Author: Hedge
Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress.
Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language.
Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan.
Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems.
It was dark here. That alone wouldn't have been enough to keep him from seeing. No, that was achieved by the blindfold tied across his eyes - too tight, of course. His shoulders ached from his hands being tied behind his back for hours on end, and his head hurt from being clobbered by what had been the equivalent of a very big wood stick.
Suffice to say, Morgead Blackthorn was not a happy vampire.
The fact that the only reason he had been caught was because he had been doing something stupid made him even less happy. While everyone else was at one of the boring meetings he had been subtly uninvited from, he had taken his bike, rode across the bridge into the nearby city, and gone to get his bike's oil changed - it had needed doing for a while, and while their were garages in Hayward and some of the nearby cities, there were none that stayed open so late. It was sheer bad luck that a couple of Council goons had been out and about as well, and had recognized him for who he was, and more importantly, who his soulmate was.
A brief scuffle had followed, but four to one really wasn't a fair fight. Especially when one hit you over the back of the head with a baseball bat. When he had woken up, he had been in the corner of what seemed to be a very large, empty room, from the way his voice echoed, tied up and blindfolded.
He once again strained against the ropes that tied his wrists, and snarled when he got the same results as before - absolutely nothing. All the same... Maybe if he kept trying the knots would weaken, or the rope would, either way.
The sound of a door opening on the other side of the room made him freeze, stop struggling against the bonds. Footsteps headed towards him, echoing eerily in the empty, until now silent, room. Five, maybe six people. At least one of them a woman, since he could hear the click of heels, unless the Council had taken to cross-dressing.
The footsteps came to a stop a few feet away, and there was silence for a moment save some faint scuffling and the sound of a zipper being undone. Then a man's voice rang out, heavy with both amusement and a sort of natural arrogance, "Greetings from the Council, Blackthorn. We're here to ask you a few questions. Answer them like a good little boy, and you'll go free, mostly unharmed. However, if you decide to be stubborn... Well, I can't be held responsible for what happens. Now, the first question. Where exactly is the Daybreak sanctuary? The one where your little half-human soulmate is at?"
Predictably, Morgead told the man exactly where he could shove his questions. The answering smile was felt rather then seen.
"I was hoping you would say that,"
the voice replied.
Azrael strode out of the dockside warehouse they were keeping Morgead Blackthorn in, and tried to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged, tried to keep her face impassive. She ignored the were-wolf guard standing there, and he returned the favor.
To take time to compose herself, and to make sure that her back was to the others when they came out just in case she didn't succeed, she wandered down the pier, heels making hollow thumps on the wood of the dock when she reached it. Like most of the docks in San Fransisco, it was lined with boats. Fishing boats and people's yachts, mostly, bobbing up and down gently on the tide. The swaying motion of the bay's water usually wouldn't have bothered her at all, but right now it just added to the flip-flops of her unsettled stomach. And her stomach wasn't anywhere near so unsettled as her thoughts.
She had always known that Zeke was a sick bastard, in more ways then one. It was why she had been able to weasel her way into his bed when she was just fifteen, with the intention of murdering him and any other Council member she could get her paws on. But she had met Will soon after, and he had talked her out of committing complete suicide - convincing her instead to join the Elite, and leaving her in the ideal situation to spy from. Yes, Zeke was sick, and that was why, when Hunter had died, he had been able to kill or intimidate the competition until he was top dog. It was why the Elite would have had his head on a pike long before this, if it hadn't been more useful to let him unknowingly slip them information on the movements of the Council.
But what she had just seen... It went beyond sick, beyond sadistic and cruel. He had hurt Blackthorn, hurt him and hurt him, and even when it became quite obvious that the young man was not going to betray his soulmate and Daybreak, he kept at it. For the pleasure of hurting something, someone, who couldn't fight back at that moment.
And she had stood there and watched it. Maybe that was what was making her ill, not Zeke's enjoyment in other's pain. The fact that she had watched Zeke injure someone, someone she couldn't help admiring for the sheer courage it took not to give in, and not say a word to stop it, not interfere at all. And why? Because it would mean letting them know that she was the spy, and therefore ruining any chance the Elite had of anticipating the Council's moves? Because she was no longer a grief-ridden fifteen-year-old willing to do anything, including die, simply to get at some of them?
She just wasn't sure those were the right answers, anymore.
With a shake of her head, as if to clear it, Azrael straitened, forcing the thoughts from her mind. It might not be the right answer, but it was the practical answer, and right now she needed to be practical more then she needed to be right or guilt-free. Practical was the only thing that was going to keep both her and Blackthorn alive and hopefully relatively intact.
The loud squeal of one of the dock's boards alerted her to the fact that someone was behind her, and she turned to greet Zeke.
The lamia was still splattered with blood, and Azrael had to make a conscious effort not to pull back when he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I still can't believe he didn't break," Zeke said, a frown in his voice.
Azrael pulled back enough to caress his cheek, fingers coming away smeared with blood, "Don't worry about it, love. There will be other days, other chances... and everyone has their breaking point."
Breaking point. Looking into the brilliant
green eyes, reassuring the head of the Night World Council that he would
be able to destroy the mind of a decent man and pick out the parts that
interested him, Azrael thought she had found hers, to some extent. She
knew where they were keeping Blackthorn now. She would be making another
call to Will as soon as she could.
"What?"
The sheer volume and intensity of the exclamation made a pair of Daybreakers passing the open door of the room that Jez shared with Morgead stop and cast startled looks at the redhead sitting on the bed. She ignored them, which was understandable, considering.
"Morgead is missing. Our contacts with the Council claim that there's a rumor dribbling through the ranks that some goons grabbed him last night," Hugh repeated, striving to keep his voice and manner calm. It wasn't an easy feat after being woken up at four in the morning over this problem, and then being told to go break the news to the Wild Power as soon as she woke up, but he was managing.
He watched as conflicting emotions chased eachother around on her face, never settling on one for long, before her expression ended on blank with an edge of anger. Under that, however, there was worry. "If that stupid man gets himself killed...," she growled, letting the end of the sentence hang in the air as if she couldn't think of a threat violent enough. "Do we know for sure if the Council has him? Can we find out where he's being kept?"
"We're working on it. We'll find him." He didn't sound convinced, even to his own ears. It had taken them months to find out who was running the Council; this Zeke man ran a tight ship. How where they going to find Morgead, if he had indeed been caught, since he was likely even more carefully guarded?
He glanced at Jez, and saw a stubborn
look settling on her face, making those silvery-blue eyes glint in a way
that was reminiscent of her lamia heritage; totally predatory and not at
all pleased, "Yes. We will."
Will Parker sighed, eyes sweeping over the eight other people in the room. Not all of the Elite, of course, but those that would be going on this mission with him, "Azrael called me half an hour ago. She found out where the Blackthorn is being kept." This got a few smiles, more then a little predatory, and nods from everyone. They knew what was coming, "This is going to have to be a quick job. Two of you distract the guards - they're werewolves, it shouldn't be that hard. Kaltes, Ceyx, if you're willing?"
When they nodded, he continued, doing a good job of ignoring the glint in Kaltes's eye that meant he probably wouldn't enjoy whatever she did as a distraction; the shape-shifter was more then a little explosives happy, "The rest will help me get Blackthorn away. In and out. Az said it might take some effort, that he's seriously injured." The way that Azrael had refused to go into detail on just how injured he was made Will think that 'serious' didn't even begin to sum it up.
He shook the thought off; they would deal with that when the time came. "That's about it. Any questions?"
Silence was the only answer, and he nodded in satisfaction, "Let's go."
Notes: Thankya to those of you who reviewed, and to my friend Gift, who tolerated with surprising mildness my making her proofread this and the previous part. And yes, Wicked, at some point, I'll try to have Will use the line "Nanner, nanner, nanner."