might be in danger of succumbing to his wounds.

Ricon gestured for his fledglings, who all jumped down and went to their sire, gathering around Cato, blocking him from view.