Canute (The Kindred Series Book 2) Read online

  Canute took a deep breath, trying to will away his fatigue. He walked out of his suite and strode to the elevator, heading towards Himiko’s main offices to continue on with the last bit of his work.

  Just a couple more days, Canute. You can do this.

  Focus on the end—and then he could finally figure things out in his personal life.

  Thoughts of his current situation overwhelmed him enough that he didn’t notice the world pass him by as he walked from his and Ranmaru’s rooms to the elevators, and onward to Himiko’s suites. If Canute weren’t so sure, he would have started to think he was becoming depressed.

  When he opened the doors to Himiko’s offices, he was greeted by what looked to be a Mexican standoff. He would have found it humorous, if he wasn’t so alarmed. What was normally a bustling office looked like it had gone through hell. Bodies were crumpled all over, the furniture looked like it had been broken twice over, and even the paintings were askew as though a tempest had just run through the entire floor. Some of the bodies were alive, evidenced by the wincing, groaning, and twitching. Others, still, lay dead.

  That was never a good sign.

  On one side, a good few feet away, was Himiko, staring daggers at a group of people, who were surrounding Canute’s Kindred. Ranmaru stood in the middle of the group, his usual, blank expression clear as day on his face.

  Ranmaru, surrounded by four unknown men… dressed in full black from head to toe, who had blades summoned and floating right by their hands through some sort of sorcery. They looked like magic-wielding ninjas, and this small, humorous voice inside Canute thought that somewhere out there, a ten-year-old boy was having a conniption at the thought of killer ninjas wielding magic spells.

  “What’s happening here?” Canute asked as he watched Himiko stare daggers at her nephew.

  Immediately Canute readied himself. His muscles tensed, and like a cat, he was ready to strike. But when Ranmaru’s gaze met his, he felt that familiar pang of nausea and wooziness course through his body. This time, however, it was a thousand times worse. It was like there was something in those eyes…

  Canute doubled over and winced. He shook his head and gathered his bearings, turned to look at his gracious hostess.

  Shit. What’s happening to me?

  Himiko only turned slightly to look at Canute. “We’ve been duped,” she said matter-of-factly. “There was a snake in our midst all along. None of this is right. None of this should have happened.”

  She then turned to face Ranmaru once more, anger and seething hatred clear as day in her eyes.

  Why would she be looking at her nephew that way?

  “I am the Shaman Queen! How dare you wield your siren magic against me?” Himiko snapped, her eyes fixated on the group of warrior-mage-ninjas. She pulled her ceremonial-looking dagger from inside her silken sash, pulling it from its sheath and letting the jewels glisten underneath the fluorescent light. Running it across her fingers, she whispered a few arcane words and flicked her fingers, letting droplets of her blood dribble into the air. “I’ll show you what happens to people who dare take advantage of my magnanimity!”

  The warrior-mages braced themselves, standing in phalanx formation around Ranmaru.

  Himiko started chanting.

  If those ninjas were good at their magic, Himiko was even better.

  And though the words were too honeyed, too complex, Canute watched with awe—not like he could do anything else—as Himiko manipulated magic with such mastery. The blood didn’t fall to the floor. It remained suspended in the air, glimmering and glowing with eldritch magic, finally swirling and forming a perfect magic seal that looked almost like the shape of a pentagram. When she pointed her dagger forward at Ranmaru, what looked like thousands of little magic bullets began to burst out from the magic symbol, careening right toward their attackers.

  Like some kind of magical dance, the aged woman used some sort of sacrificial, blood magic to create things that Canute had only seen a few times before. Seidr magic in his homelands…from nearly a thousand years ago.

  Impressive, definitely, and dangerous.

  That seal served as weapon and shield, because as soon as any of the attackers tried to move too close to her, it careened back and forth with every wave of Himiko’s hands. Canute, on the other hand, merely felt a burn that slowly started to gush out of his body. It was like the dam of his self-control was breaking.

  That berserker inside of him wanted to be unleashed. His inner demon ached for blood. Something wasn’t right, and Canute didn’t like not knowing what he was facing. All he knew was that she talked about siren magic, and that was dangerous. Even more primal than the bending of thoughts to someone’s will, to bend someone’s emotions with just the softest of whispers was one of the deadliest shows of force on this earth.

  People would move heaven and earth for the people they loved, after all, and would break past anything to make sure the people they despised were rightfully put in their place.

  Regardless of what he thought, however, he was stuck to his spot, unable to move, a slave to the siren magic. Whenever he willed his body to even twitch, to try to move a single inch, something like fire burst inside of him.

  “Wait, Madame, your nephew—”

  “I have no nephew,” Himiko groused in between her dance, like some whirling dervish sent from oblivion to strike down her enemies.

  No nephew? But…

  Even as Himiko danced, Canute could see that the Shaman Queen’s energy was beginning to fade. She was starting to pant, her eyes were beginning to dim, and her movements were becoming sluggish. The warrior-mages that surrounded her didn’t seem perturbed in the least, merely dancing around with their telekinetic blades at the ready, striking at any perceived openings they found.

  Of course, until they actually found one, and the sound of blade cutting through flesh resonated through the hall.

  Himiko’s eyes widened. Her lips parted. She looked down, seeing an entire blade impaled through her body. The blade retracted just in time for her to turn her head, and seeing one of the warrior mages standing there, flicking his blade to rid it of blood. She fell to her knees, shaking.

  And just like that, the Shaman Queen’s dance was cut short.

  Canute roared, feeling bestial anger course through his veins. But something was holding him down—something that made his body burn as though a net of fire had been thrown over him. He looked up, seething, gritting his teeth, watching as Ranmaru walked over from where he stood, toward their assailants.

  “Ranmaru, don’t!” Canute exclaimed. He finally felt the gate inside him break open, and with a rush of strength, he roared like the bestial creature he was.

  Something felt like it had lost its hold on him, and it spurred him into action. Even though these past few days had been hard on his relationship with Ranmaru, the man was still his Kindred. Canute had a duty to protect him, and he wasn’t a man who shirked his responsibilities.

  In the blink of an eye, Canute found himself behind one of the warrior-mages. Like a warrior possessed, he flicked of the wrist, cracking the man’s neck and let him crumple to the ground, dead almost instantaneously. He was moving around at nearly mach speeds, a silent whirlwind of anger and desire to protect. He’d gone through another man when he looked back up at his Kindred, who only took a few steps back toward the balcony.

  “I’m sorry,” Ranmaru said, his voice blank, his apology didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not yours. And Himiko isn’t my aunt, either. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  Canute’s heartbeat felt like it was ringing in his ears. From the balcony, in a burst of shadowy energy, a large man appeared, strong and musclebound and only half-clad in kimono and a pair of hakama pants. He scanned the room, his lips curled into the slightest of frowns. With his long hair in a bun and a hand on a sheathed katana by his side, the man looked so out of time, in what seemed like samurai garb. His presence was intimidating, regardless of how he looked,
and it made Canute feel tense.

  Himiko clutched at her wound, and Canute could only barely hear her spoken words.

  “Oda.”

  “Himiko.” The man regarded her. “Thank you for handing over your holdings to me. It seems my Kindred has done well in making sure I am unopposed. Finally, after all of this time, Kyoto is mine.”

  At that moment, it seemed that those still standing of Himiko’s men finally had the smart idea of grabbing onto her to usher her out of the room. Her eyes were still wide with shock. The remaining ninjas, having served their purpose, disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  If there was ever reason to believe that ninjas actually existed and all the tricks that came with them, Canute thought dryly, this was one of them.

  Ranmaru finally turned to look at the man who appeared, whose face was impassive until he started to smile widely. “You’re here, my love.”

  His sandals clacked on the ground as he ran, grabbing onto the much larger vampire’s body. His arms wrapped tight around Oda’s massively muscled form, and the man, who stood a few inches taller than Canute, could only smile.

  This was the look Canute wanted to have with the one who was supposed to be meant for him. That dagger of deceit cut through him deeper than he thought. Canute didn’t know what to do, or what to say. Instead, he could only watch the tableau of his ‘Kindred’ latching onto his family’s supposed sworn enemy.

  “Ah, my beautiful siren,” Oda said. “Your ruse worked. And we didn’t even lose that many men.”

  “Of course. I would do anything for you, Oda,” Ranmaru replied. “You know that.”

  Oda finally grinned as those words were said, and the massive kimono-clad man leaned down to kiss Ranmaru square on the lips just as a veil of shadows covered them like a cloak, making their bodies dissipate into the darkness of the open balcony.

  Finally, something inside of Canute broke.

  He’d been tricked. He’d been denied his actual Kindred. In one fell swoop, he found out he’d been lied to all this time. His emotions had been used against him. He had worked all this time…for nothing.

  Ranmaru wasn’t his.

  Who was?

  Did he even have a soul to share with someone?

  Was someone like him worth having one?

  He was a soldier. For a long time, he was just an automaton, working under powerful men in their service. Even now, he was just a tool used by someone else. Was he even surprised at the lies? Something, deep down inside him, that dark inner demon that Cyrus always talked about, told him that this wasn’t surprising.

  He didn’t deserve a person to share that bond with. He had no soul.

  He didn’t deserve happiness. He was a soldier. All he needed to do was serve.

  But why did it hurt so much?

  Fate had played a cruel trick, and in doing so, he’d been led away from home, given false hope serving a man who probably had no qualms, absolutely no second thoughts, about having used him for their own gain.

  Like a broken animal, he roared, and that’s when he felt the crackle of magic shatter inside him and everything turned to black.

  Only the cold embrace of oblivion would calm him now.

  Chapter Two

  A bone-chilling roar echoed through Kyoto last night, alarming the supernatural beings who lived there. All the while, the humans didn’t seem to notice. It was just as though a particularly harsh winter wind howled through the city.

  Like some kind of abomination being cast into the pits of hell, the sound that reverberated through the night was like a bitter squall that seeped right into a person’s body. What’s more, the sound surely came from a person. Only a person could utter a cry so sad as to make someone fall to their knees.

  The sound seared itself into Haru’s memory. It was haunting and anguished, far more than Haru ever thought someone could utter. It made him sad to think that there were things out there that could experience such melancholy, when his life had been so beautiful, so sheltered, so vibrant and full of life.

  Sadness like that wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before.

  Haru felt an ache in his chest as he remembered the sound. He crouched down over a small bed of earth in front of a large cherry blossom tree. He waved a hand over the bald patch there, frowning. Magic began to pour out of his palms right onto the soft, loam soil, and slowly bits of grass began to erupt from the ground.

  Then, Haru smiled. Maybe this would take his mind off the unsettling news.

  “You really do favor that tree, don’t you, Haru?”

  The young man blinked. He turned to see the flickering image of his grandfather standing nearby, and he nodded in reply. It was almost hard to see the man through the cover of darkness in the night, but the soft, translucent light emitted by his grandfather’s projection most certainly helped.

  Haru’s grandfather was a stalwart man who stood with his back straight even though he braced much of his weight onto a gnarled, wooden cane he held with one hand. His graying hair was still mostly black rather than white, noting his relative physical youth. But most important of all was the magical flicker in the man’s otherwise translucent body, which showed that he was just an astral projection.

  “When this blooms in spring, even if only for a little while, it lets out the most vibrant pink of all of our cherry blossom trees,” Haru answered.

  His grandfather raised an eyebrow. Tilting his head slightly, he gestured over to his grandson. “Is that why you’re letting weeds grow around it now?”

  Haru blinked as he looked down. His magic was still pouring out, his palms still extended. “Oh, crap!”

  Haru retracted his arms, letting the flow of magic cease. At the base of the tree now stood some rather wonky looking weeds wrapping around its base. Haru frowned. He’d been distracted! And though he wanted to make that little patch pretty, it pained him to have to cull the plants that now grew there. He’d never been able to withstand seeing things in pain, or dying. Even weeds.

  Haru’s grandfather chuckled. He leaned on his cane, leaning his body forward a bit as he gazed at his grandson in amusement. “I’m sure the city will send someone to help trim your mess, my dear.”

  He slowly stood up, puffing his cheeks in annoyance. He put both his hands on his hips, trying to look much bigger than he actually was. He had no doubt he was failing. “Did you need something, grandpa?”

  Haru’s grandfather shook his head, but quickly the soft expression on his face turned into one of seriousness. “I projected myself merely to tell you to keep yourself safe today. They say a beast was spotted close to the Kamo River last night. You should be wary about staying out there alone.”

  Haru nodded. “I know, grandpa. I heard it last night.”

  “Technically, you shouldn’t be in too much danger considering how far you are from the city center. As one of the guardian kami of the area, the woods will protect you,” his grandfather explained, gesturing all around them. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry. There are rumors of Lady Himiko being gravely wounded. Whether or not that is the case, it’s not completely safe, and no one knows if Oda is planning a hostile takeover.”

  Now, that was a shock. Lady Himiko had been a kind protector of Kyoto’s supernatural world for a long time. Ever since Haru could remember, Lady Himiko had been handling the protection of Kyoto’s underbelly, helping out the kami that were losing their homes due to modernization, and helping adapt the yokai to become less of a danger to humans than they were before.

  “Do they know who did it, grandpa?” Haru asked. His grandfather shook his head in response, his frown grave.

  “No, and that’s why you must be careful. The mountain priestess says there are dark days to come. Let the woods protect you, and make sure you don’t wander too close to the city. You don’t know what sort of creature is out there. Be careful, okay?”

  “I will, grandpa. I won’t venture into the city. I promise,” Haru said.

  His grandfather sta
red at him blankly, raising his eyebrow. “That’s a lie, my dear grandson, but I won’t fault you for it. Just promise me you’ll be careful, and don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  Haru smiled. “You know me too well, grandpa.”

  “Almost too well, you mischievous runt. Go on. You’re kami of the woods. Tend to your home and like I said, be careful.”

  The projection of Haru’s grandfather faded in a little bloom of magic.

  Haru shook his head. He and his grandfather often talked like that, even though the older man lived hundreds of miles away. As an accomplished kami himself, who had lived hundreds of years in contrast to Haru’s own twenty years of life, Seiji, his grandfather, spent much of his time making sure all of his grandchildren were safe and taken care of even though Seiji lived in a quaint mountaintop protecting an old village shrine and its priestess.

  In contrast, Haru lived alone. Well, not really alone, he had roommates, or work acquaintances. Whatever they were called, he had the company of a few friends to keep him safe and sane in this little sanctuary he lived in. Secluded in a private plot of land, the woods Haru lived in was far too small to be a forest, but far too big to just be a copse of trees in someone’s backyard.

  Besides, he lived right next to a Shinto temple himself. Most kami did.

  Haru started walking past his favorite tree and deeper into the woods when he heard the sound of a dog barking. The noise immediately brought a smile to his face.

  “Momo!”

  And there a tiny little ball of energy came bounding down the trail. Reaching only mid-shin to Haru—who stood at a petite five foot three—Momo the dog was a beagle with long, floppy ears, a handsome face, and stubby legs. It was any wonder he ran as fast as he did, because he was barking excitedly and bounding whole feet in long, large leaps until he stood right by Haru’s legs, jumping up and down and yipping in wild, reckless abandon.

  “Calm down, Momo. What is it?” Haru asked.

  The dog yipped and looked up at him.