Blood Queen (Blood Destiny #6)

Blood Queen (Blood Destiny #6) Page 3

Charles wept as he dropped to the floor against the far wall. Tony blinked at Wlodek in shock. He couldn't be hearing the Head of the Council properly. This information could not be truth. Gavin, however, rose shakily from his seat and began keening wildly, his grief evident in the high-pitched wail that came from his throat. Radomir joined with Gavin, his own keening forcing Wlodek to wipe tears away. Merrill strode silently from the room. Compulsion wasn't needed and he had grieving to do in private.

* * Present * *

"Wait! Here's another one!" The search had gone on for four days after the attempted coup. Mostly the search and rescue teams were finding bodies of common demons. Few in this sector were found alive, and those were discovered within the first two days.

"Dead?" Wendevik, High Demon of the House of Greth, led the search detail of common demons through the streets of Veshtul. He rode the ox cart beside his common demon driver, while a dozen commons walked around it, searching through the debris for bodies.

Horoth, his uniform covered in blood, dust and debris from a lengthy search, knelt beside the body he'd uncovered to check for signs of life. Trooper Horoth normally worked with Wendevik's guards in one of two common demon cohorts, and it was his duty to police the marketplace and the residential sections of Veshtul. Horoth didn't expect to find anything—this one was pale and unmoving. Dutifully he held a small mirror to the mouth and nostrils, blinking in shock when he saw the faintest misting on the reflective surface.

"Alive!" Horoth shouted and six common demons rushed to help.

"There is some swelling at the base of the skull," Darvul pointed out the injury to his assistant. The unconscious common lay on a bed shoved inside a small room; they'd placed other patients together to give this one a quiet space. Darvul, stooped slightly from years of service and his once dark hair threaded liberally with silver, had lived more than five hundred years and worked as a physician in the city of Veshtul. He and sixteen other common physicians had been working nonstop since the attack and near takeover of Kifirin—the High Demons' planet.

"Has the common regained consciousness?" Nedil, another common physician, walked over to confer with Darvul. Nedil was showing signs of aging, just as Darvul was, and the attack had placed a heavy load on a small and already overburdened health care community.

"Not yet," Darvul sighed. "We are giving fluids as you can see, but there are no signs of waking. We remain hopeful."

"What are the other injuries?" Nedil was giving the small common a cursory examination as well, placing his hands on the head injury.

"Some bruising and swelling in the chest area, two broken ribs, a fractured wrist and twisted right leg. I'm sure the building collapsed on this one while he was hiding from the attackers."

"There was no place for these to run and no safe place to hide," Nedil said softly. "We have the heaviest losses from that section of the city. If my information is correct, we lost more than eight thousand in that area alone. And they are still finding bodies. Who knows where the count will end?"

"We will do our best to keep this one alive, then," Darvul nodded. He'd already made that vow to himself, but he wanted Nedil to know he was seeing to this one personally. "What word on the Drith and Croth captives?" The rogue High Demons that still lived were now imprisoned and waiting judgment.

"They are being held in makeshift stockades outside the city; the Larentii helped erect them," Nedil's voice held wonder. He'd never seen a Larentii before, and the tales he'd heard of them said they never intervened in the troubles of any world. Yet he'd seen two in the past four days, and they were helping to gather and contain rogue High Demons.

"When the Raoni and Raona finish with them, Croth and Drith will wish they'd never been birthed," Darvul muttered.

"Has there been any word on those who came to help us?" Nedil witnessed the taking down of four thousand Ra'Ak, along with many rogue High Demons by an unseen hand. They'd exploded—or at least their heads exploded. The Ra'Ak had all dusted afterward, and he'd tended many injuries from flying Ra'Ak debris. The High Demons who'd died had splattered bits and pieces of bone and tissue everywhere, leaving the rest of their Thifilathi to fall headless to the ground. Before the attack four days earlier, Nedil would have said the only thing capable of killing a High Demon was another High Demon. He knew better now, he just couldn't explain it.

"Keep cold compresses on the head injury," Darvul instructed his assistant, who barked orders to other common demons waiting to help. "This one doesn't look to be completely mature; I would guess the age at seventeen turns or so. He has not gotten his full height, yet," Darvul estimated. The bones were still small, the hands and feet slender and fragile-looking. "I hope his parent survived and comes looking for him." He leaned down and stroked the reddish-gold hair. "Wake to us," he said softly. "We will care for you."

* * Past * *

William Winkler sat in his kitchen, having a cup of coffee with his Second, Trajan, as they waited for Director Bill Jennings to arrive. Winkler knew at least one of the vampire agents was coming, in addition to a werewolf agent he'd met once before—James Renfro. Bill said he had news that should be delivered in person.

Winkler sighed—he couldn't imagine what Director Jennings might say, and worried about it. He and Trajan had both been up with the twins the night before—he'd hired a nanny, but he and his Second were always up and awake quickly whenever the babies cried to be fed. They'd fed Wynter while the nanny took care of Wayne; Winkler decided to call his son by his middle name. Kellee, well, she was packing to go to her mother—she'd refused to stay and breastfeed the twins. Winkler growled low, just thinking about it.

Winkler might have felt sympathy for Kellee if she hadn't collaborated with her father to plot his death and the subsequent takeover of the Dallas Pack. Only Lissa's intervention had saved him and his Pack. Karl Johnson would have taken over had things gone the other way, and Weldon informed Winkler afterward that he would have split the Dallas Pack—it was much too large for Karl Johnson to handle. Some of Winkler's wolves would have torn their new Packmaster apart at the earliest opportunity, and Trajan might have been one of them.

Winkler answered the doorbell when it rang, inviting Bill, Ken White and James Renfro inside. He offered coffee, soft drinks or juice to his guests when he led them into the kitchen; Bill asked for coffee, the werewolf asked for a soda.

"We've already spoken with the Grand Master," Bill ran hands through his hair. Winkler noticed the Director's face looked older and more worn, although his biggest terrorist threat, Rahim Alif, had been eliminated weeks earlier. Some new worry now rested on Director Bill Jennings' shoulders.

"Is there a problem?" Winkler asked, staring into his cold cup of coffee.

"It's not a problem," Ken White said. "It's just the worst possible news." Winkler's head jerked up at the vampire agent's statement, his dark eyes searching Ken White's face for clues. In the usual vampiric convention, it contained nothing helpful.

"What news?" he asked.

"We offered to deliver it in person, in case, well, just in case," Bill sighed.

"What he's trying to tell you is that the little female vampire is dead." James Renfro wanted it out in the open quickly. Open the wound and let it bleed out, that was his philosophy. Even he wasn't prepared for the howling and grieving that came as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Child, there is nothing we can do; they're both gone from us now." Merrill rocked Franklin against him while Franklin wept. This had gone on for days and Merrill was beginning to think he'd be forced to place compulsion on his human child. Kyle was flying to London as quickly as he could; Merrill placed a call, asking him to come. Of Merrill's two remaining vampire children, Kyle had the closest bond with Franklin. He was hoping Kyle's presence would help; otherwise, it would be compulsion or medical intervention.

Gavin moved out of the manor the day after he'd received the news, taking Tony with him. Tony seemed lost and helpless as he'd loaded bags into Gavin's car. Lissa's things had been left inside her bedroom; Merrill closed the door on all of it and neither he nor Franklin had the strength to walk in there now. Charles wandered through the manor like a ghost, only doing what was necessary to keep Wlodek's office running smoothly. Radomir had taken the news harder than anyone suspected he might; Wlodek hadn't heard from him for three days and that worried his vampire sire. Flavio arrived and was now making sure important things were attended to so his sire could have time alone.

Bill Jennings, Director of the Joint NSA/Homeland Security Department, stood with Weldon Harper, Thomas Williams Jr. and William Winkler, next to a grave in Oklahoma City on a sunny October afternoon. The casket was empty, except for a few letters and a dozen red roses. The President had asked for a twenty-one gun salute. Normally, that honor was reserved for a president, but it could also be performed for a foreign head of state or a member of a reigning royal family. Lissa, as a Queen Vampire, was given the honor. Bill, Winkler, Thomas and Weldon stood straight and still while the ranking officer barked the order and seven soldiers, in perfect unison, fired their rifles three times to honor the fallen.

Four weeks after Greg's death, Franklin walked into the empty second floor bedroom to clean it. He couldn't recall when he'd last been inside it to dust and straighten. It appeared sterile to his eyes; not even a mote of dust remained on the nightstand or the dresser. The closet inside the spacious bath held empty hangers and nothing else. Franklin hadn't recalled that Merrill had it decorated in a feminine style—the pillows and shams on the bed weren't suitable for a male.

It didn't matter; Franklin had nothing to do, here. He'd gone to this bedroom first, putting off going through Greg's personal belongings. That was pain waiting to happen. Franklin sighed as he closed the bedroom door behind him and walked toward the suite he'd shared with Greg. It was time to say a final goodbye.