Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Kindred, Book 8.1)

by Claire, Nicola

  "Yes. Locked and under guard. She seems content," Alain replies.

  My eyes lift to my Second's for a brief moment. He is as unsettled about Petra's behaviour as I.

  "Is this something the Council needs to be made aware of, Champion?" the Ambrosia asks, and no other vampyre could step over that mark so openly without receiving a painful response. But I trust this man. Of all the Councillors, aside from Gregor and Lucinda herself, he is the only one whom I do trust.

  "Not at this stage, but she is up to something," I reply, giving in to the desire to have a drink and pulling three glasses from the cabinet off to the side and pouring us each a finger of Scotch.

  I hand the tumblers out, each man accepting the offer willingly.

  "What do you need from me and mine?" the Ambrosia asks after taking a healthy swallow of the amber liquid.

  I rest back in my chair, letting the burn replace the icy chill of before, and contemplate my answer. I am not sure what Petra wants, but I am certain it is something I cannot give her. Alain's spies are investigating her recent activity. Where she has been, what she has been doing and with whom. That leaves her contacts here in the Iunctio unaccounted for. Even Alain's vast network of spies needs a hand now and then and I decide the Ambrosia could fit the bill.

  "She must have access to the Iunctio in some capacity to have entered our building in such a manner," I say, watching a calculating glint emerge in the Ambrosia's eyes. "It would help to know if any of our staff have had dealings with her since she arrived."

  "My men are on it," he said softly. Then added, "Is there a chance she can harm the Prophesied?"

  The whiskey tastes bitter when it goes down my throat, I force myself not to cough or show discomfort.

  "Lucinda is well protected."

  "Sometimes," the Ambrosia says, leaning forward to place his empty glass on the desk, "harm is not necessarily a physical thing."

  "She will be monitored," I offer. Not only is she my Bonded kindred, my wife, my love. But she is also the Prophesied of the Iunctio, as important to me as to every other Iunctio Councillor.

  "I'll be in touch," the Ambrosia announces as he rises to full height. I stand also. I may be the Champion, but years of respect for this powerful and ancient vampyre have honed my movements to the subconscious.

  At the door to the office he turns and holds my gaze. Aeons of experience stare back at me, measured and laden in knowledge.

  "Blood-kin pacts were outlawed for a reason," he states, and my heartbeat misfires. "They are never created equal."

  And then he is gone, without further explanation. I stand numbly for a second and try to determine what the old vampyre means. Unfortunately, although his age can be beneficial in regards to power and insight, sometimes the passing of time can diminish his clarity.

  "Could be that one partner in the pact is stronger than the other," Alain offers, aware I am trying to decipher the Ambrosia's code.

  "Or one pact is different from another," I counter, adding more confusion to the mix. I shake my head, run a hand through my hair in frustration and return to my seat. "Any update?"

  "It appears Petra Corvus has led a relatively secluded and cloistered lifestyle in Corsica for the past eighty years."

  "Corsica is not large, and eighty years is a long time to remain hidden."

  "Oh, she didn't hide. She was revered."

  I glance back at my Second. "Like a goddess?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "So, she has delusions of divinity."

  "And now she's set her sights on more than just an island near France," Alain says dryly.

  A huff of an incredulous breath escapes me. "Is she mad?"

  "It is a commonly thought impression, among those few she has forced from her lands."

  "Why were they ostracised?"

  "Because they did not worship her." Alain moves to sit opposite me, a motion he does not often undertake. Always preferring to remain standing, in order to react instantly should the need arise. "She has some seventy vampires under her line," he adds, crossing his legs at the knee.

  I exhale another surprised breath. That is almost as many as I.

  "All of which are devoted. And," he continues in a drawl, "appear to be waiting for their goddess to return."

  "She came here without any entourage?"

  "She believes it unnecessary. I think," he says, "she believes there is no escape from the pact and that you are already hers."

  That was the problem, the pact was quite clear in its wording, the blood shared a vice-like bond.

  I was indeed tied to this mentally unstable vampyre in the event our Sire expired, and obligated to let her into my inner circle, as one of my own. In return she would support me in all political matters, while making sure my private life was in every possible way conducive to my status and role in the vampyre world. She could attempt to usurp Lucinda. Not completely, Lucinda is my kindred and always will be. No one could take that away. At least no one alive today would dare, the last fairy to do so is now dead and buried.

  Still, despite Lucinda's right to be my kindred Nosferatin, her right to be my vampyre-mate is what would be in jeopardy. Should Petra decide Lucinda is not 'conducive' to my current status and role in the vampyre world, she could insist I break the mate-bond we share. It is not unheard of, but highly unlikely, in civilised circles.

  Petra is not civilised, at least not where this would be concerned. But then, neither is my vampyre-within, my dragon an ancient being above the influence of others. Right now his rage at the suggestion this woman had any say in who we mate was unfathomable. Magenta a constant colour in my eyes.

  Of course, none of us have considered Lucinda and what she would have to say. I open my mind up to my kindred, searching down the joining Bond connection to see where she currently is.

  And immediately I am out of my chair, Alain beside me, both of us with fangs down and eyes glowing purple/red.

  "She is on the prison level," I say, stunned at her audacity.

  No, Lucinda would not stand by idly while we pussy-foot around, she has to go directly to the source of upheaval and set things right herself.

  Merde!

  Chapter 4

  The Prophesied

  Panic seizes me. I am barely able to control my vampyre-within. As it is, I am out of the office and hurtling toward the lower levels of the hotel at a speed beyond normal vampyre flashing. Alain cannot keep up. I do not care. I will bathe the cells in blood, should Petra harm my kindred. I will coat the walls in red to match the decorations in the grand hotel foyer.

  Blood will run in rivers through the corridors, sending a message to all who dare to threaten my wife and children this festive season. A macabre homage to the Christmas tree three stories above where I find myself now.

  I am momentarily shocked. The vampyres who were on guard are now milling around the corridor outside of the cells with bemused expressions on their faces, their eyes are blank. They are not alone in their vacant, but seemingly pleasant stare. Lucinda's guards, my vampyres Matthias and Marcus, are also here. I search those minds under my line, not having access to all the vampyres present. Just as Alain materialises at my left shoulder, my two shadow guards alongside him, I realise what she has done.

  "Lucinda has glazed them," I say aloud. A note of pride coating the words, despite my anger right now.

  "All of them?" Alain asks, shock evident in his tone.

  "Yes, they will not re-enter the cells unless she commands it."

  An amused sound escapes his lips, I do not appreciate the levity.

  "Unlock the door," I instruct my Second. He approaches the keypad and punches in the daily code. It blinks red, and emits a piercing long beep.

  "The code's been changed," he points out unnecessarily.

  I cannot believe her gall.

  Lucinda! I shout out her name through the Bond we share, making it impossible for her to ignore me. Open up the god-damned, fucking door!

  I
don't usually swear. I am hoping the crudity of my language shocks her into action.

  No such luck.

  Temper, temper, Michel, she mentally replies. You'll scare the babies.

  That is it. I slam against the metal door, knowing my efforts will be futile. Alain joins me, equally aware this is just for my ego, to appease the dragon-within. This door is made to handle a vampyre stampede; titanium re-enforced with silver, as thick as any decent bank vault.

  We don't even make a dent.

  Panic is beyond me now. I am hyperventilating, a useless show of emotional upheaval for a vampyre who does not need to breathe. She is alone inside the cell block with my blood-sister, a vampyre who has done me more harm than shown me familial compassion.

  A sound I don't even recognise as coming from me reverberates around the thick walls. All those vampyres present, including mine, cringe.

  And suddenly I am in her mind, her walls down, her shields lowered. Just enough to allow me access, to show me what she sees, what she hears. What is transpiring no more than a half dozen feet away on the other side of this impossibly impregnable door.

  "Why have you come here?" she is asking Petra, who on closer inspection is still firmly secured behind silver bars.

  Glazed.

  Oh, well done, my little hunter. My dragon-within, while not appeased, stops pacing inside long enough to pay attention instead.

  "To get what is my due," Petra replies in a sing-song voice.

  Glazing requires effort and concentration, in addition any answer sought must first be gained through pertinent wording of the question. I cannot see how Lucinda looks, the vision she gives me is through her own eyes. But I can feel her health through the Bond; still stable, still well. Not yet tired.

  I take a step back from the door and wait this scene out. For now my kindred has the upper hand.

  "And what do you believe is your due?" Lucinda is asking.

  Petra smiles, it's cruel and calculating. I've seen it many times before. Lucinda pulls back, just fractionally. Not a show of fear, but one of disgust.

  "I was first born," Petra purrs. "I was Amicus' favourite. It is I who should be the Champion, not him."

  I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. What the hell has she ever done to ingratiate herself within the Iunctio?

  "You are a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, aren't you?" Lucinda says conversationally. The smile spreads my lips before I can stop it. "Well, whatever," she adds. "You can't just barge on in here and demand the vampires respect you. Are you planning on killing Michel?"

  My wife still does not understand.

  "Of course not," Petra simpers. "I plan on making him mine."

  I see the Light flare in the cell block, coating the vampyre behind the bars in a white glow. Petra is so far under the glaze she does not realise the Nosferatin before her has just become enraged.

  "You truly believe you can steal him from me?" my beautiful, fiery kindred demands.

  "Steal him? You are not suitable, and the pact will ensure he does what I suggest in this regard."

  I make a plaintive sound, Alain flicks concerned eyes at me. I do not divulge how close to being burned I actually am right now. My kindred has just given me the mental equivalent of a stake to the ribs in a Lucinda what-the-fuck? manner.

  "This pact," Lucinda says, and to hear her you would not know she is seething. "How exactly does it work?"

  "Blood is the Bond. Words are the Law. He has agreed to accept my support and guidance in all his political and private needs."

  A choked sound emits from Lucinda's lips. Equal to an inarticulate you've-gotta-be-fucking-kidding-me.

  "And you believe he can do better than me? And he is obligated through this blood pact, this accord, to follow your directives?"

  "Yes," Petra responds with enthusiasm, pleased her audience understands her goal.

  "Why on earth would Michel agree to that?" Lucinda asks, but the question is rhetorical. However under a glaze, Petra does not comprehend the nuance.

  "He had no choice."

  My eyes close briefly at the reminder. I do not want Lucinda to know. Not because I am ashamed as such, but because she will feel my pain with me. She always does.

  Don't do this. I send the thought into her head. Open the door and we will deal with Petra.

  Did you think I would let you face this alone, Michel? she queries. When it obviously hurts you so.

  My hand reaches up and presses palm flat against the cool metal door. My kindred is on the other side, delving into my ancient past, because she wants to protect me.

  I don't know what to say to make this go away, to stop history invading the peace of my present life. We've been through so much, and yet there always seems to be more to contend with. And now we have the children to think of.

  Trust me, Lucinda says quietly in my mind. Let me do this one thing for you.

  For a moment I freeze, already conscious of where Lucinda is taking this, and momentarily stunned immobile by the consequences this could bring.

  "Why did he have no choice?" Lucinda is asking, her voice soft and lyrical, trying to avoid causing me more pain. But the words bring my mind back to the present, and conversely hurtle it into the past as well.

  Petra pauses, fighting the glaze. Aware that what she is about to divulge is detrimental to her argument. The argument that she would make a better mate than Lucinda.

  I feel Lucinda tiring, increasing the force of the glaze, drawing on the Bond for more power, Light blazing in the cell room, coating the silver in bright diamanté sparkles. My Sanguis Vitam surges, in an effort to offer her more, but the cell block is surrounded in silver, making vampyre talents null and void.

  My fist pounds on the door, a thick, dull metallic sound echoing in the corridor we are in.

  Stop this! Let me in! I shout, but Lucinda, ever capable of walking her own path, ignores my demands.

  "Tell me," she's saying to Petra. "What did you do?" My kindred has worked it out. Or at least she has a fair idea. I feel her agony, her heartache, but also her determination to get the woman to say the words aloud.

  Oh, my wife is clever. She knows this admission will make Petra's claim hard to prove.

  "We threatened his family's lives."

  Lucinda stills, trying to work the time-line out from what I have already told her. My immediate family were murdered by Amicus, in an effort to lure me to him in order to assassinate me. He changed his mind once we met, and turned me instead. Lucinda knows this, so how could he and Petra have held my family's lives over my head after I was turned?

  "What family?" Lucinda asks, and I swear she is holding her breath. I will Petra to answer quickly. Rather a band-aid removal than slow torturous blade to the stomach. Lucinda needs air to breathe, I do not. So I hold my breath for both of us.

  "His cousins, aunts and uncles. His village, all considered family back then."

  "And he agreed?" Lucinda asks.

  "No," Petra replies, opening the wound in my heart fully.

  "No?" I cannot stand to hear the surprise and shock in Lucinda's words. I turn my back from the door to the cells and come face to face with Gregor and Amisi.

  Amisi looks concerned. Gregor looks pained. He has heard Lucinda's thoughts. I hold his gaze, magenta softly infusing the space between us. Silver and platinum flash back in answer to my unsaid plea. Please, do not tell a soul.

  I thought I was no longer ashamed, but I am. I chose my freedom over my extended family. I had lost so much already, but I planned to seek my revenge. The turning had been difficult, making me into something I am not, in more ways than one. I had regrets left over from my human years and more accumulating within hours of being turned. Only amplifying as the hideous first few days passed.

  I was not myself. But that is not an adequate excuse.

  "Then what happened?" Lucinda presses, and I feel a delicate hand rest on my arm.

  I glance down and Amisi is offering comfort, having felt my emotion
s, no doubt. I smile, but I am sure it does not reach my eyes.

  "I'm going to try something," she says in that lilting Egyptian accent. At this stage I will let anyone, who is willing try anything they so care, have free reign. I nod my head once and she steps around me, placing her hand above the keypad, letting her Light accumulate.

  The scene in the cells has become more desperate. Petra fights the glaze actively now, Lucinda has had to resort to sitting on a stool. Her legs no longer able to support her.

  I am a volatile cocktail of differing emotions. Anger that she is pushing herself this far. Desperation that I cannot reach her. Shame that she knows my most humbling secret. And lastly, fear that she will come to harm.

  Lucinda wins the battle of wills for now, Petra finally answers.

  "I killed a dozen of his family members while Amicus held him down to watch."

  Silence. In the cells. Out here in the corridor. Not that everyone on this side of the door can hear what is transpiring within the prison block, but as I have fallen to my knees, blood red tears streaking down my cheeks, they do not need to hear to know my heart bleeds.

  Lucinda finds the strength to ask one more question.

  "Under orders from Amicus or of your own volition?"

  "It was my suggestion, my plan. My undertaking. That is why Amicus loved me so."

  I feel Lucinda sag on her stool, my eyes dart to Amisi to see if progress has been made. Gregor sees the outright distress on my face.

  "How much longer, ma ange?" he asks Amisi.

  "Almost there." Almost. Will it be soon enough, though?

  "Well," Lucinda is saying, "You really are a chip off the old block. Couldn't stand Amicus, really don't much like you either. But here’s the thing, in case you haven't quite worked it out, the Blood-Kin Pact is a sacred Bond, one based on the strength of its ties."

  How does she know this?

  "If the ties that hold the blood-family together are forced, then the pact is considered contrived, unnatural. Prone to cracks and fissures in its make-up. Such a Blood-Kin Pact is weak and easily destroyed. You, my dear blood-sister-in-law, have just cut a great big fucking hole down the centre of yours. So, congratulations. The Pact is void."