Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1)

by Delia E Castel

  “It’s for Empress Theodora, isn’t it?” I ask. “Does she drink the vampires’ blood, steal their power, or what?”

  The Magus opens the door and steps into a space lit by fluorescent lights. Grandma hurries through instead of gesturing for Aunt Clarissa to go first. My brows rise. Which of the three options was the truth?

  “Three sets of heartbeats just accelerated.” Alaric leaps the stairs in a single bound. We reach the door before it slams shut and before the trio get a chance to launch a surprise attack. “Why does a powerful vampire command you to capture others?”

  The scent of roasted chicken fills my nostrils as Alaric carries me into the kitchen. It’s a modern space about half the size of the dining hall with stainless steel cupboards running down both sides. Cooked poultry sit within baking pans on island workstations in the middle of the space. My stomach spasms, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since I collapsed in Driver’s office.

  “Information on vampire captives is classified,” Grandma snaps. “There are oaths of secrecy—”

  “She’s probably stealing their power or something.” My gaze settles on a workstation filled with lattice apple pies. Unfortunately, my mouth doesn’t water.

  “Interesting,” Alaric drawls.

  “More heart spasms?” I ask.

  “The closer you skim the truth, the more they become anxious,” he replies.

  “Gabrielle,” Grandma sounds more pleading than exasperated. “If our heart rates confirm the answers to your questions, then I implore you not to force us into breaking our oaths.”

  “That’s the truth,” says Alaric.

  I’m not like Grandma, who would push until she extracted every little fact regardless of the consequences, but it doesn’t mean I won’t use this power I have over her as leverage.

  Ahead of her, the Magus opens the door to the dining hall. Aunt Clarissa walks through, but Grandma pauses and stares at me with sad eyes. “If you leave with the vampire, that will make you a heretic. Every slayer in the world will be obliged to kill you.”

  “And if I stay?” After what’s happened, there’s absolutely no way I would remain, but I’m curious to find out how she’ll respond.

  “There is an Order sanatorium,” she says. “Within a year, the healers can purge you—”

  “And they’ll make me take the Blessing?”

  Her face stills, meaning the answer is yes. Yes, I’ll become one of Theodora’s living minions, helping her capture powerful vampires. She’s either building an army or consuming the vampires to build her strength.

  “I’m leaving,” I say.

  Grandma steps through to the dining hall. Half-eaten portions of soup cover the long tables, their contents now dried to their bowls. I glance out of the tall windows, where the shines down in a cloudless sky. I have no idea of the time or date.

  “What will you tell my friends?” I say in a small voice.

  “Your sisters must know the truth,” Grandma replies, her words dripping with the implication that I’ve abandoned my family.

  Alaric strokes my hair. “If they were truly your friends, they wouldn't swallow the Order’s propaganda.”

  I nod. Poppy wouldn’t, but I don’t know about the others whose families are so entangled in this secret society of slayers.

  The dining hall doors open into the atrium, where the fountain of Saint Theodora and her overflowing bowl shines in the moonlight. The Magus strides ahead and pauses at two figures sitting at the fountain’s base: Poppy and Maeve. As soon as we make eye contact, they both stand.

  “I ordered everyone to the safe house,” the Magus says to Maeve. “You should have left with the healers.”

  Maeve rubs her throat. “You broke the curse. I can talk.”

  “Report to Presbytera Driver’s office,” says Grandma. “We will join you shortly to hear your report.”

  Maeve turns to me. “It’s about Raphaella Augustine.”

  Alaric frowns at Maeve and murmurs in my ear. “Who is this girl?”

  “The sole survivor of the Malone massacre.”

  Grandma turns to us and arches a brow at Alaric. “Your handiwork?”

  “It was Justinian,” says Maeve.

  My face drops. “What?”

  She rushes toward us with Poppy trailing behind. My best friend still looks pale from her ordeal, but her sad eyes focus on me. She knows I’m not staying. I offer her a tight smile, hoping she understands why.

  Despite Grandma’s demand for Maeve to go upstairs to make her report, Maeve clasps her hands to her chest and tells us how she was staying up late to finish her Esoteric History assignment, when Malone Convent suffered an attack.

  “All the lights turned off, including the flames,” she says. “We all rushed to the window and found warlocks beyond the lake, smashing the wards.”

  My throat dries, and I glance at Grandma, whose face is as pale as diluted milk. She’s so engrossed in Maeve’s report that she forgets that Alaric is also listening.

  “Vampires couldn’t get past the moat, but they murdered anyone who got close.”

  “Where did you go?” Grandma asks.

  “The slayers directed us to escape through underground tunnels, but an explosion on the stairs caused the ceiling to collapse, and I got dazed.” Maeve wipes away a tear. “By the time I reached the bottom, the whole tunnel was filled with flames.”

  A gasp slips from my lips, and I place a hand over my mouth. Is this why Grandma was so heavy handed? Because she thought Alaric was trying to do the same to Agia Convent?

  “What happened next?” Aunt Clarissa says, her voice filled with compassion.

  My gaze drops to my hands. What would I do to prevent a massacre of a convent full of people? Force a truth enchantment on my own granddaughter if it meant saving the lives of my fellow sisters?

  “Everything was on fire,” Maeve said. “I ran through the hallways and hid from the warlocks.”

  We all falls silent, waiting for her to continue. My breaths turn shallow, and I gaze into the other girl’s stricken features.

  “They executed everyone with waves of dark magic.” Maeve swallows. “Our mages tried to form barriers, but the warlocks were too strong.”

  The fire and carnage in her story remind me of the hellish picture in the seer’s elevator, and I’m glad Alaric is holding me to his chest.

  Grandma’s breaths become ragged. She must know by now that Alaric couldn’t have burned down Malone Convent. He and his family only came to rescue me and Mr. Farrier.

  Maeve’s choked sob pulls me out of my musings, and I tune back into her account. “I overheard the ancient vampire choking our Presbytera, demanding the whereabouts of his wife. She kept telling him that Saint Theodora died over a thousand years ago, but he said he could smell her fresh blood.”

  “Justinian?” I whisper.

  She turns her tear-streaked eyes to me. “He kept screaming at them to bring Theodora, bring Raphaella Augustine, but Presbytera O’Connell insisted that they were both dead.”

  “Nobody has seen Justinian since the earthquake of 1509,” says Grandma. “How can you be sure it was him?”

  Maeve swallows. “He spoke the same kind of Latin our Magus uses in enchantments, and he called Saint Theodora his wife.”

  “Was it him?” Grandma points at Alaric.

  Maeve flinches, and my body goes stiff. Alaric isn’t Justinian. Why would the Father of Vampires concoct a convoluted story about being a captive prince turned against his will?

  “No.” Maeve shakes her head.

  My muscles relax, and I work out why Maeve reacted so badly to Alaric. Jude glamoured himself to look like Alaric as part of his plan to corroborate his faked footage of Alaric being caught on camera before the Malone massacre.

  “A blast of magic hit our Magus during the enchantment, and I blacked out,” says Maeve.

  “What else?” says Grandma.

  Maeve shakes her head. “The next thing I knew, I was in an infirm
ary and people were shouting questions I couldn’t answer.”

  Grandma steps back and exchanges a glance with Aunt Clarissa. I can tell they’re using the conciliar bond to discuss the implications of Maeve’s story. Mom was supposed to have been under the thrall of a powerful vampire. From what Maeve says, it must have been Justinian. But if Mom escaped, then where did she go, and does that mean she’s earned the forgiveness of the Order?

  I turn my head to Alaric, whose eyes soften. “You want to find Raphaella?” he asks. When I nod, he says, “We can start whenever you’re ready.”

  My gaze darts to Grandma, who tightens her lips. Clearly, she wants to get to Mom before us, but I don’t trust her not to kill her own daughter or subject her to torture.

  Poppy steps forward, looking pale. “You’re leaving?”

  I gulp. “After what’s happened, there’s no place for me in the Order.”

  She nods, and a hundred questions brim in her eyes, questions that remain unvoiced because we have an unwelcome audience. I want to ask her to come with me, but those who side with heretics also face the same punishment. And as a mage, straying from her Council means repercussions for the entire family.

  “Thank you for being my friend,” I reach out a hand, and Poppy squeezes it.

  Right now, I wish we were still bonded as slayer and conciliar. Then I could speak into her mind and tell her how much it meant that she broke the love enchantment and supported me through its painful aftermath. I wish I could tell her I’d never had a truer friend, but for her safety, I need to downplay our relationship.

  When she releases my hand and bows her head, my heart cracks.

  “Mr. Severin,” Grandma says. “You will protect my granddaughter or I will spend the rest of my life hunting you and your comrades.”

  “Of course,” says Alaric.

  I exhale a relieved breath. Maybe Grandma won’t come after me, after all. She nods her goodbye, and I nod back. Even if I can empathize with her need to save hundreds of lives, I still haven’t forgotten that she and Aunt Clarissa knew about Jude’s love enchantment and let it continue because he was a powerful mage.

  Alaric turns around and carries me down the hallway and across the threshold of the convent.

  The moon lights up the sky a deep, steel blue, casting the trees in silhouette. I inhale a deep breath of juniper-scented air and gaze over the lake. From tomorrow, I won’t be welcome here or any other building associated with the Order, including the family home in London.

  “Any regrets?” Alaric carries me over the steps.

  “None.”

  I place a hand on his cheek, and he leans down and presses his lips to mine in a kiss so sweet, it fills my heart until it aches. It’s a promise that no matter what, he’ll always take care of me, just as he did today.

  As we descend the stone steps, a figure waves from the pier. I can’t see his features, but Alaric tells me it’s Uncle Fred. As we approach the waterfront, Uncle Fred steps toward us, looking as wrung-out as I feel.

  “There’s something I need to tell you before you leave the protection of the convent,” he says.

  Alaric and I exchange glances. As he was Mom’s conciliar I can guess the subject. Uncle Fred doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he raises his hand and summons a boat with the magic flaring from his foci-ring.

  As the boat reaches the pier, he turns to Alaric. “Is it true you don’t drink human blood?”

  “Yes,” he replies.

  “Doesn’t that make you weaker than other vampires?”

  “What’s this about?” I ask.

  Uncle Fred inhales a deep breath and steps down to the boat. It’s not the usual motorized vessel Sister Kerala uses but a rowboat without its oars. “I should start at the beginning. You both know I was Raphaella’s conciliar?”

  We both nod.

  He pauses as we embark. Alaric doesn’t rock the boat, and I wonder if that’s because he’s floating.

  Uncle Fred sweeps his arm toward the hotel side of the lake, and the boat drifts across the water. “Raph and I were friends from the beginning, much like you and Poppy, except where your large reserves of power compensate for Poppy’s average, she and I were evenly matched. Michaela was delighted about the union and wanted us to marry.”

  “But you were just friends,” I said.

  He raises his shoulders. “Neither of us had other relationships, so we didn’t object.”

  Something splashes behind us in the water, making me jump. I twist around and glance in the direction of the convent, but nobody is there. Alaric strokes my back and murmurs that it was just a falling stone.

  Uncle Fred sighs and stares into the lake. The moon lights the side of his face, and I notice that he hasn’t shaved in days. “Raph became secretive. She said there was a mage who wasn’t affiliated with the Council who had caught her interest.”

  My heart trembles in anticipation of the story’s direction. If he tells me that Alaric is Justinian, I’m not sure how I will react. “He was a warlock?”

  “That’s what she said at first.” Uncle Fred shakes his head. “Maybe he claimed to be a warlock. Maybe warlocks made him appear like one of their own. I don’t know. This clandestine relationship continued for months until the supposed warlock revealed his true identity.”

  “Justinian,” I say.

  His head rises, and he stares at me through wide eyes. “How did you know?”

  “The survivor of the Malone massacre told her story,” Alaric says. “Justina returned to the convent to find her.”

  “Mom’s alive. Somehow, she must have escaped.” I reach out to Uncle Fred and squeeze his shoulder.

  His face crumples, and he jerks away from my touch. For a moment, I think it’s relief and he doesn’t want me to see him cry, but he stares at me with such anguish in his features that my empty stomach turns to stone.

  It takes several moments for me to speak because I don’t understand why he’s upset by such good news. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t know the vampire was Justinian until much later.” Uncle Fred’s breathing becomes labored. “Raphaella was too deep in the vampire’s thrall to leave him and too frightened of Michaela’s reaction to turn to her for help. She came to me instead.”

  My breath stops, and I wrap my arms tighter around Alaric’s neck. An image of Uncle Fred murdering his slayer pushes itself to the forefront of my mind. It would explain why he always becomes so sad whenever I bring up the subject of Mom. Maybe I wasn’t seeing sadness all this time but guilt.

  “What did you do to Raphaella?” asks Alaric, his voice hesitant.

  “We investigated ways to break a vampire’s allure without resorting to a year in the Order’s sanatorium purging his blood and magic from her system.”

  “Did she take Theodora’s Blessing?” I ask.

  Uncle Fred nods. “It didn’t break Justinian’s hold.”

  My brows draw together. “Where is Mom?”

  Uncle Fred winces. “One day, she disappeared without telling me where she was going. I told Michaela everything, and she liaised with the Arch Mother of Europe to send slayers to look for her.”

  Tiny fists of panic pound on my eardrums, and the lining of my stomach flutters in sync. I can no longer take the suspense. “Did you ever find Mom?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “A year later, she came to me.”

  “As a vampire,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. “She was still human. Justinian gave her a day to say goodbye to her old life.”

  My heart thuds so hard that the tips of my fingers throb in time with its frantic beats. I know where this is going. Uncle Fred killed Mom. Uncle Fred killed Mom and hid her body, and that’s why no one can find her.

  Alaric growls. “Did you at least ensure she wouldn’t rise from her grave?”

  “She’s not dead. Or undead.” Uncle Fred’s gaze darts from left to right, and he looks as though he’s about to unload a secret he’s kept for nearly twen
ty years.

  “Where is she?” My voice turns as shrill.

  “I cursed her,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “There’s a curse that turns back the clock and reverts a person to a younger form. It means that they have no memory of their future misdeeds and might be doomed to repeat them, but I swore I would take care of her and make sure she never turned into a vampire.”

  My mind stills. “How many years did you subtract?”

  “You’ve got to understand that I only meant to go back a few years.” He fixes his gaze on my arm.

  “How many?” I growl.

  “All of them,” he says with a sob.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but it’s too ridiculous to be true. “You magicked her out of existence or—”

  “She’s you,” Uncle Fred says.

  Alaric stiffens.

  “Our conciliar bond overpowered the enchantment and turned Raphaella into an infant. When I couldn’t change her back, I panicked and altered her DNA so it would look like she was a brand new person, fathered by me.”

  “Mom is…” My words trail off. There’s no Raphaella Augustine. Grandma has spent the last seventeen years chasing a ghost and neglecting the very daughter she was trying to find.

  “I never told Michaela,” Uncle Fred says. “Never told any—”

  Alaric’s arm shoots out, and he wraps his hand around Uncle Fred’s neck, making his eyes bulge.

  Blood drains from my face. “What are you doing?”

  “You and Raphaella Augustine shared a night of passion before she ran away,” Alaric says in the hypnotic tone Sister Anning said vampires use when mesmerizing their prey.

  Uncle Fred’s eyes turn glassy. “Yes…”

  Alaric nods. “The baby you brought up is yours.”

  I inhale through my teeth but remain silent. If Justinian is looking for Mom—I mean, me, Alaric probably thinks hiding the truth will protect my true identity.

  Uncle Fred murmurs his agreement, and Alaric sends him back to the convent with a story about him coming after us to beg me to reconsider. As Alaric floats above the lake, I rest my head on his shoulder and wait for Uncle Fred to cross the lake before speaking.