Gideon

Book 2: Nightwalkers

by Jacquelyn Frank

Genres: Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

As a healer, he knows her body. But it's her heart he wants.



For a thousand years, Gideon has healed his people. And as the oldest surviving male of his race, his wisdom has always been respected without question. But Gideon knows that even he is vulnerable to the powerful, primitive desires that befall his kind during Hallowed moons-and nine years ago that truth was hammered home when he found himself claiming Magdalena, the Demon King's sister, in a wild embrace. Horrified by his lack of control, he left her wanting and furious-and then exiled himself for the better part of a decade. Now, with necromancers threatening his people-and Magdalena nearly their victim-Gideon must face another truth. He and the beautiful, stubborn Magdalena are destined to be together, to share a love as deep and old as time itself. But first he needs to regain her trust. Then he'll have to save her life.

Release date: June 1, 2007

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“We must enforce ourselves more strictly as the time approaches. In the age of the rebellion of the Earth and Sky, when Fire and Water break like havoc upon all the lands, the Eldest of the old will return, will take his mate, and the first child of the element of Space will be born, playmate to the first child of Time, born to the Enforcers…”

—The Lost Demon Prophecy

The Vampire eyed the Demon before him with a lengthy, contemplative gaze of midnight blue. The black centers of his eyes were slightly oval in shape, the contour just enough of an oddity to incite one’s curiosity, beckoning one to lean in closer, to gaze and study them just a little deeper, to stumble into them like a well-spun web. Since such temptations could not lure the Demon, the Vampire’s only intention of close study was strictly for scrutiny as he tried to decipher the silent figure’s purpose.

With uncharacteristic patience and largesse, the Vampire leaned back in his chair and casually hooked an ankle over one knee as he did so. As usual, the Demon was biding his time before he began to speak about whatever it was that was on his mind, whatever it was that had brought the Ancient to the Vampire’s lair. It was always good that he put so much care of thought into his speech, the Vampire mused to himself, because when this Demon spoke it was often to lay brutal truths at the feet of whomever he was conversing with. As admirable a trait as that was, it was not so refreshing as one might expect it to be, particularly when it heralded pivotal occurrences in the lives of the Nightwalker races.

Since time had begun, ages before the mortals had spread across this earth like an intemperate pandemic, there had been the Nightwalkers. The Dark Cultures. Those who basked in the moon for their daylight, and slept or hid from the sun when its acidic rays would try to touch their susceptible skins or minds. The clans had run with the wild beasts of Nature, their special gifts rooted in Her ways, keeping them connected to the soil, the free creatures, and the pulsing, magmatic center of Her heart. And though in the modern age the mortals were the dominant population by a dramatic percentage, the Nightwalkers yet lived. The Dark Cultures were preserved, each with its separate ways and traditions, and each had carved out niches in those places that remained isolative and usually too inhospitable for humans. Some had adapted and now lived on the fringes of human societies, emulating or enjoying mortal ways…or a careful facsimile. Almost every clan had carefully laid laws and beliefs about how far its members could go when it came to dealings with human beings.

Time had not cut the Nightwalkers’ links with either moon or sun. Errors and enemies had severely thinned out the ranks of all of the different clans in one way or another, and yet they survived—quiet, unknown to mortals for the most part, and searching for ways to find harmony in a rapidly changing world. But the world had changed before, and would change again, and there would always be the Nightwalkers to dance beneath the moon and sleep behind the sun.

“You have not come to visit in a great while, Gideon,” the Vampire observed in the capricious way of his people, no longer wishing to wait for the Demon to come around on his own time. “I had not expected to see you.”

Gideon lifted his cool, silver eyes from the delicacy of the rare zebra’s milk he had been swirling idly in his glass. The exotic milk, and others like it, was a Demon’s alcohol. It was proof that though Nightwalkers greatly resembled humans, usually very handsome and appreciable ones, there were distinct differences in their chemistries and physiologies. These distinctive differences would set them apart as supernatural beings to the common eye, should they decide to flaunt them.

But the Nightwalkers used great care here. Human beings could become overzealous at even the smallest hint of myth or mystery. It was in their nature to fear that which was more powerful than themselves, a failing that would not change until they matured as a species.

Regardless of the fact that he himself boasted unusually riveting features, the Vampire was struck, as he always was, with the drilling effect of the Demon’s molten mercury eyes. Gideon’s facial appearance, agelessly aristocratic, showed nothing of his having existed for a more than a millennium, but those eyes most certainly did. Since Demons also tended toward a swarthy complexion, looking perpetually tanned, it magnified the startling effect of Gideon’s gaze.

The Ancient Demon also had hair of incredibly pristine silver, long enough to touch his collarbone and tied back with a thin strip of tanned leather. In humans, this coloring would be a sign of age, but the Vampire knew Gideon had been born with his hair color, and, in spite of it, would never look a day over the age of thirty-five. Perhaps a little closer to forty when one took those aged eyes into account.

“If you have felt slighted in any way, Damien, I extend my apologies,” the Demon said with distant manners, his rich voice filling the echoing places of the large room.

Damien dismissed the idea with a click of his tongue and the brushing wave of an elegant, long-fingered hand.

“We are creatures of the ages, Gideon. We have long since learned to not feel slighted when one or the other of us goes into seclusion for whatever reason.” Damien’s indigo eyes narrowed on the Demon seated across from him. “But I admit that I am curious as to the motivation for your visit after all this time.”

“I am afraid it is not as social as I might have wished it to be,” Gideon said. “I am here to serve you warning.”

“Warn me?” Damien cocked a gracefully arched brow at the Demon.

“Yes. As the most Ancient of my race, to the most Ancient of yours.”

Damien acknowledged the reverence of Gideon’s distinction with a graceful inclination of his head.

“Despite the vast differences in our races, Gideon, you and I have always found much in common with one another.”

“And it is a commonality that brings me to your door now. A common enemy.”

This revelation made the Vampire’s spine straighten with sudden tension.

“Necromancers.” It wasn’t a question. They had both been alive too long not to know what was of import to one another. “Damn,” Damien hissed, suddenly standing and pacing the floor of his cavernous parlor. “I should have known. I should have sensed something was amiss!”

“How do you see that?” Gideon asked, one brow lifting inquisitively.

“Gerard has gone missing. I had thought he might have just gone to ground, as my people do from time to time, but Gerard had just roused from a century-long sleep, so I thought it odd he would return so quickly.”

“It is still possible that is all that has happened.”

“Possible,” the Vampire agreed, “but he is not the only one to go missing, and you know as well as I do that it is unlikely to be coincidence. Have you any idea how many we are to contend with this time?” The ancient Vampire stilled his stride, his hands curling into fists and his fierce eyes flaring with his obvious contempt for the odious human magic-users who had plagued the Nightwalker races for centuries. “How foolish I was to hope that, since there had been no necromancers for this last century, we had seen the last of them. It is embarrassing to my intelligence to speak of it even now.”

“You have been no more or less foolish than the rest of us,” Gideon said darkly. “I am the most ridiculous of them all.”

The Demon was silent for a long heartbeat, and Damien’s supernatural senses hummed sharply with subconscious awareness of the Demon’s disturbed thoughts. Out of respect, however, Damien would never think of scanning Gideon in order to obtain those thoughts.

“Along with the return of these necromancers,” Gideon continued, his perfectly pitched voice as even and unaffected by emotions as ever, “we have discovered that Druids are yet in existence.”

“Druids?”

Now that truly surprised Damien. There had been no Druids for the space of an entire millennium. Their reemergence would have been thought a thousand times less likely than this distressing news of necromancers. Damien was well aware that the Demons and the Druids had once, long ago, been engaged in a terrible war, with history recording that the Demons had eradicated the entire Druid race.

“How do you come by this information?” Damien asked curiously.

“I have met them. They are hybrids, partially of Druidic descent, partially human. Apparently Druids hid themselves among humans all those centuries ago, in order to escape their Demon hunters.”

“And bred with them,” Damien added in sudden understanding. “And they are pure enough to have Druidic abilities, even after all this time?”

“Purity…” Gideon’s lips twisted with the sensation of irony that flooded him. “Apparently, purity is less powerful than this particular fusion of races. There are only two active Druids at this time, both of whom are under Demon protection, and they are greatly coveted.” The Demon inclined his head slightly. “For the most part.”

“I have yet to find a culture of perfect uniformity in any matter. It is to be expected. At least they are not met with hostility.”

“The war is long forgotten. The oldest of us who might hold grudges are all perished, save myself, and I have grown well beyond such childish impulses.”

“No doubt,” Damien agreed without wit.

“The first Druid is the mate of our Enforcer, the other the mate of the Enforcer’s youngest brother. The first female…She is powerful in unexpected ways. Ways that I am not at liberty to discuss at this time. Her sibling is awakening to her abilities much more slowly, but I have reason to expect that she will be just as unique. It is also clear they are only the beginning.”

Damien returned to his seat, sitting down very slowly, taking the time to brush his dark, stylish clothes into place so he could think on Gideon’s information. He always listened very carefully to the way others spoke, to the way they worded phrases. Gideon had confessed already that he was intentionally withholding information, but the Vampire Prince sensed other depths to the story that promised to be fascinating and dangerous.

“I trust that you are guiding these…hybrids? I do not relish the idea of unregulated beings of power in our world. The misguidance of necromancers is sinister enough, not to mention the less seemly Nightwalkers amongst us already.”

“I find it odd that you would voice such an unnecessary question,” Gideon remarked serenely, sipping his beverage and rolling the bouquet of it over his tongue for a moment.

“At times I find comfort in voicing a concern just to hear the verbal assurance. I know you will do what you can and must do. More so, I suspect, considering the history you share with the Druids.” Damien lifted his own glass, inspecting the ruby liquid within for a thoughtful moment. “I had always thought the eradication of the Druids was an ill-decided action, Gideon. But that was a time, as I recall, when we Vampires were avaricious enough to enjoy the idea of Demons and Druids eliminating one another, leaving us to become more powerful. Even though I was young then, I do remember that the popular way of thinking at the time was that it was no more our place to interfere in the actions of your race than it was yours to interfere in the actions of ours.”

“Perhaps if there had been such an intervention in this instance, we might have saved a great many beings a tremendous amount of grief,” Gideon speculated.

The Ancient Demon spoke matter-of-factly, but Damien was too old and too wise not to know the weight those words carried on the Ancient’s soul.

“War rests heavy on everyone’s memory, Gideon,” the Vampire said quietly. “I myself, in my youthful boredom and impulsiveness, warred my people against yours those four centuries ago.”

“I appreciate your attempts at my absolution, Damien; however, your energy is best spent in other ways.” The Demon placed his glass on the table at his elbow, the sound of the crystal contacting the ornate glass a resonating warning that Gideon was not feeling so detached and level as he projected to others around him. “I am highly aware of my part in the atrocities of our war with the Druids, and cognizant of the price Demons have paid for it. It may be that a small part of my absolution rests in the hands of the others who will come in the footsteps of the two female Druids, but my sins are far too great to be so easily forgiven.”

“No sin that weighs on a soul for a thousand years is too great for forgiveness, Gideon.” His indigo eyes darkened a fraction more. “At least, that is my own personal hope.”

Gideon did not rebuke the Vampire again. They both held a fair share of sin on their shoulders, and neither could bring himself to dash even the slightest part of the other’s hope. Strange, that after so long, they held any hope at all. Gideon had always suspected, though, that it was some sort of defense mechanism, this thing called hope. He was a cynical creature, from tip to toe, and no one who knew him in any degree would argue that, but they would perhaps be a little shocked to know that there might be a part of the Demon that still held out for a glimmer of absolution. Gideon was not a man used to giving explanation or apologies for his actions. He was the oldest and most powerful of his kind, and with that distinction came the privilege of doing pretty much whatever suited him. In order to reach such an advanced age, he was considered to have learned enough to know best.

A prime example would be his presence in the lair of the Vampire Prince who was seated across from him. Within his own race, Damien was the mirror of Gideon’s position and power. Though the Vampires and the Demons were not enemies, they were not great friends either. There were those on both sides of their races who held little tolerance for the other, and others still who actively sought to antagonize one another. But this had been true between differing societies since time was time. There was no such thing as a perfect peace so long as there was free will and obstinate ignorance in the world, even in races so long lived, so powerful, and so renowned for great intelligence and sophisticated reasoning.

They were failings that the two of them had dryly referred to as their more “human” aspects.

“And as to your earlier question, Damien, it is unknown exactly how many necromancers we are contending with this time. However, recent experiences and interrogations with them indicate to me that their ranks have been growing quietly for some time now. It is their recent activities that have only just made them visible to us.”

“Have there been Summonings?” Damien asked edgily. The act of Summoning, when a necromancer stole a Demon and held it captive, was the most horrible fate known to Demonkind. Once captured in such a way, a Demon, no matter how intelligent, how refined, powerful, and controlled, would, after being bombarded by the vile, blackest arts that had captured him, transform into a hideous, practically mindless monster—into the very image of a Demon that was more widely accepted by the human race. No doubt it was this effect witnessed by necromancers over the centuries that had imprinted the image in human legend in the first place. In all myth, there was sometimes more than a grain of fact.

The Nightwalker races were living proof of that.

“Several,” Gideon continued grimly. “I cannot even begin to explain the ramifications this has caused within my race.”

“You do not need to explain. Necromancers rarely stick to the Demon race, as you know. No doubt we will begin finding the ashes of my kind staked out in the sun soon enough, not to mention the gory remains of Lycanthropes and the other Nightwalkers.”

“The only consolation I can give you at the moment is that since the kidnapping and retrieval of our King’s sister, there have been no other instances of Summoning,” Gideon said. “The necromancers have been silent.”

“Silence can be as threatening as action,” Damien mused, his ringed hand sounding the rim of the crystal glass he held like a high-pitched instrument.

“I agree. They are an arrogant species, these human, dark-magic users. They do not remain quiet for long. Only long enough to regroup. That is why I am here giving you fair warning, Damien. I know they will be returning, and we must all be prepared.”

“It is appreciated. I will be certain to alert my people.”

“Siddah! Siddah Legna!”

Magdelegna turned when the high-pitched voice called to her, barely able to glance over her shoulder in time to see a young body hurtling into her legs from behind, nearly knocking her to her knees. She laughed as she twisted around to see the little creature clinging for his life to her gossamer skirts.

“Daniel! You are pulling your aunt’s hair,” she scolded him, gently extricating the softly curled tresses out from under his grasp on her knees. She gathered the coffee-colored mass in her hands and then pulled it over her shoulder to further protect it from her nephew’s enthusiastic greeting.

“Mummy is awful mad at me. Please don’t let her spank me!”

Legna sighed with her exasperation, prying her nephew off her legs so she could lower her impressive height down to his significantly smaller perspective.

“Your mum is my sister, dearest heart, but that does not give me the right to gainsay her punishment of you when you have been naughty. In truth, when I was a young girl, since your mother is my eldest sister, she used to punish me when I was naughty.” Legna tried to suppress her smile when the young boy’s face took on a horrified and hopeless expression. Her heart went out to him as she remembered all too well how strict her sister could be. “Anyway, I seem to recall you begging for asylum not two days ago. Are you in so much trouble again so soon?”

“But, Aunt Legna, you are my Siddah. You can tell her not to spank me.”

“Daniel, it is because I am your Siddah that I should encourage your mum to discipline you. When it comes time for your Siddah to foster you, she will be very strict with you. I promise you, dearest heart, that I will be a very stern teacher. And my first lesson to you is that you must face up to the ramifications of your mistakes. All good men do.”

“But I am not a man. I am a little boy. I am only six years old.”

“True,” Legna acquiesced with a nod, “you are just a boy. But how often have you told me that you wish to be a man as brave and strong as your uncle? You claim that one day you will be King of all Demons, like your uncle Noah. Correct?” She waited for his reluctant nod. “Now, what kind of King would you be if you cowered away from your own wrongdoings?”

“I don’t suppose I would be a very good one,” Daniel said, lowering his huge blue eyes to the floor so his aunt could not see the tears in them that matched the quaver of his voice. “But I did not mean to be a naughty child on purpose.”

Legna sighed once more, taking pity on her precocious nephew.

“I know that. I truly believe that you wish to be a good child in your heart.”

“One can only hope that my son will learn to follow his heart one day,” came a dry observation from the entrance of the arboretum.

Legna stood up to her full height, smiling at her sister Hannah as the other woman moved into the room to scoop her errant youngster from the floor, setting him high on her shoulder.

“For now, though, as long as he insists on giving in to mischievous impulses, such as hiding under the Great Council table during session, he must take his punishment.”

“Oh, Daniel, you didn’t.” Legna tsked at the child, making his chubby cheeks turn a brilliant scarlet color.

“I didn’t mean to. I was just playing hide and seek with Uncle Noah.”

“Yes, well, next time perhaps you ought to begin the game by actually informing your uncle he is part of it instead of having him find out the hard way, eh? For now, it is home and to bed with you, where you will think about your behavior until your father returns. Then you will discuss the matter with him, because it is clear that my discussions with you have no effect.” Hannah set her child onto his feet and gave him a light whack on the bottom to propel him in the right direction. “Off with you. Find your li-li-ni and travel home.” Hannah reached out with her powerful senses for a moment, searching for the location of the child’s nanny. “She is in the nursery with your sisters. Perhaps if you are in bed and quiet by the time I come home, I will rethink telling your father how naughty you have been.”

“Yes, Mummy,” Daniel promised, his head and voice as low and contrite as a young boy could possibly manage. He shuffled out of the arboretum, casting his aunt one last pleading look before he meandered across the Great Hall, clearly hoping to put off his confinement for as long as possible.

“Daniel, I have seen snails move faster,” Hannah scolded, having not even turned around and still knowing what her progeny was attempting to do.

Hannah’s mothering instincts were a marvel to Legna. Her sister’s seemingly unending patience was even more of a miracle considering Daniel was the second youngest of six siblings. Hannah and Legna waited until Daniel had gone up the main stairs to their brother’s castle, well on his way to finding his li-li-ni, before exchanging amused looks.

“He is quite a handful, my sister,” Legna remarked, laughing softly as she turned back to the small bonsai tree she had been pruning so patiently. “I hope you plan to wait some time before adding to your brood as you repeatedly insist on doing. I do not think I could be Siddah to any more of your children.”

“I would never do such a thing, sister.” Hannah laughed in return. “I fear that Daniel and Eve will be quite enough for you to manage in the coming century. Take solace in the fact that they are a good seven years apart in age. Also, Noah is Siddah as well to them both. You will not be alone in their training. No one is.”

“That will make it easier, provided I am still under our brother’s roof when the time comes for you to foster them to us.”

That got Hannah’s attention, and the tall woman, her black sheet of hair with its red highlights so much like their brother’s, went to touch her sister’s shoulder.

“Legna, are you trying to tell me you are considering leaving our brother’s household? Are you unhappy here?”

“Unhappy? Noah is King, most revered of all Demons, as well as one of the most powerful Fire Demons in all our history. You know well enough that in spite of the volatility of his root element, he is most loving and attentive, his power and responsibility making him incredibly sensitive to the needs of those around him. I am busy here, as both his chatelaine and an invaluable diplomat of his court. I could never be unhappy under my brother’s roof.”

“Very well, not unhappy, then. But perhaps…wanting?” Hannah queried, touching her sister under the chin to encourage her to look into her eyes. “Legna, I may not be a Demon of the Mind and a great empath, as you are, but I know my sister well enough to know when her emotions are troubled.”

“Truly, you are mistaken, Hannah,” Legna insisted, leaving her sister’s touch to concentrate once more on the plant she kept studying but had yet to prune since the conversation with her sibling had begun. “I lack for nothing here, and I have no tremendous desire to leave. But it will be five years, give or take, before Eve reaches the age of Fostering, and longer still before it is Daniel’s turn. A great deal can occur even in that short span of time. I was only musing aloud. It is nothing for you to make a fuss over.”

The indelicate sound Hannah made broadcast the likelihood of her believing her little sister’s claims, but at that moment Noah entered the arboretum.

“Hannah, I swear to you if you do not take that little scoundrel of yours in hand, I will do it myself.”

“Noah, please, you know Daniel does not mean any harm. He is just a boy,” the mother argued for her child, waving off the matter as if it meant nothing to any of them, quickly forgetting that she had been just as perturbed with him.

“Hannah…” Noah warned, his tone as close to scolding as he dared, knowing his sister, as a female Demon of Fire, had the temper to match his own.

Legna turned to glance from one sibling to the other, as usual wondering which of the two Demons who boasted connection with so hot-blooded an element would be the first to lose their temper, as they often did when they came head to head with one another. Luckily, Fire Demons were rare. Unluckily, it was quite volatile to have two in the same family.

It often fell to Legna, the empath and consummate diplomat, to discern who was getting hot under the proverbial and literal collar quickly enough to defuse the situation. Hannah and Noah dearly loved one another, but often the love was strongest when they were not too close to each other and definitely stronger when they were not arguing opposite sides in a contest of wills.

“Hannah, the boy may have heard things that will disturb him,” Noah said, his tactic changing to a gentle warning that appealed to Hannah’s strongest instinct, that of a mother.

“What is it, Noah?” Hannah asked quickly, her hand lifting to her throat, where she nervously tugged on the lovely ruby choker her husband had given her on their wedding night. She was not one to get rattled easily, but the habitual fingering of the jeweled choker was a dead giveaway that she was disturbed.

Each of the three Demons standing in the flourishing arboretum was well aware of the recent troubles that had begun to plague the Nightwalker races. Legna herself had become a victim of these happenings when she had been Summoned by four necromancers intent on stealing her powers and those of her fellow Demons for their own ends and uses. If not for Providence’s divine intervention and the newly birthed skills of a befriended Druid, Legna would be dead. Or worse. Hannah’s fear was well founded under these circumstances.

“There is no new news for you to feel threatened by at this time, Hannah, so do not fret overmuch. However,” Noah continued, “we were discussing methods of dealing with necromancers should we encounter them in the future. I do not need to tell you that listening to the Enforcers and warriors debate the best tactics to rid us of this threat was not the thing for six-year-old ears.”

“Yes, you are right, my brother. I am sorry. I will go to Daniel at once.”

“Hannah.” Noah took his sister’s arm as she went to hurry past him, turning her gently to him so he could brush a fond finger down her cheek and kiss her forehead warmly. “I love my nephew, you know that. I am worried for him. I do not mean to be harsh.”

“You are King, Noah. It is your duty to worry for us all. And I know that, at this time, it is a heavy burden. I will see to Daniel.”

“And in the future, I will look under the Council table before we begin our meetings,” Noah added, winking at her with humor so that she laughed. Hannah kissed her brother’s cheek and then, with a sudden blurring of the lines of her statuesque figure, spun herself in a collection of smoke that promptly funneled out of the castle via an open space in one of the high stained glass windows of the Great Hall.

Noah turned to face his younger sister, arching one brow to a fairly smug height. Legna lifted a brow back at him, giving him a delicate smattering of applause.

“And I was afraid you would never learn the art of diplomacy,” she remarked, her lips twitching with her humor. “It merely took you the entire two and a half centuries of my life. Longer, actually. You had a few centuries’ head start.”

“Funny how you seem to recall the fact that I am far older than you only when it suits your arguments, my sister,” he taunted her, reaching to tug on her hair as he had been doing since her childhood.

“Well, I can say with all honesty that this is the first time I have ever seen you forgo a good argument with Hannah, opting for peace instead. I was beginning to wonder if you were my brother at all. Perhaps some imposter…”

“Legna, be careful. You are speaking words of treason,” he teased her, tugging her hair once more, making her turn around to swat at his hand.

“I don’t know how you convinced the entire Council that you were mature enough to be King, Noah! You are such a child!” She twisted her body so he couldn’t grab at her hair again. “And I swear, if you pull my hair once more like some sort of schoolyard bully, I am going to put you to sleep and shave you bald!”

Noah immediately raised his hands in acquiescence, laughing as Legna flushed in exasperation. For all her grace and ladylike ways, Noah’s little sister was quite capable of making good on any threat she made.

“I mean really, Noah. You are just about seven hundred years old. One would think you could at least act like it.”

“Legna, these past months I have been doing nothing but act my age. You are the only one who relieves that for me. It is my belief that we should never completely give up that part of us which is childlike, fun loving, and mischievous. And,” he said. . .