Page 4 of Bound By Blood and Bone

Some of those in the room stepped back, either out of caution or deference; he wasn't sure. Necromancers had a reputation and not all of it good. The Cultus Mortis were honorable and held to a strict code, but not all orders were the same. Some were darker than the evil they fought.

Master DuCane and his Second did not step back; they remained where they were. These men were not surprised or taken aback by a Necromancer in their space. Atticus left his hood on shielding his face from them he wasn't ready to bare all for these people just yet. His eyes, a brilliant sparkling green, watched them closely. Atticus had learned early on that his presence could be taken as a threat in some instances and was always alert to shifts in the air. A mood could change in and instant and with it all sense of safety.

"Thank you for coming, Lord Nasir." Master DuCane spoke first and used his formal title. "What do you need from us?" The Master was respectful and to the point, which Atticus appreciated. He was aware that Jean Jacque had explained the situation to him, so he did not waste time repeating the information.

"A map of the areas affected and the growth pattern of the blight." His voice was deep, cavernously deep, and tinged with finality. The map and diagram of growth were produced almost immediately in a hard copy. Atticus dealt in the tangible, not the digital.

"A quiet place. I need a quiet place." He looked at Louis and held his gaze. The Master's strength and courage were filling the room, but with it came a light shadow of vulnerability. He worried for his people, be they vampire, shifter, or human. He was a good man, hard, exacting, and as dark as was necessary, but he took care of his people; he valued everyone.

"It will take approximately two days to complete the extermination. I will walk the affected area this evening, and I'll make and place the preparations. Tomorrow I will finish depending upon the entrenchment and power of the blight. I will know more once I walk the city and I taste the intensity of their evil."

"I'll have you escorted to the watchtower. It's quiet and set apart from the main workings of the Palace, and you will be given a guard. Anything you need, he will provide. Thank you for coming, Atticus. I understand the toll that such a cleansing will take on you." Louis stated and paused, holding Atticus' sharp green eyes with his own black stare. "Coven DuCane will be in your debt." Atticus did not comment; his expression said it all.

A debt such as this was like gold bars; it was priceless and was rarely, if ever, extended since Coven DuCane took care of themselves. Atticus was shocked by his statement, and although he would probably never call it in, it was comforting to possess.

"Continue with the protections that you have put in place." With that, Atticus turned and left the room with two of Louis' soldiers flanking him on both sides. Atticus moved through the Palace to a secluded section on the southeast corner facing the massive hedge maze covering several acres. It was a beautiful and intricate design and Atticus found it a soothing sight. The watchtower room was quiet, peaceful, and perfect for his needs.

He’d noticed several stares and disparaging glances as he made his way through the Palace with the soldiers at his sides. Not everyone at Coven DuCane was pleased to see him. He would have to be careful and aware of his surroundings. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but an errant attack on him could hurt others. The Coven was polite and civilized, so he was hoping that they would limit their dislike to comments and glances.

The soldiers left and shortly after their departure came a knock at his door. "Come in," Atticus stated curtly and did not turn to regard who entered until he heard the door close with a click and footsteps move to the left of the door, and then nothing.

He was a guard; he was there for protection and service. He was not there to socialize. The air around him was stiff like a soldier, but there was something else. There was a warmth in his heart; it was far away, but it was there, buried very deep, and Atticus could feel it. He presented as most of Master DuCane's guards and soldiers presented; they were highly trained professionals but possessed a decency that kept them grounded.

He thought back to the two men he noticed look at him like the enemy. They were not part of the DuCane forces; they were service providers, judging from their clothing. One wore a canvas uniform, and the other wore a half apron. Their intent was unkind, but they probably lacked the power and influence to do anything about their feelings.

It was unusual for the warmth in the depths of this man to reach Atticus. He was cold, distant, and isolated, and warmth, no matter how intense, rarely touched him. He was feeling a connection to the stranger standing behind him.

Such a sensation of connectedness had been absent from his life for centuries as he rose in the order; the basics of life, the parts that did not serve his profession, faded, and the warmth of connection was among them. The loss of his brothers escalated that process. Now he stood there with his back to a man emanating a connection that he did not understand.

Atticus turned and looked at the tall, broad vampire; his expression gave nothing away. His eyes were a dark brown and severely focused on Atticus and the room. His hair, black as a raven's wing, swept back from the hard angles of his face. This man had seen life, and it left its mark.

"I am Wyatt Price, and I am in your service during your stay." He stated, and the tone was respectful but reserved to the point of near detachment. Atticus nodded and turned back to the window, standing still and silent, taking in this new place, learning the energy, the air, and its state of being.

The silence and meditation extended for about two hours. Atticus completed his assessment of the immediate area and what he could pick up from the surrounding lands and turned back to regard the man standing by the door.

He had not moved, still standing straight and solid, his hands at his sides and his gaze straight ahead; he was there for his protection and convenience, but there was more. The foundation of something was forming, and Atticus, the all-knowing, as his brothers had teased, did not know what it was. The air was thick and heavy with some sort of emotion, and yet, on the surface, neither of them looked like they were feeling a thing.

There was a knock and Wyatt opened the door he stepped back and allowed a food tray to be brought into the room. It held water, fruit and nuts, sandwiches, and desserts. He had made no requests, but it was appreciated. "I did not order this." He stated to the young man who carried it in.

"Your guard made the order, sir." He said, bowed, and left the room. Atticus looked at Wyatt with focus and purpose this time. He wanted to know who the man was because the edge of his energy was reaching out to Atticus.

Wyatt did not explain himself; he stepped back to the wall by the door and took up his previous stance. Atticus wondered if the man was aware of what was going on between them. He was stoic, unmoving, and silent; he was the perfect soldier and showed nothing of the strangeness that was befalling Atticus, but there was a stirring in his soul. Atticus did not have time to ponder it further; he was there to do a job, and that job held his attention. The odd feelings would have to be a subject for another day.

"Thank you, Wyatt." Atticus pushed his hood off and let it hang down his back. He was an old mystic but like all paranormal beings his age did not show. He had a few threads of gray at his temples, but that was the only indication that he'd walked this earth a very long time. He sat down at the large oak table in the main room of the watchtower and motioned for Wyatt to join him.

"Thank you, but I am on duty." He said it politely and without inflection. Wyatt worked very hard to keep tight control of his thoughts and feelings. The scowl and the intensity in his gaze were there to maintain a façade of nothingness. He was an interesting man, and Atticus found his company pleasing.

"I need you to sit with me and at least have a cup of coffee." Atticus locked eyes with the vampire and saw the slow acquiescence and just a hint of his muscles relaxing. He stepped away from the door, took a seat opposite Atticus, and prepared himself a cup of coffee.

He had the scent of embers and ash, a hot, fragrant ending to a powerful fire; the scent was lovely. It wasn't burnt or cold; it was full of life even as it burned out. Wyatt had demons they showed in his eyes and past regrets burrowed deep into his bones, but he kept going and keep living. There was a lot to this handsome vampire guard a depth and sensitivity that Atticus would very much like to explore further, but later that would be later, he told himself firmly.

Atticus spread the map out on the table to their right and studied it, asking Wyatt questions about population, businesses, human-to-paranormal averages, and he answered each with thought and consideration.

Finally, he stopped and looked across the table at Wyatt, reading him as best he could, but there was something blocking him. Where he could usually read a person's emotions, opinions, and whatever was on the edge of their tongue, he got nothing from Wyatt apart from a sense of connection.

"Do I scare you, Wyatt?" He asked the obvious, since many in this day and age found his presence disturbing, as did a few within the Palace. "I'm a necromancer from an order that is all but finished. I am the last of my kind." He paused when he saw a flash of something in Wyatt's gaze. "I have a presence that can sometimes be unsettling. My energy has a taste that is not pleasant for most. If you have a problem with me, it would be best we deal with it now. I'm sure they could easily assign someone else."

CHAPTER THREE