I saw the forgiveness in Travis’ eyes. I saw the determination in the King’s. I saw the blade as it sliced through my friend’s neck, spilling blood.
The Mhachkay hissed. Fangs which had retracted upon my capture extended again. Red eyes flicked toward the human. The sweet scent of life-giving blood wafted on the air.
Hakan roared in fury. I couldn’t see him. All I could see was Travis McLeod. Body battered and broken, skin pallid and bluing. Blood pouring out of a neck wound delivered by a Mhachkay.
I didn’t think. I didn’t consider what my actions would mean for me. I didn’t hesitate.
I reached for my Light and screamed my loss and heartache.
Travis had been a friend for years. Someone I could turn to for more than just his tech skills and cyber knowledge. He was my arms dealer. My spymaster. My bolthole when I needed to escape the restrictions placed on me by my Champion father. He knew more about me than any human did. Than most supernaturals did also. And he accepted me in spite of it all.
He was my friend. Despite his history. Despite his very warranted hatred of vampires. He was my friend.
And I’d killed him by association.
My Light swelled and swelled and swelled, but it did not burst out of me. I felt like my insides were burning, sizzling, zapping. Pain lanced through me, but I couldn’t truly feel it. All I felt was heartache. And loss. Such loss.
Hatred consumed me. Anger ruled me. My body was coming apart from the inside out. Sounds became distorted. The world around me disappeared. Just me and my building Light.
And the Mhachkay King before me.
I leapt to my feet. All thought of breathing forgotten. I didn’t need to breathe when I couldn’t die. As long as Hakan lived, I’d live. We’d entwined. Mhachkay magic would serve me well even if I found myself despising those who wielded it now.
I connected with the startled King and sent us flying. Vampires snarled. Erbörü hissed. The Mosque shuddered as we sailed through the air and crashed into the side of the building. Debris rained down on our heads, but I kept on punching. His face. His stomach. His kidneys. His two fucking hearts.
He tried to fight me back, but whether his recent awakening had left him weakened, I didn’t know. But my fists connected and my nails tore skin, and my teeth found their mark.
I am not a vampire. I’m only half of one. Born of a Nosferatu and a Nosferatin, my brother and I are unique. At least, for our time we’re unique. If Enchanted existed in the Mhachkay’s time, then so be it. They still did not know a damn thing about me.
I am loyal. I am fierce. I never show fear, and I never give up. I keep fighting. I am a Durand.
I bit and kicked and hit.
My second stake found the palm of my hand. The sun now rising above the Mosque glinted off the Egyptian silver. The tip found the Kral’s chest, right above his blackened heart. It pierced skin. Smoke wafted off his burning flesh. I smiled.
And then the fucking bastard turned into a bird. A big-arse bird. Not like Hakan’s owl, but something equally as unbelievable. As unreal. The vulture-like creature screeched at me. Then leaned forward as if to peck my eyes out.
Hell no was that gonna happen.
I rolled back. The bird’s sharp beak missed me by a millimetre. I crouched before the Kral in his Mhachkay heart and soul form and cocked my head.
“Ugly son-of-a-bitch, eh?” I murmured. The vulture shook itself.
I was aware of the battle still raging behind me. Of Hakan and Ediz and Goran fighting to keep the King’s Mhachkay and Erbörü off me. I wasn’t sure how we were going to win this. We’d fought hard. We’d fought well - or at least I was sure Hakan and the others had.
I bared my teeth at the massive bird before me.
It screeched back.
And then the collar began to tighten.
Not again, I thought, trying to get a finger between the leather and my skin. I couldn’t. And even if I thought I’d survive being strangled to death by a piece of magical leather, I knew I wouldn’t stay conscious for it. Black spots had started to dance before my eyes.
“I am the daughter of the Champion,” I rasped. “The daughter of the Prophesied. The goddaughter…of the…Enforcer…and…the…Ambrosia.”
I couldn’t say much more. But I had a hell of a lot left to say. Instead, I managed one single word.
“War.” He’d declared war on the Iunctio today. The Mhachkay King had declared war on my father and mother. On my uncles. On my family.
On me.
The bird morphed back into the man, and he sneered.
“This war began well before your time, Enchanted,” he said. “But it will end with your assistance, willing or not, in this era. The new Mhachkay era.”
My vision dimmed. I stumbled. My knees hit the tiles. My mouth gaped open. My chest ached with such horrendous pain I could barely think. I wanted it to end. Now.
And then a flash of Light washed the already too bright courtyard in illumination, blocking out the rising sun and blinding everyone.
“You called, goddaughter,” an ancient voice sounded out.
I blinked. Then blinked again. Nope, still there. Still standing in the middle of the Mosque’s tiled courtyard, Mhachkay and Erbörü immobilised all around him, gnarled old hand lifted, fingers stretched toward my neck.
The collar snapped.
The Ambrosia chuckled.
The Kral roared.
And the battle began all over again.
3
End This
This time, though, we had the Ambrosia. And no one could say the ancient vampyre, otherwise known as the Father of Eternal Life, was weakened by anything as mundane as a sleepyhead. The Mhachkay might have been numerous but they were struggling due to their long internment, and the Ambrosia was not above using that advantage fully.
He flipped and spun and danced around the square like some demented Yoda-styled vampire; chuckling and whirling and striking with a precision that boggled the mind. At any moment I expected him to say something in a Yoda-like tone of voice. Like “Win, you can not.” Or “Suffer, you shall.”
It was surreal, but I didn’t have time to watch the Iunctio councillor in all his Jedi glory as I had my hands full with a recovered and extremely irate Mhachkay King. While the Ambrosia dealt with the Kral’s men and their familiars, Hakan dancing in and out with the old vampire like some strange and fantastical tag-team, I faced off against the King.
And the King was not so enamoured with the Ambrosia’s fighting style, nor was he as weakened as his kin.
“If you will not come willingly,” he said, voice low so as not to carry, “then I shall end your life right here.”
“Killing me won’t help your war efforts,” I growled.
“There are two of you,” he said nonchalantly. "I may have the right to claim the firstborn, but if the firstborn is dead, then the spare shall suffice.”
Luc. The son-of-a-bitch wanted to go after Luc. Of course, he did. But being reminded of my brother and the current state of mind he was in was not welcome. Luc had joined with Alain, Papa’s spymaster, but their joining had gone wrong somehow. Darkness consumed them both, and if they had made it back to Earth from Álfheimr then finding them shouldn’t be too hard for those who danced with the Dark.
And staring at the Mhachkay Kral before me now I saw it. Darkness. They all had it. Vampires of every description had one foot on the Dark side of life and another on the Light. Some were more skewed toward one persuasion than the other, but very rarely was any vampire without a little Dark.
Papa had less than most due to the influence of my mother. The Ambrosia, surprisingly, had little as well. But even Hakan, a vampire I had let get closer to me than any other, had a smattering of Dark. Contained. Controlled. But there.
The Mhachkay vampire before me, however, was steeped in Dark. Light speaks to Light. Dark speaks to Dark. Would Luc’s and now Alain’s Dark call to this vampire?
I wouldn’t let him get t
o my brother before I did, so I doubled my efforts. I spun, and I attacked. I ducked and dived and dodged and swiped. Some of my strikes met flesh. More than I liked missed. And still Ediz roared, and Goran danced, and Hakan growled, and the Ambrosia chuckled.
The ribbons twisted this way and that, forewarning me of an attack before it materialised. I stayed one step ahead of the Kral as I became more and more in tune with those psychic twisters inside, until finally, I landed my stake, parting flesh and muscle, and sinking it home.
Home, unfortunately, was not one of his twin hearts. But it was close enough for the Kral to issue a command for retreat and for the Sultan Ahmed Mosque’s courtyard to suddenly become very still and quiet.
And empty.
I spun around, stake raised, breaths punching in and out of my chest, sweat coating my skin, my dreads sticking to my no doubt pale cheeks. My eyes narrowed; my ears were ringing.
Hakan appeared at my side. A warrior covered in smears of blood, dripping in sweat, fire in his eyes. He surveyed the length of me, from head to toe and back up again. I had the distinct impression he was checking that I was all right, but not a word was said.
The Ambrosia walked toward us as Goran and Ediz, still in Erbörü form, approached from opposite sides. The ancient vampire whistled as if out for a Sunday walk. He looked to Hakan and offered a small bow of his head, which should have been the most surprising thing I witnessed right then. But Hakan turned to the vampire and fisted his hand over his chest and bowed in return. The universal vampire show of deep respect.
“Teşekkür ederim, Baba,” he said. Thank you, Father. I blinked. “But your assistance is no longer required.”
Ah, there it was; the mistrust, the anger, the wariness. For a moment there, I thought my Savaşçı had received a knock to the head. There was no love lost between Hakan and the Iunctio. Definitely, none lost between Hakan and my father, I thought. But what their history was, I still did not know.
“Prince of the Mhachkay,” the Ambrosia said, not showing an ounce of disquiet at the dismissal he’d just received. “We must talk.”
Hakan studied the old vampire and then turned his silver and blue eyes to me. I held his stare, aware the Ambrosia was watching the silent exchange we were having. No doubt thinking of how best to advise my father that the Mhachkay prince consulted his kindred on matters of politics. I was sure the Ambrosia thought we had joined. My enchanted blood was contained. The power he and my father, along with Uncle Gregor, had hidden since my birth was no longer blazing. He would assume the kindred joining was more than convenience. Not a bad thing.
I arched my brow at my Savaşçı. His lips twitched, and then he nodded his head as if we had conversed telepathically. As if a conversation’s worth of words had been shared.
“Our home,” Hakan told the Ambrosia. “You are welcome to visit with us.”
Words meant something to vampires, and these words, in particular, meant an awful lot. First, Hakan referred to his home here in Istanbul, a home he had once told me he had brought no one, not vampire nor other, into before he brought me there, was now ‘our’ home. And secondly, he invited the Ambrosia in because I had allowed it.
His consideration went a long way to still the heartache I felt inside my chest. I glanced back across the Sultan Ahmed Mosque’s courtyard toward my fallen human friend. Travis’ broken body lay discarded like a piece of rubbish. I wanted to bury him.
I had to show no emotion. Alone, perhaps alone with Hakan, I could. But in front of the Iunctio councillor and the representative of Dökkálfa, I could show no fear. I wasn’t scared of the Mhachkay Kral, I told myself. In fact, I was incensed with rage. But heartache I felt in spades.
I’d done this. I’d brought my fragile friend into a war.
There weren’t many people I called friend in this world. My brother. Georgia. Travis. Family didn’t count. We don’t get to choose our family, even if I counted Luc amongst my closest friends. My circle of friends was small, and the Kral had made it smaller.
I would kill him.
Hakan reached out and touched my elbow. A show of support. A barely there reassurance. We weren’t kindred. The need to touch was not ingrained in our joining. And Hakan Bahar was a warrior prince; showing such open affection would not have been natural to him. And yet he took the time to touch. Briefly. There one second, gone the next.
“Lady Ellie,” Goran said at my side. “Allow me.”
He looked toward Travis. A Fey committal was not such a bad thing to give my friend. At least it wasn’t a vampire wake. Travis would have cursed me for eternity had I given him that.
I nodded my head at the Hyrða. The guard stepped lightly away and crossed the courtyard. We watched on in silence as he chanted in Fey, and Light blazed through a portal, the scent of ozone and Álfheimr on the air. That’s why Aliath and given me Goran, I realised. A Hyrða can open portals to their realm. He could take me to the Dark Fey King in a heartbeat. If Aliath called, the Hyrða would act.
We would have to watch him.
I flicked a glance to Hakan. He met my gaze with a steady one of his own.
First a fairy and now an Iunctio councillor. We could either baulk at the intrusion and interference, or we could use them to our advantage.
Your thoughts mirror mine, hayatim, Hakan said inside my head.
The Ambrosia has super-sonic ears, I offered in reply.
We both looked at the ancient vampire, but he was humming a tune and staring off at the sun as it rose steadily higher. We stood in shade, but it would be taking its toll on Hakan. The Ambrosia, however, could no doubt handle a little UV light.
Goran finished what he needed to do; the Light burst apart as the portal closed in front of him; Travis’ body no longer of this world. His soul had long since left it.
I felt hollow. I felt guilt. I felt like crying.
I sucked in a steadying breath of air and started toward Hakan’s - our - home. I knew these streets intimately. I’d spent four days scouring them for a portal to Álfheimr. It was ironic now that we had a mobile portal maker on our team when Luc had no need to seek out the Light of the Ljósálfar.
No, I silently corrected, he had need but not inclination. Dark calls to Dark. Would he seek Aliath out next?
I doubted it. My brother’s Dark was twisted, amplified by the power Alain had hidden from my father. Whatever they sought, it would not be logical. It would not make sense. How did I chase him if I couldn’t think like him? I had always been able to second guess my brother. If there were women there, he’d be there also. If it meant doing the right thing, the nice thing, he’d do it. If it were fun and full of mischief, he’d undertake it. If Alain told him to do it, he would.
The only thing that had ever made sense to the vampire half of me was Luc’s desire to please Alain Dupont. Papa’s spymaster was the best at what he did. Luc worshipped the ground he walked on. If Alain wanted to hide from us, Luc would do everything in his power to achieve it.
And finding Alain Dupont when he did not wish to be found was a monumental task.
I pushed through the door into Hakan’s home. Now my home. The three storey building looked like something out of a fairytale. The upper floors were larger than the ground floor, overhanging the narrow pedestrian footpath outside like some medieval construct. Pale blue plaster with orange brick trim. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did.
Inside there were whitewashed walls and dark wood. Patterned rugs and colourful mosaic tiles. Throw cushions in sumptuous colours. Overstuffed chairs and well-worn tables. It was cooler in the house than outside, even though he didn’t have air-conditioning. The creature comforts of yesteryear were hard to come by; Istanbul had had its fair share of Norm uprisings.
I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of raki. The house smelled of him. The ceremonial weapons wall spoke of him. The Kilij attached to my hip was, of course, missing, but the rest of the weapons were well used and definitely his.
How long had
Hakan been awake? How long had this house been his?
There were still so many questions, and I couldn’t yet ask them. We had guests.
I placed the tray of glasses and raki down in the sitting area and then leaned back against the wall, surveying our visitors. Ediz had disappeared to the back of the property where I had discovered a room that smelled like wet dog. In Erbörü form, the shapeshifter had a certain canine-esque aroma. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it certainly wasn’t human either.
The Ambrosia glanced around the room, feigning interest. Or simply ascertaining what he could use as a weapon should he require it. Goran stood to attention beside the shuttered windows. His eyes were flaring that Fey green from time to time.
Whatever was said here would reach Aliath.
Whatever was said here would reach my father, as well.
Hakan lowered himself into a comfortable and worn armchair. I’d curled up on it while he’d been gone, searching for Luc in Faerie. It had smelled like Hakan, and it had been one of only two places I was able to get any rest.
You can guess where the other was, and even then, the rest I’d received had been steeped in dreams of sweat-soaked bodies and passion.
I cleared my throat.
“Why are you here, Ambrosia?” I asked.
No one else seemed keen to get the ball rolling.
“You called, child,” he replied with a soft smile.
“Simply saying your name calls you to me now?”
“Invoking my role as your godparent does.”
I scowled at the vampire. I’d invoked his role as godparent in Álfheimr. I guessed the portals hadn’t allowed his miraculous appearance there.
“That’s new,” I remarked, keeping my face neutral.
“No,” he said simply. “It is not.”
The crafty vampire had placed the charm or spell on me when he’d been appointed my godfather. I should have known. I wondered what Uncle Gregor had done. I thought perhaps it was best not to think about it for now.
Blood Enthralled (Blood Enchanted, Book Three): A Vampire Hunter Paranormal Romance Series Page 3
