Graced Read online

  He’d spent most of his time in wolf form in Gorke, many of the wolves did, and it had taken her messengers a while to catch him. After spending the majority of the last two centuries as his animal, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Two legs still felt a bit strange at times.

  “I need your…help.” She spat the last word, like it was a rotten piece of meat.

  “Really?” He’d been able to figure out that much. It’s why he’d bothered to come to Pinton in the first place; City of Stink and bad memories, but he didn’t want to go there.

  She flicked a glance at the flunkies. He didn’t need to hear the command to know it had been given. The duo nodded and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

  He grinned again. “This must be very secret, to send out Muscle A and B.” And they weren’t just physical bodyguards; he knew what Gray eyes meant: telekinesis.

  Clay noticed that Olive was staring at him in frustration. Her Green eyes meant she was a telepath, but thankfully, he was immune. Some genetic quirk—because he had a Graced ancestor. But then, most of the early weres and vamps did.

  “I want you to give me a grandchild.”

  Clay laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “Olive, I’m not your son, so that would be a bit impossible. You aren’t even my very-great granddaughter.”

  “I have children.” Her voice was frosty, almost defensive. He was surprised that ice didn’t form in the air between them. But even the Graceds had their limits, and manipulating the elements was one of them.

  “Congratulations?” Clay re-crossed his ankles, placing his right foot on top of his left.

  “My surviving daughter—”

  Which meant, the daughter she still had control over.

  “Is of no interest to me,” Clay said. He didn’t move from his reclined pose, but he tensed. Something flashed in the old bat’s eyes, and it wasn’t annoyance. He’d met Melissande years ago, when she’d been sent out to Gorke on some “mission,” and hadn’t been impressed by her. He hadn’t been unimpressed by her either, but she wasn’t really, well, remarkable. Just another Graced girl in a world that was freckled with Graced girls.

  The grumpy bat’s eyes narrowed and he could hear her teeth grinding. “She is beautiful.”

  He smiled, remembering another woman grinding her teeth. His smile locked in place. Yes, he could see it and smell it, now that he thought about it. Violets and strawberries, the violets a faint trace on the air, the strawberries stronger. In his mind’s eye, he could see that the sharp angles of the redhead’s face were reminiscent of the Melissande he remembered—and the shade of red hair he’d seen before, on the old grumpy bat in front of him before she’d gone gray—but there was little else to show the family resemblance.

  “I don’t care how beautiful Melissande is, she’d be nearing forty now, and I thought that was an unhealthful age for a woman to be bearing young. Especially Graceds.”

  Olive sucked air in sharply through her teeth when she heard him mention her closely guarded secret. Not the age of her daughter, but the name of her race.

  “You—”

  “Me what? I know what you are, you know what I am. I’ve known about your race for longer than you’ve been alive.” Clay sat upright, resting his elbows on his knees.

  She sighed. “That’s why I asked you to come here.”

  “I thought you wanted me to sire a child on your daughter.”

  “I couldn’t just ask any were to do it. They had to know what they were doing.”

  Clay coughed. “I’m sure there are many weres out there who know how to have sex, Olive. It’s something that people tend to learn quickly, given the correct stimulation.”

  Her brows snapped together. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

  “You do know it is against the rules to mix the bloodlines,” Clay reminded her. He clasped his hands loosely together between his knees.

  Not that they were rules, really, just guidelines. But then, most of the modern vampires and weres couldn’t breed with the Graceds anyway. They were too distantly related to each other. Unlike him.

  “Those rules are ridiculous; they serve only to protect your race and the leeches.”

  “I’m glad you think so highly of us all.”

  She made a noise that sounded rather like a kettle boiling over.

  “You are immortal.” Olive jabbed a finger in the air at him.

  Clay shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

  The noise came again. “You will live for thousands of years unless an ‘accident’ happens. That’s close enough to immortality for me.”

  “We still die, Olive. We can’t be immortal if we die.” But he knew what she was getting at. And he could see why she wanted him to father a grandchild for her. He was an old wolf, one who didn’t give two figs about the established order and the vampires’choke-hold on society in this region of the world. She wouldn’t think that he’d care about giving his genetic superiorities to her offspring, but she didn’t understand one thing: he wasn’t about to play her games. And he’d never abandon a child of his to her keeping.

  But he’d let her think he would. For now, at least. “So, have you got any other candidates?” he asked.

  He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Olive seemed…pleased, at his question.

  “I have a granddaughter.”

  Clay thought of the redhead. He couldn’t picture her willingly submitting to his extraordinary good looks. Not easily, anyway.

  “But she’s young, we’ll have to wait.”

  Clay blinked. “Sorry?”

  “I don’t condone pedophilia.”

  A sick strawberry feeling settled in his stomach. “How old is this granddaughter?”

  “Seven.”

  “You have no others?”

  “None…suitable.”

  Clay fell silent. He could see that Olive didn’t want to talk about the half-Graced grandchild, and there was something strange about that, he decided, although he couldn’t place why. She would think it better to merge his bloodline with a pure Graced, but what she didn’t seem to understand was that his yellow eyes could mix with whatever color her granddaughter had—and he had a sinking feeling it was a bright Teal—and produce a Green, just a Green. Or even a Brown, or, another yellow. She may not get the immortal Graced great-grandchild she wanted.

  “Well, I’ll think about it,” Clay said and stood.

  “You’ll think about it?” Olive’s face scrunched into a strange wrinkly mass.

  Clay shook his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You just said she’s too young. It’s not like I can go and do the job right now. Or, did you want to make sure that my merchandise is in order?” He put a hand on his belt buckle.

  “That’s enough!”

  He smirked. “Scared to see a little bit of flesh?” Chuckling, he amended, “Well, a big bit of flesh.”

  The boiling kettle sounded again. “Get. Out.”

  He bowed. “Always happy to oblige.”

  Turning, he swaggered from the room, grinning. He winked at Muscle A and Muscle B on his way out. Now, he thought, time to go do something interesting.

  Chapter 8

  Olive gritted her teeth at the shut door. She’d forgotten how objectionable that wolf was. But then, he was better than a lot of other weres, which wasn’t saying much. However, Olive couldn’t afford to be picky. Not in this. There were only a handful of weres—or vampires—left who would be able to sire a child on a Graced girl. Half of them were insane, sociopathic or stuck in their animal form. Clay was the best of a bad bunch. But she wasn’t simply relying on him. She had time. Years even. If he didn’t come to the table, then there were others she could contact.

  Olive hoped she didn’t have to, though. Clay’s blood relatives had a proven record; his family had produced offspring with Graceds in times past. From him, Olive could have a potentially immortal Graced great-grandchild. It would be the start of a new era.

  O
live tapped the arm of her chair. “Is he gone?” she asked Bjorn telepathically. She shot the query out like a barb, to create as little disturbance to her mental shields as possible. They were so reinforced that sometimes she felt as if the weight of them might crush her. It was fanciful and not worthy of her. But if she wasn’t protected, then she could hear everyone. And people, she had learned long ago, were not worth listening to. Not unless she could gain something from the encounter.

  While her bodyguard was not a Green—he was a Gray—she could hear his reply loud and clear. The wolf had left the building. She withdrew her probe.

  There were very few people whose minds she couldn’t read, even when she tried. Other Greens had shields too strong for her to listen through, unless they were projecting; but she could shatter them and break open their minds if she wanted the information enough to want them dead. And there’d been times when she had wanted that knowledge badly enough. Normally though, other Greens were like little islands of peace and tranquility in a sea of noise; the cacophony so loud at times she thought she’d go deaf from it. It’s why she tended to run things from her house; why she sent lackeys to do the public work for her. Even her shields weren’t strong enough when there was a mob of people nearby.

  It wasn’t a common ability, hers. But then, nothing about her was common. She was the strongest Green born in this city—probably on the continent—for two hundred years. There were only three shields she doubted she could shatter. Her two granddaughters and that wolf. That’s why she knew Clay was an excellent choice. He already had some kind of latent ability.

  Mixing the bloodlines wasn’t allowed, the wolf was right about that. It had been unofficially banned, but that had been due to the Civil War, when weres and vampires had abducted Graceds and kept them prisoner, breeding with them to increase their numbers. The results had been interesting. Were-Graceds combinations without the ability to shift or vampires without the need to drink blood. Graceds that could live forever. There’d even been rumors of new colors; something other than Blue, Green or Gray. But a new color did not mean a new ability. Look at her useless granddaughter, Emmie. The child couldn’t do a single psychic thing. That’s why Olive knew she would be ideal for one thing: breeding. It was to be Emmie’s sole purpose in life.

  It was a shame that the half-breed Graceds had been destroyed. Olive could have learned much from them. As it was, her people barely made up five percent of the human population. There weren’t enough of them to rise to their rightful place as rulers of this land. But it would happen. The vampires, weres—and even the pathetic humans—had had their time.

  And when Olive was ready to strike, it would be too late for them. But for now, all she had to do was wait.

  Chapter 9

  Baron Anton Greystoke felt another shudder wrack his body and he finally admitted to himself that there was something wrong. Something horribly, unaccountably wrong. Raising a shaking hand, he splayed his fingers, watching their tremors with a mounting panic. His bed felt lumpy and hard, pain spiking out from his back and legs, but he knew it wasn’t the mattress—he’d had it made from the finest of goose down when he’d started to get serious about Annabel.

  Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his legs went from painful to sluggish, numb.

  “It’s like withdrawal,” he mumbled to himself and froze.

  It was exactly like withdrawal.

  But he hadn’t been taking anything, hadn’t done drugs for longer than he cared to think. Hadn’t even taken a drop of opium since he’d recovered from his addiction, months after his shattered leg had healed. He barely even drank coffee. But he was addicted to something; he would bet on that, he just didn’t know what it was.

  He laughed to himself, a pained sound. He’d said jokingly, on more than one occasion, that he was addicted to Annabel, but you couldn’t be addicted to a person. And he’d only been separated from her for a couple of days—she was away, visiting friends. She was the only thing—the only person—he’d ever needed, after he’d controlled and withdrawn from his drug addiction.

  Thinking back over the past few months, he began analyzing his behavior, a part of his mind ticking away an unseen checklist, while the other part, the addicted part, began screaming in mindless agony.

  *

  Elle slumped against the entryway wall for a few moments. The cool stone was a blessed relief against her hot cheek. It had been one shit of a night. She’d had to go check out a human who’d had their throat ripped out by a vampire. Most humans were just drained to death if a vampire lost control. Two neat holes and a cold corpse afterward. But this vampire had been angry, and this human’s head had been almost severed. And the vampire had shoved a hand through the human’s abdomen. It had been disgusting. The smell had just been…well, Elle had taken her notes and gotten out fast. Then she’d had the coroner called. And been stuck working on paperwork for the rest of her shift.

  Her shoulder still hurt like a bitch and her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool. It always felt like that after an evening with the books. Stupid Bjorn. Stupid work. But most of all, stupid Bjorn. She was going to rip him a new asshole the next time she saw him. No, she’d shove his balls down his throat. That way, he’d never inconvenience another woman again.

  Groaning, she shoved herself off the stone wall and headed down the slate-covered hall, past the sitting room and small kitchen toward the rear of the apartment. Sunlight was peeking through the curtains in the sitting room and she squinted at it. Her mother would have left for work already. Stupid guard duty. Why’d she apply for a job with the city? She was an idiot, that’s why.

  Shuffling down the hall, she remembered to kick her shoes off as she walked by the washroom.

  “Elle?” The sleepy mumble came from Emmie’s room.

  She trudged over to the bedroom that was two doors down from her own and poked her head inside. “Yeah?”

  A small body was curled up on the bed. Emmie’s head was covered by the blanket. A muffled, “You home?” emerged.

  Elle smiled. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  She went to shuffle away when she heard, “Do I have to go to Gran’s today?”

  Looking back into the room, she saw that Emmie had uncovered her head. Elle swore she could almost see the bright blue-green color of her sister’s eyes in the dim light.

  “No, you don’t have to.” It was sixth day, their day off.

  “Good.” Emmie rolled over, tucking the blankets over herself again.

  Elle shook her head and walked over to her room. How her sister could sleep like that, well, it was beyond her. Tired, aching and wanting nothing more than to collapse on her bed, she opened the heavy wooden door to her room. Kicking it shut behind her, she threw her pack on the carpet. Without bothering to light a lamp, she dropped onto the mattress. Feathery softness, here I come, she thought.

  “Ow!”

  Elle snapped upright and jumped away from the bed, wrenching her sore shoulder. Turning around, she tried to scrabble for her pack, but couldn’t see it in the dim light.

  A wheezing voice filled the room. “You elbowed me in the gut.”

  She knew that voice, she thought. Her brain, already stuffed with wool, shut down. It couldn’t be him. A match flared in the dark and a shadowy face emerged, one pinched with pain and too bloody handsome for its own good.

  “You,” she hissed.

  He was lying half sprawled on her bed, white shirt unbuttoned to reveal a broad chest smattered with dark hair. His pants were still on, which was good, she told herself. Although, seeing him on her bed made her heart flutter in ways she didn’t like. By the blood, there was a werewolf on her bed. Just feet from Emmie.

  “Me.” He grinned, showing a mouthful of white. Although he was still wheezing slightly.

  Good.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. How had he found her?

  “Thought I’d pop by, see how you’re doing, chat about the weather…” He lean
ed over and used the match to light the lamp that sat on the small wooden table propped next to her bed.

  Her jaw was starting to ache. “I’m annoyed and the weather sucks. Now get out, you stalking bastard.”

  The wolf frowned and twitched the curtain aside. Gray storm clouds hung menacingly in the small patch of sky that was visible through the window. “I thought you said the weather was nice.”

  “I said it sucked.” She wanted to kick him. Hard.

  “I generally find that a good thing.”

  “Get out!” she whisper-screamed, not wanting to disturb Emmie.

  He stood and walked over to her, smiling. He was barely a foot away from her when he stopped. She could feel the heat emanating from him.

  “You don’t want me to leave.” His voice was a deep rumble.

  “Yes, I do.” Her shoulder was making her feel dizzy. She just wanted to lie down and go to sleep, but she had to make sure he left, that he wasn’t after Emmie.

  He frowned. “You’re in pain.”

  “Wow, you’re a bloody genius. Get out.” She tried to step around him, so she could get behind him and shove him out the door. She froze mid-step. “Wait, how did you get in?”

  He shrugged. “The window.”

  “The window?” Moving faster than she thought she could—what with the pain and the wool—she jerked the curtain aside and stared at the small glass pane. Opening it, she peered down the four-story drop. There were no stairs or rails nearby. “You climbed the wall?”

  “What? It’s not that hard a wall to climb; plenty of handholds.” He scratched his bare stomach.

  She didn’t need to stick her head out and have another look at the wall. It was dressed stone. Not that hard my ass, she thought. “How’d you know where we live?” Elle was going to strangle Emmie if she’d said anything…