Page 34 of The Huntress (The Blood of Legends #1)
Chapter Thirty-Four
THE STRATEGY OF ANCIENTS
C allie added extra sugar to her coffee, needing the sweetness after a trying day. Spending hours with Syl and Metcalfe yelling at each other had drained her. Typical of her ex-boss not to fear the king of suckbloods. Many a time, she’d thought this was the end for Metcalfe, but Syl had reined in his temper and the negotiations had continued. Leo, the coward, had disappeared an hour into the planning session. Callie wished she could’ve done the same.
With the claim bond between them, Gabe shared any conversations on the pseudo-battle planned, often asking her opinion. She was redundant, like a fifth wheel. Even though they all tried to include her in the decisions, the plan evolved and steamed ahead without her.
Dimitri had whisked George away at Rhys’s suggestion. Surrounded by Dimitri’s fingers, she was in no danger while she played with the Knights Ridge’s children. Her home was empty, but she shoved the loneliness aside knowing George needed the interaction with other children, and Gabe needed to feel as if he protected his family. Still, twiddling her thumbs was a new experience for her.
A hot bath sounded enticing, and she giggled, a mischievous idea forming. She meandered to the bathroom and filled the tub with a wave of her hand before placing her coffee cup down. She projected teasing images of her undressing. Gabe rewarded her with sensual thoughts for her efforts.
Woman! He flashed a suitable punishment, but it didn’t deter her.
I’m just having a bath. Little old me, all alone. What’s an aroused girl supposed to do? She released an overdramatic sigh. Play with myself?
Callie, please. The plea in his voice gripped her with sadness, longing, and acceptance. Wait for me.
She climbed into the bath and sipped her coffee, no longer tormenting her husband. The bath had lost its appeal, and as soon as she’d finished her coffee, she stepped out of the water. With another swipe of her hand, her hair was dry and braided, her body in boring pajamas.
“Damn it.” She stamped a slippered foot. “I’ve got to find a hobby.”
The all-consuming burn of anger came next, and she stomped to the exercise room. There she worked through the stances Dimitri had taught her. When had her life become so dull? She married and lost who she was? What bullshit. She learned something new though—don’t wear silk pajamas when exercising.
With sweat drenching her body and the silk clinging to her, she strode toward the kitchen in search of bottled water. Yes, she could make it appear out of the ether, or wherever, but it made no sense to do so when she was thirsty. Wouldn’t it dehydrate her further? A question for another time. She grabbed a bottle out of the fridge and drained it.
Gabe stacked the fridge with the usual sachets of blood, but alongside those were snacks, juice, milk, fresh fruit, and vegetables for George. It was a visual sign of how things had changed for him.
After flicking her fingers, she was clean again, but hungry. Within minutes, she had pasta on the boil with the sauce simmering in a pan. She made enough for George for when Dimitri brought her home. The adage was true—a watched pot never boils. Even though she could make this also appear out of wherever, she had time to spare and boredom to kill.
Halfway through a bowl, there was a knock at the front door.
Bounding over to the door, she flung it open, expecting to see her sister, Leo, or Mike. The dark visage of Stavros shocked her, and she thought her twisted mind had conjured him. He stepped toward her, and she stumbled backward, uncertain what to do.
Mayday! Gabe, we have a visitor . She sent him the picture of Stavros standing in their entrance foyer.
Keep him occupied.
Gabe’s command had her snorting. What tricks did he expect her to do? Dance the hula hoop? Do the fandango? Make a rabbit appear out of Stavros’s backside? Popcorn and a movie?
I can hear your thoughts . Gabe’s humor crossed the link.
Yes, well, what do you expect me to do? Recite Shakespeare?
“This is a surprise.” She forced a tight smile and gestured to the couches, inviting Stavros to make himself comfortable. He’d do so anyway, regardless of her permission. She couldn’t help but sense there was something less intimidating between this man and the one who had her kidnapped. This Stavros appeared broken.
“Since the Holds monitor my every move in the city, your home was a logical choice.” He chose the chair facing the door.
Strategic of him, but expected.
“Your plan is working. Why aren’t you elated?” She slid onto a chair and curled her leg under her backside. She might as well be comfortable.
“Carter’s plan is working—mine was a failure.” Stavros ran a frustrated hand over his face, mussing his hair. “Did Gabriel mention our history?”
“Yes,” she said but refused to say more. This wasn’t Christmas where he could hope she would gift him with information. The bastard would use it against her and her family.
She schooled her features, hiding how delighted she was he’d confirmed his connection to Carter.
“Did he say he killed my sister?” His eyes darkened, as did the skin under them. Contrasting with his serene expression was his stiff body and clenched knuckles.
“No, he said he didn’t know who threw her back, and that she died before the conversion took hold.”
Stavros grunted as his broad shoulders slumped. “Perhaps Gabriel was wise to move on, to find another love.”
“It’s tough to move on after losing a loved one.”
It took her years to return to some sort of normal after Dad died. When Val received the fatal news, Callie had cleansed her home of any reminders of him. She couldn’t deal with both and still be the rock her sister needed.
“I imagine it’s harder for humans with their shorter lifespans,” Stavros said.
I am almost there. Gabe’s voice snatched her breath, and she released it in a slow exhale of relief.
No rush. She punched sarcasm behind her thoughts, to which she sensed his head shake.
“Do you blame Gabe, or yourself, for your sister’s death?” she asked.
Stavros gasped, and he jerked back as if she slapped him. “How dare you?” His voice rose as anger mottled his features.
“Survivor’s guilt is crippling, believe me.” She didn’t know what calmed him—her tone of voice or the sorrow that squeezed out a tear. He settled back in his chair, but his fingers gripped the leather armrests.
Seeing she was getting through to him, she decided to open up, keep him occupied. “Dad’s death was my fault. Something no one wants to mention. He died saving me when I rushed in like a hothead. Outliving my older sister would’ve brought me to my knees.” She drew in a shuddering breath, wiping at the tears with trembling fingers. “I can understand your hatred, your unforgiveness. I hunted Dad’s killers and brought them to justice. With Val, how could I kill cancer? What could I do to save her? Hopelessness was the hardest thing to fight. It has no form, no source, and is indestructible. It forces you to face how pointless your existence is.”
“Gabriel has chosen wisely,” Stavros said, his voice above a rasp. “It has been too many years for me to relinquish the battle. Revenge was my focus, what drove me. How do I replace something that is part of me?” He dipped his head, sorrow slumping his shoulders.
“Forgive yourself. Only from there can you start anew. Find what brings you joy, and surround yourself with that. Find what gives you purpose. Without it, life fails to have meaning.” She shook her head. “I struggled. I won’t lie, Stavros. One day you will wake up, and all you will remember is how Abigail made you laugh, the sunlight dancing in her hair, and her teasing blue eyes.” She had snatched the image of her from Gabe’s memories.
“Blue eyes?” He shook his head. “You were a formidable foe. Many times, you almost thwarted my plans.” He rose to his feet, and as he lifted his gaze to meet hers, his fake sorrow slipped from his smug smirk. “Your honorable heart is your weakness, Devereaux. But you are a fool to welcome me into your home, and hope I will change my wicked ways.” He chuckled—cold, maniacal, sending trickles of ice down her spine. “Bid your husband farewell, Callista.”
She gasped, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as a wave of heat flushed her face. His earnest tone had her hoping she could soften his resolve. She had never succumbed to a criminal’s sweet talk and an evil bastard like Stavros would be the exception.
Honestly, where the hell are you? She jumped up, not liking Stavros looming over her.
“What do you want, Stavros?” she asked, stalling for time.
“I smell your fear, young one, and your anger. Your beloved cannot save you. Not this time.” He looped his arm around her waist and yanked her against him.
“What are you doing?” Raising her chin with a glare, she pressed her palms against his chest. “Release me now!” She pushed, and despite a youngling’s supposed strength, she couldn’t budge him.
“Gabriel and the de Winter Hold will spend all their resources hunting for you. This will ensure the shifters win this war. You could say I’m doing my part for humanity.”
Gabe!
Seconds later, Stavros dissolved her into a mist. Her mind clouded, enshrouded by gray walls of fog—unbreakable, impenetrable. She tested the boundaries, bouncing off them with each attempt. At the center of it was the loss of her connection with Gabe. A cold and dark void draining her hope, her strength.
Had Stavros killed him? Is that what the hollowness meant? Or was Stavros playing with her mind?
No, no. This can’t be happening again.
You’re a na?ve little girl, my sweet . Stavros’s voice echoed through the shroud. I can keep you like this indefinitely. To choose another when he claimed to love my sister? I cannot condone such disloyalty.
You are a psychopathic bastard, Callie screamed as she ran her fingers over the fog, searching for weaknesses. You didn’t want him to love Abigail. Now you’re pissed off he loves me? I might not be a psychologist by profession, but I know batshit crazy when I see it.
Converting you hasn’t taught you respect. His tone was colder.
This delighted her. At least she was drawing a reaction from him.
You earn respect, idiot. Any respect you ever had, you lost when your sister died.
The fog pulsed, the edges shimmering with black. Lightning bursts of white sparked across its surface, so she grabbed for one, shoving her fist through it. The shroud quivered, encouraging her to force her other fist through the same crack. The energy and strength it took from her to widen the hole had her whimpering. Agony throbbed in her skull, shooting shards of glass through her body, and left sweat dripping off her chin. Her arms trembled as she fought the force of the closing hole.
Gabe! She sobbed his name, tears streaking down her cheeks unhindered. She hoped the crack was wide enough to reach him. If he was alive, he’d answer her. She pleaded with him to say something.
There was no response. Just soul-destroying silence.
Images, memories flashed in her mind. Of Mike shaking his head at something she’d said. A smiling Val standing alongside a perplexed Leo. George in Dimitri’s arms, crying. Tears misting Gabe’s gray eyes, and the abject sorrow dragging his mouth down. She wailed, crying out as her soul ripped from her.
She couldn’t lose them…him.
There was no way in hell she’d let Stavros win. She had to find a way to end this cycle of revenge, or they’d never be safe. Callie kept her arms in the crack and closed her eyes, sucking in slow calming breaths, willing her tears to fade. She listened to her heart thumping a steady rhythm, ignoring the sensation of a thousand ants crawling across her skin as the shroud shrank, threatening to swallow her.
She always knew where the criminals were, where to fire when they attacked, and when to duck when they fired. Fey blood ran along her veins. As a legend, she could save herself.
Detective Callista Devereaux needed no one to help her, to free her.
That wasn’t true. She needed Gabe.
She tugged on the core of molten steel that simmered in the very depths of her being. One strand released, and the crack widened. She thrust in until her elbows brushed the edges of the hole. The twang of electricity spiking her heart rate was bearable, but when many strands released, clawing their way to her limbs, an animalistic scream tore from her. The white burning power pulverized her senses, overwhelmed her nerve endings, and just like that, she was standing on a rocky outcrop with a kneeling Stavros before her.
She couldn’t sense Gabe’s presence. A breath rushed out of her, and she dashed at the fresh wave of tears drenching her cheeks.
Behind her was a sheer drop into a ravine, the gurgling and bubbling of the flowing river far below. Teasing zephyrs danced with tendrils of her hair, cooling the sweat still beading her skin. A clicking sound drew her attention, and she focused her vision on a spider working its web. The wind whispered its news: a deer a mile east, an old man chopping wood outside his cabin southeast of her—his blood aged but no less tantalizing. Her mind shot from eagle to cougar to deer, seeing their worlds through their vision.
“What have you done to Gabe?” she asked as Stavros clambered to his feet.
His skin had paled to an ashen color, his eyes darkening to solid black.
“You are strong for a youngling.” He ignored her question, gripped her wrist and yanked her toward him.
As he opened his mouth to bite her, his teeth elongated. Anger vibrated through her, and she envisioned a long sword, sharp enough to slice through wood. It formed in her other hand. Curiosity won out, and she kept it hidden from him. He’d tasted her blood before, so what would a second sample reveal to him?
His purple-pink tongue—reminiscent of rotting meat—slid out and lapped at her bleeding wrist. The sight of it disgusted her. She shuddered and smothered her gag reflex. Stavros groaned and squeezed her wrist until she thought he’d snap it. The pain was excruciating, a vise so tight she fought the urge to whimper, to tug her arm free. She bit her lip to silence any sound escaping her.
“I taste garlic, cilantro, tomato.” He stared at her, unblinking. “He guards a myth. Oh, how heroic of Gabriel. A heady mixture of power beneath that. I expected Gabriel’s, but Darius’s power flows through your veins.” Stavros’s eyebrows arched upward, and he scowled. “It appears he deceived me. How surprising. It’s small but there, the blood of an original—Antistia.” His smirk was back. “Or did Darius not know?”
She didn’t understand why her blood mattered or who this Antistia was. Callie gripped the hilt of the sword, the leather binding biting into her palm. The weight of it was comforting. Why had she imagined a sword instead of a gun? Did she have time to debate this?
Stavros was still talking, calling her back to the present. “…to have such power in your veins, with the knowledge of a child is a waste.”
Shit. He’d said something important, and she’d missed it. She doubted he’d repeat himself if she asked him to. Although, the expression on his face would’ve been priceless.
“Blood aside, Stavros, explain yourself. Where the hell were you taking me?” She shot another broad-sweeping glance around her and frowned.
Forests surrounded her. Sounds, undisturbed by humans, ebbed and flowed with discordant life—except for the old man.
She studied Stavros, assessing whether he knew about the sword. Could she slice off his head and summon lightning? She doubted the latter.
She was utterly alone. The darkness in her heart surprised her. Where Gabe had once been, now was cold silence, a vacuum of emotion as if he and their connection had never existed. The devastation of it decimated her, and she whimpered, fighting the wall of depression that threatened to overwhelm her. A fresh wave of tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away, willing them to wait.
“Does it matter? You broke my mental hold, Callista. You chose this location for our final encounter.”
“Our what?” she asked, then a gun formed in his hand like she should have chosen. “You do know bullets can’t kill me, right?” She kept her focus on his face.
Any nuance would reveal his impending attack. As a threat, he was minor. What crippled her was the crushing weight on her chest. It was a familiar one—of mourning. Fear and despair were swift, numbing her limbs and affecting her ability to breathe.
“Kill you?” Stavros laughed, the gun bobbing as his shoulders shook. “Incapacitate you long enough, yes. One shot to the head, then I’ll toss your body into the ravine.”
“Ah, thanks for sharing, evil villain.” She hoped her sass would ground her. She would try to dissolve—a skill Gabe said required practice. Fuck, she hadn’t tried to do it once! She was stubborn, ofttimes reckless, so what better opportunity to test this out than in a life-or-death situation? Idiot.
The corner of his mouth twitched, and she dissolved a second before the burn of a bullet bored through her. Thankfully, it didn’t harm her in her current form. She hoped she could envision herself well enough to reform and prayed she didn’t materialize deformed with duck lips or a sagging ass.
She solidified, swiping the sword. Stavros jerked back, the blade slicing a thin red line across his throat. She dissolved again and shifted behind him, reforming to swing the sword. He spun to meet her attack with a blade of his own. The kiss of steel rang loud in the now-silent forest.
“A sword? You are a constant surprise, Callista.”
“I’m happy I entertain you, Stavros.” She jumped back to avoid his thrust. She smacked his blade away with hers and lunged forward expecting him to dodge her attack but not the new sword in her left hand. She sliced across his throat, drawing a steady stream of blood.
His face morphed into disbelief. He stumbled backward, falling to his hands and knees to watch his blood pool on the rock beneath him.
“Twice you drew my blood.” His words gurgled, then his shoulders shook as he chuckled. “It’s not enough for one as old as I am, my dear.”
Wait. He’d said, “ He guards a myth,” not guarded . Saturating joy roared as it rejuvenated her soul, deafening her.
Gabe’s alive!
Gabriel de Winter! If you don’t answer me this instant, so help me.
As threats go, color me unimpressed. His teasing voice had relief flooding her, and she sucked in a shuddering breath.
Where the hell have you been, you damn suckblood?
A groan called her back to Stavros. She dissolved and reformed in front of him to cross her blades, pinching his throat between them. He stilled, his eyes widening. This time she smelled his fear, an acrid stench.
“Who’s afraid now, Stavros?”
“You won’t kill me, Callista. It isn’t in your genetics.” The bleeding stopped, with the gurgle no longer affecting his voice. He was healing.
Gabe, do you want to kill him, or should I?
I’m here.
He appeared beside her, placing his hand on one of hers. The sight of him pierced her with hope, love, and a sense of safety. Joy enflamed her insides.
Many suckbloods popped into existence around her. She recognized their clothing as pal’tsy uniforms, black and minimalist. Dimitri took a position behind Stavros. A cold pleasure skewered his handsome features. He raised his gaze to meet hers, and the corners crinkled with laughter.
“Callie, you’re a huntress, tsvetok . I’ve never seen a vampire partially form during fights.” The awe in his voice was surreal.
“What?” She glanced down. Only her arms were visible. “Shit!” Her cheeks burned, and she forced her body to solidify.
Gabe shared images of her battling Stavros—dissolve, sword strikes, dissolve again, never fully solid—and she moved with such speed that she blurred.
You saw the entire fight ? “How long have you watched me?”
“We had to test your skills.” Dimitri shrugged.
“You were never alone, my love,” Gabe said, as if that eased the bonfire of fury that set her belly alight. Why are you angry?
She ignored him.
“You used me as bait?” She gaped at them, but a sense of betrayal twanged through her heart. “Gabriel de Winter, you said you’d never endanger my life.” She absorbed her blades and kicked Stavros on the chest so he sprawled at Dimitri’s feet. “Fuck you both!”
She dissolved into mist, taking to the heavens. Anywhere was better than fighting the temptation to skewer Gabe with a rematerialized sword.
Callie, love.
No! You don’t get to charm your way out of this. I must calm down first, and for that, you’re not welcome.
She threw up her wall, not willing to listen to his uber-sexy voice or his strategic reasons. She wasn’t angry that he’d used her as bait. That was a customary practice for law enforcement. She was furious he hadn’t thought to include her in the plan, hadn’t trusted her to know, had scared her into believing he’d forsaken her. Or worse, died.
Trust was critical, and he’d already violated it with the secret conversion. And now this had her believing there was a pattern of deceit. Without trust, there was no foundation to their relationship, their marriage.
Without it there was no us .