Chapter 3
Balinese
Captain Devlin Savard moved briskly down the corridor, unsure of how he accomplished the feat. He was exhausted. Sleep had always been elusive, and often unwanted, but now that he needed it, he had no time.
Seven days ago dozens of demons attacked Balinese. The creatures had been spotted in Paris, so far away that they’d never expected to see one up close. Yet, the demons had broken through the gates, challenging their defenses head on. No one could have guessed that they’d also been waiting inside Balinese.
The demons had spilled blood, and not at random. They’d targeted Lord Navarre, council members, and Guardians, the intent to eliminate any line of succession and leadership. They’d nearly succeeded. A handful had survived, him included. Everything changed in an instant.
Lord Navarre, though conscious when first found, had taken only a small amount of blood. Not enough to heal the wound in his chest, but he lived and had slipped into a healing sleep. He had yet to wake, but Savard checked on him every day and night, anticipating his recovery. Until then, Navarre’s absence left the duties of both captain and lord on his shoulders.
His transition to acting lord had been difficult, and in some instances, nonexistent. The city had been betrayed from within, and having a hand in everything around him felt like his best defense. This kept him, for the most part, running the city as a captain and not a lord. However, with each passing day, his position as lord felt less temporary.
The night after the attack, he’d done nothing but move bodies with the help of what few Guardians could be spared. Deceased vampires had been brought above and laid out in the courtyard behind the chateau that hid the underground city. When the sun rose, they’d combusted, their ashes becoming part of the earth. The ageless ritual honored the sun, the earth, and the dead.
Then came the disposal of the demon bodies. In the lowest depths of Balinese, each demon had been encased in a coffin and buried. A handful of men had protested his decision to bury the demons amongst their own, but in the end, those buried vampires had been executed for horrible deeds. Evil knew no boundaries of race, and they’d been sealed away from the earth to prevent their murderous evil from becoming part of the life-giving soil.
Captain Savard passed the dining hall. The handful of men who had gathered in the foyer stepped back, clearing a path and sharing uneasy glances amongst themselves. He didn’t blame them. They’d be foolish not to be uncertain of their captain turned lord.
Because Lord Navarre had no heir, no blood family, the line of succession automatically fell to the captain…a captain Navarre had pulled off the streets of Paris. There had been protests, mainly from the nobleman who had originally opposed his instant promotion to captain. They could not, however, argue with a signed and sealed document that appointed Devlin Savard as the sole heir to Balinese.
Savard hadn’t known the document existed, and neither had the council. Lord Navarre had risked his life the night of the attack to get to the council room. What Savard hadn’t known at the time was why. Navarre had named his heir. They’d discovered the document days later, shoved into the safe hidden in the walls of the council room.
Savard didn’t want the job. Hell, he’d never wanted to be captain. Navarre had a way of making things happen his way. The proof was in the legal document naming him heir of a whole damn city. When the facts of his ruling status had finally sunk in, he’d quickly turned his position as captain over to Soren Rayner, but it was hard to let go of his old job, and he often found himself trying to function as both lord and captain.
Thank God for Soren. Soren’s job had always been to train new Guardians, weed out those incapable of the lifestyle, and hone the abilities of those who qualified. Now that the needs of the city had changed, the impressive man dedicated any spare time to training even the poorly suited would-be Guardians.
By some miracle, Savard had relinquished a majority of his former responsibilities as captain. Soren now coordinated patrol shifts, studied city statistics, and even policed the corridors as a Guardian when necessary. He did it all selflessly when he would no doubt rather be home with his newly acquired mate, who despite having once been human, was adapting to the current turmoil of their city rather well.
In theory, the shifting of titles and obligations should have lasted a handful of days. After a full week, he’d grown concerned. Soon Navarre would either wake, or die.
The radio at his hip crackled and Ivan’s sturdy voice came through. “Captain? Dyre and Titus are back.”
He snatched the radio off his belt before bringing it to his lips. “Where?”
“I sent them to the briefing room.”
Savard took a left down the next corridor. He’d sent those men, less than a week into their new rank of Guardian, to warn the city of Talvane about the demon threat. They’d been gone long enough for him to consider adding their names to the list of casualties.
He pushed open the briefing room door. Titus and Dyre scrambled from their chairs to stand at attention before him. These men were polar opposites. Wealthy and refined, Dyre maintained an aristocratic look even while working as a Guardian. Long, well-kept hair, impeccable speech, and a serious respect for his elders. Titus was a beast. He got the job done hard and fast, never backing down from using sheer strength and intimidation to diffuse a situation. It was a wonder they got along so well.
“What took so long?” Savard asked before the door had even shut behind him. “Was Paris as bad as we thought?”
“In spots,” Dyre admitted. “It took time to avoid the small packs of demons in the city. We were forced to seek shelter above through the daylight hours.”
“And Talvane?” Savard prompted.
Dyre bowed his head respectfully. “They’ve been warned. No demon has entered their city.”
“Good. Very good,” Savard said.
The door opened again, and all three turned to see the man who made Guardians. Soren Rayner crossed the threshold, his gun holster slung across his broad shoulders. He was still on duty.
“Captain,” Soren said, fully entering the room. “Sorry, I meant to say my lord. You still want me answering the calls for captain, right?”
“Absolutely,” Savard said with a sharp nod. He’d done it again, falling into his old job while attempting to navigate his new title of lord. “The change in title is temporary. I happened to be close, and we need answers.”
Soren nodded, seeming to buy his story, then turned to the young men. “You got inside Talvane? Lord Gregor gave you an audience?”
“He nearly didn’t.” Dyre shared a short glance with Titus. “His captain put forth a generous argument on our behalf.”
Titus remained silent, an unusual and nearly impossible feat that made Savard suspicious. “Titus. Anything you want to add?”
“Lord Gregor is a pompous ass,” Titus said.
Dyre hung his head and sighed, his long hair falling over his shoulder. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t call Lord Gregor an ass.”
“Pompous ass,” Titus corrected.
A deep laughter rumbled from Soren, then grew until a wide smile spread across his face.
“You think this is funny?” Savard asked. “You’re the one who promoted them.”
“I said they were ready to serve as Guardians, not messengers. And Lord Gregor is an ass. Always has been,” Soren said with a short nod to Titus.
“Have I missed something?” Savard asked. “Is insulting the Lord of Talvane suddenly acceptable?”
“No.” Shaking off his amusement, Soren said evenly, “Insulting