At first he thought he was back in the shed and the nightmare had just begun—just after the accident when she’d come, not to kill him, but to bring him water and bind his wounds. Then he realized it was too warm for him to still be in the shed. He shifted slightly and the pain that coursed through his body brought full consciousness with it, and with consciousness came memory.
He was belowground, in the tunnels she’d sent him to, and he hated it.
It wasn’t a hatred that bordered on paranoia, as did his father’s. Rephaim simply despised the confined feeling of being beneath the earth. There was no sky above him—no green and growing world beneath him. He couldn’t soar belowground. He couldn’t—
The Raven Mocker’s thoughts ended abruptly.
No. He wouldn’t think of his permanently damaged wing and what that meant for the rest of his life. He couldn’t think of that. Not yet. Not while his body was still so weak.
Rephaim thought of her instead.
It was an easy thing to do, surrounded by her scent as he was.
He shifted again, this time being more careful of his shattered wing. With his good arm he pulled the blanket over himself and burrowed, nestlike, into the warmth of the bed. Her bed.
Even underground there was an odd and illogical sense of security that came to him from being somewhere she’d called her own. He didn’t understand why she had this singular effect on him. Rephaim just knew that he’d followed Stevie Rae’s directions, stumbling through agony and exhaustion until he realized what he was really following was the scent of the Red One. It had led him through the winding, apparently deserted tunnels. He’d stopped at the kitchen and forced himself to eat and drink. The fledglings had left behind refrigerators filled with food. Refrigerators! That was one of the many miracles of the modern age he’d been observing for the long years he was only spirit. He’d spent what felt like an eternity watching and waiting… dreaming of the day he could touch and taste and truly live again.
Rephaim had decided he liked refrigerators. He wasn’t at all sure whether he liked the modern world, though. In just the short time his body had been returned to him, he’d realized that most modern humans had no real respect for the power of the ancients. The Raven Mocker didn’t count vampyres among the ranks of the ancients. They were nothing more than attractive playthings. Amusements and distractions. No matter what his father said, they were unworthy to rule beside him.
Was that why the Red One had allowed him to live? Because she was too weak and ineffective—too
Then he thought about the strength she had exhibited, and not just her physical strength, which was impressive. She also commanded the element earth, so fully that it ripped itself apart to obey her. That was not weakness.
Even his father had spoken of the Red One’s powers. Neferet, too, warned that the leader of the Red Ones was not to be underestimated.
And there he was, drawn by her scent to her bed, where he was practically nesting.
With a cry of disgust, he lurched from the comfortable warmth of blankets and pillows and thick mattress and staggered to his feet. He stood there, leaning against the table that was near the end of the bed, struggling to remain upright and not let the unrelenting darkness of this place pull him under.
He would trace his path back to the kitchen. He would eat and drink again. He would light every lantern he could find. Rephaim would will himself to heal, and then he would leave this tomblike place and return aboveground to find his father—to find his place in the world.
Rephaim pushed aside the blanket that served as a door to Stevie Rae’s room and limped into the tunnel.
The darkness was almost complete. There were intermittent lanterns, though many of them were guttering. Rephaim picked up his pace. He’d refill and light the lanterns after he stuffed himself. He’d even drink the bags of blood he’d found one of the refrigerators filled with, though it held no special appeal to him. His body needed fuel to mend, just as the lanterns needed fuel to burn.
Fighting against the agony each movement caused, Rephaim followed the curve in the tunnel and finally entered the kitchen. He opened the first refrigerator and was pulling a bag of sliced ham from it when he felt the cold blade of a knife against his lower back.
“One move I don’t like, birdboy, and I cut your spinal cord in half. That
Rephaim went absolutely still. “Yes, that would kill me.”
“He looks part dead to me anyway,” said another female voice.
“Yeah, that wing is totally fucked up. He don’t look like he can do shit to us,” said a male.
The knife didn’t move from his spine. “Others underestimating us is what got us here. So we don’t
“Yeah, sorry, Nicole.”
“I got it.”
“So, birdboy, here’s how we’re gonna play this: I’m gonna step back and you’re gonna turn around—real slow. Don’t get any smart ideas. My knife won’t be on you, but Kurtis and Starr both have guns. Make a wrong move and you’ll be just as dead as if I’d cut through your spine.”
The point of the knife pressed hard enough against Rephaim to draw a bead of blood.
“He smells wrong!” said the male voice that belonged to Kurtis. “He ain’t even good eatin’.”
Nicole ignored him. “You understand me, birdboy?”
“I do.”
The knife pressure left his spine and Rephaim heard the shuffling noise of moving feet.
“Turn around.”
Rephaim did as he was told and found himself facing three fledglings. The red crescent moons on their foreheads identified them as part of the Red One’s flock. But he knew instantly that though they, too, were red, they were as different from Stevie Rae as was the moon from the sun. He gave Kurtis, a huge male fledgling, and Starr, an ordinary-looking, light-haired girl, cursory glances, though they were holding handguns up and pointed at him. It was Nicole on whom he focused his attention. She was obviously the leader. She was also the one who’d drawn his blood, something Rephaim would never forget.
She was a small fledgling with long dark hair and large eyes so brown they appeared black. Rephaim looked into those eyes and felt a moment of complete shock—Neferet was there! In this fledgling child’s eyes lurked the distinctive darkness and intelligence that Rephaim had seen so many times in the Tsi Sgili’s gaze. That recognition shocked the Raven Mocker so deeply that for a moment he could only stare, his single thought was
“Damn! He looks like he seen a ghost,” Kurtis said, the gun bobbing up and down with his chuckles.
“I thought you said you didn’t know any of the Raven Mockers,” said Starr, her tone clearly suspicious.
Nicole blinked, and the familiar shade of Neferet was gone, leaving Rephaim to wonder if he’d imagined the presence.
No. Rephaim didn’t imagine things. Neferet had been present, even if only for an instant, within the fledgling.
“I’ve never seen one of these things before in my life.” Nicole turned to Starr, though she still kept her gaze trained on Rephaim. “Are you saying you think I’m a liar?”
Nicole hadn’t raised her voice, but Rephaim, who was accustomed to being in the presence of power and danger, recognized that this partic u lar fledgling seethed with an aggression that was barely controlled. Starr obviously recognized it, too, as she instantly backed down.
“No, no, no. I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s just weird that he freaked when he saw you.”
“That was weird,” Nicole said smoothly. “And maybe we should ask him why. So, birdboy, what’s with you being down here in our territory?”
Rephaim noted that Nicole hadn’t actually asked him the question she’d implied she was going to ask.
“Rephaim,” he said, willing strength into his voice. “My name is Rephaim.”
All three fledglings’ eyes widened, as if surprised he would actually have a name.
“He sounds almost normal,” Starr said.
