The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Dark Strip

Storm swore under his breath as he paced his suite. Kitara called his bluff. She knew as well as he did he couldn’t approach his father without risking his own job. Electricity flickered over his hands and with a pointed focus, he made the current settle. He needed a different plan.

No, he needed to get Kitara’s attention. To make her respect him. To treat him like her handler, not some idiotic recruit fresh out of the Academy—

The door to his suite opened, surprising Storm out of his thoughts.

“Hey, man,” Declan said as he entered, closing the door behind him. He caught sight of the electricity twisting around Storm’s fingers and frowned. “You okay?”

“No. Well, yes…I’m fine,” Storm said, flustered. “What’s up?”

“You never said what happened after dinner last night,” Declan reminded him. “I came to check if everything was okay.”

“Oh, right.” Storm waved his hand. “My dad stopped by. Your uncle, too.”

Declan lifted his chin in a gesture of understanding. “Ah. That’s why you couldn’t mention it at dinner.” He paused, studying the silverblood with a discerning eye. “And probably why you’re all worked up.”

Well, he’s partially right.

Storm stopped and sighed. “I’m…trying to work on this new project, sort of,” he hedged. “Might lead to bigger things for me, but it’s…complicated.” He scowled. “And Dad’s not making it easier.”

Declan flopped into an armchair. “What makes it complicated?”

“Well, being confined to headquarters is a start.” Storm leveled an eye roll at his friend. “All these restrictions on my movement, where I can go, what I can do…it’s handicapping my ability to work.”

Declan considered this for a moment. “Okay,” he said with a long exhale. “Let’s say for a minute your…princess tower wasn’t an issue. What then?”

“Then, I could do my job more effectively,” Storm muttered. “Show there’s more to me than the color of my blood. I think the disrespect I’m getting is stemming from the assumption I can’t do anything about it, since Dad’s got me locked down here.” He could only imagine the look on Kitara’s face if he showed up at her flat—

“All right then.” Declan slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “So let’s take the tower out of the equation.”

Storm crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’ll be tricky during daylight hours, but…if you’re trying to prove a point, I can probably help.”

“You don’t even know what I’m trying to do,” Storm said, gesturing with one hand.

Declan shrugged. “Is it related to the super-secret stuff you won’t talk about that we’re all pretending you’re not hiding?”

“I—” Storm hesitated at the Guardian’s astute observation. “Yeah.”

“Is it AIDO-approved?”

“Yeah?”

“Then I’m in.” Declan leaned against the back of the armchair. “If your dad’s the issue, but otherwise the AIDO wouldn’t care, then I’ll help you.”

“Doing what?” Storm asked, reeling from the sudden turn in the conversation.

Declan rolled his eyes. “Sneak into Ostragarn,” he snarked. “What do you think? I’ll help you skirt the patrols and do…whatever it is you need to do.”

Storm gaped at him. “Help me circumvent security? Are you nuts? You’d lose your job if anyone found out.”

Declan crossed his arms. “You gonna tell anyone?”

“Well, no, but…”

“If they didn’t prosecute you and Alasdair for hacking that portal, they’ll give you a pass for this.”

“That was different,” Storm protested. “We were practically kids!”

“And now, if anyone asks, it was in service to the AIDO and your…secret mission or whatever,” Declan said with another shrug. “And as your Guardian, I had to go with you.”

“Wait.” Storm raised his hands. “You can’t come with me.”

“Then you’re not going,” Declan said, frowning. “If your mission is so secret that you can’t take a Guardian Captain, then your dad’s right and you shouldn’t go anywhere.”

“Asshole,” Storm muttered, but there wasn’t any venom behind it. It wasn’t Declan’s fault the Sleeper tenets forbade him from expounding on any of this in the first place.

“Maybe, but I’m not stupid enough to let you go alone. You look like you’re on the verge of accidentally frying somebody.” He cast a pointed glance at Storm’s hands, which still sparked with electricity every few seconds.

Storm’s crackling power did not exist among Valëtyrians, and even the Myragnar considered it rare. It manifested in Storm soon after his mother’s injury, as unpredictable as it was impressive. Once a liability more than an asset, his Academy instructors failed to train the knee-jerk use of it out of him. As a result, Storm spent a tedious year in the Myragnar’s citadel, Myragos, training with a handful of incredulous Myragnar to master control of it. Now, he wielded the power with as much precision and intent as any other weapon.

Storm scowled. “This is because you think I’m keeping something from you, isn’t it? You’re too curious for your own good.”

“Take it or leave it.” Declan shrugged one shoulder. “Either we go together or not at all. But trust me, the patrols will catch you if you try it alone.”

Storm braced his hands on his desk and dropped his head, considering. After a beat, he looked up again, still frowning. “Fine. But if you go, you can’t ask questions. If I have to talk to someone, you can’t ask who they are or listen in.”

“I’ll wait outside or whatever.” Declan raised his right hand. “Promise. Do we need a car?”

“Not if you’re down to fly for about an hour.”

Declan’s expression lit up. “Always,” he said. “We don’t get to do that enough.”

“Agreed,” Storm replied. “And flying is easiest. Also, don’t worry about attempting this in broad daylight—what I need can be done during the night shift.”

“That makes it easier,” Declan conceded. “Did you have a timeline in mind?”

The two conspired for a moment, ultimately planning the caper on one of Declan’s off-shifts three nights later.

“Dress inconspicuously,” Storm warned. “I’m not sure where we’ll end up yet.”

“Got it. I’ll handle the rest.” Declan clapped him on the shoulder before heading for the door.

“Dec.” Storm stopped him. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Nah.” Declan flashed him a wide grin. “Just make sure you don’t get us killed and we’ll be good.” He winked and left the room, leaving Storm alone with his thoughts again.

Storm stared at the door, the reality of his plan sinking in.

Constantly sidelined and underestimated, his frustration had reached a breaking point. He wasn’t some spoiled son of privilege—he was a force to be reckoned with. He would show Kitara, his father, and anyone else who doubted him that he could do so much more than they thought him capable of.

And if the latter included him a little, well, no one else had to know.

In the absence of further communications from Storm, and more importantly, Storm’s father, Kitara’s hunch proved accurate. The silverblood couldn’t make waves with the High Councilor without threatening his new position. He needed her right where she was, no matter how much he despised the radio silence.

The “silence” wasn’t truly silent: Kitara sent the occasional message confirming her well-being and reiterating the lack of anything to report.

Reassured by the absence of additional threats, the darkness she’d fought for so many years settled, until it became nothing but an afterthought again.

A remnant of her father’s traitorous lineage, Kitara had struggled to control the whispering darkness for decades as a younger immortal. She’d only lost control of it once, and since then, she’d strictly disciplined herself to contain it. Still, it flared when she felt threatened, and since she lived her life under a constant state of threat, unexpected ones from supposed allies didn’t improve her working conditions.

She was no closer to the Maker than when she first arrived. Scarlet and Jamal spoke mostly about their plans for their coven, and Jamal refused to entertain questions about anything else. The white-haired immortal hadn’t approached her again, though she saw him on occasion. He kept mostly to himself but seemed friendly with The Sanguine Queen’s bartender, Blake. The Valorn warmed up to Kitara again when she didn’t make any additional threats.

A few nights after Kitara ignored Storm’s ultimatum, a late winter cold snap made Kitara’s skimpier club ensembles unthinkable. Frankly, she was grateful, despite her usual distaste for the cold. Her interactions with Jamal grew increasingly hostile, and she wanted to carry weapons for a while. The more casual getup she’d need to conceal them could be excused by the colder weather. She donned a long-sleeved top and leather lace-up pants, skirting the line between comfy and couture, strapped two blades in slim trigger sheaths to her arms, then headed into the dark strip.

The Maker’s group didn’t occupy their normal VIP area in The Sanguine Queen, so Kitara sought out a bar called Cosmos, another rumored meeting spot, but no luck there, either. Kitara sighed and ordered a drink instead.

Another body flopped onto the barstool beside her. “I swear, it’s like they’ve assigned every Slayer in the country to Bucharest,” Scarlet complained. “I’ve had to cut a hunt short twice this week.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Kitara murmured. “At least the bars are stocked.”

“Overpriced bullshit.” The vampire traced the rim of the bloody glass she held. “Refrigerated. This place charges extra to heat it up. Can you believe that? It’s fucking freezing out. I prefer the Queen—Blake doesn’t pull this bullshit. More fun to flirt with too.”

“You flirt with everyone,” Kitara said with a laugh. “So why’d you come here?”

“Probably the same reason you did,” Scarlet said pointedly. “Looking for the Maker’s friends.”

“Where’s Jamal?”

“Not here,” Scarlet said. “He can be such a downer sometimes.” She rolled her eyes in a commiserating fashion, no doubt remembering her coven mate’s hostile behavior as much as Kitara did.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Kitara said with a snort. “So, any idea where else the Maker’s friends might be?”

The vampiress shrugged. “They take a night off now and then.”

“Do they invite people to join them on their…nights off? And are they as…visible doing it if they do? I’ve never seen anyone join—or leave with—them.”

“Visible?” Scarlet cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“The Maker is a shadow, a ghost,” Kitara reminded her. “And replaceing people close to him—or them, whatever—is almost as hard as replaceing him. So why is this group different?”

“The Maker couldn’t make anything happen if no one could contact him,” Scarlet pointed out. “And that group is just the first layer of defense. If you get invited to join, that’s just the beginning. You spend time with them, they get to know you. Then, once they decide you’re okay, you get sent to someone who’s a little less…visible.”

An aura brushed over Kitara’s skin, and she shifted on her stool. “Okay, entry level gatekeepers, sure. Just seems a bit…contradictory to the Maker’s reputation.”

“The Maker loves games and loves making people jump through hoops even more. If he wants you, you’ll get there eventually.”

Kitara snorted. “Nice of you to say, seeing as I’m your competition.”

Scarlet’s fangs flashed in the dim lighting as she grinned. “Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not opposed to having—” She broke off, scowling past Kitara’s head. “What the hell?”

Kitara barely heard the vampiress as a dazzling silver-white aura collided with hers like a freight train.