Buried Passion

by Marianne Willis

  Rachel bit her lip. “I can’t. I’m…”

  “Terrified?” the leader queried with a raised brow.

  “Yes.”

  “A normal reaction for all Impures when they first change.”

  Her eyes were riveted and intense. “So, the fear…it will pass?”

  “In time it will,” he reassured. “Same with the paranoia and delusional thoughts. First, let’s see if The Primes will complete the transformation.”

  She wasn’t going crazy. Ian’s smile faded. But the vampire was right. They were getting ahead of themselves.

  Mist surged into the air, forming and moulding. A dark, curve-hugging dress enwrapped a woman who flipped her night-black hair out of her face. Her almond-shaped brown eyes searched the room, and she bit her lip as if in silent apology for the sudden intrusion.

  “Cynthia,” Lord Sylvestre gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, but I heard Rachel would be seeing The Primes today, and I had to come.”

  “Cynthia, you need your rest.”

  The woman strode over to Rachel. “I’m stronger today, I promise. But now I want to be strong for Rachel, as she was for me.” She took hold of Rachel’s hand. “You helped me the other day, now I want to show my support.”

  Rachel’s eyes glittered with tears as she stared at the woman. “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you.”

  Heels rapped along the stone floor. Another woman entered the room, dressed in a tailored cream and white business suite. She greeted them all with a stern nod. “Master LaChapelle and his family will see you now.”

  “Let’s not keep them waiting,” Lord Sylvestre said.

  They followed the woman in white down a wide hallway. Mahogany wainscot panels bordered the black and gray filigree walls. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and gave a soft glow to the dark, cold ambience.

  They stopped when the woman in white grabbed the handles to a set of large wooden double doors and tugged them open. A family of five, adorned in elaborate pomp with modern designer suites and pastel colored gowns waited for them at the front of the throne room.

  The lady in white curtsied, then turned to the rest of them. “I present to you, Master Armand LaChapelle the Second, and his wife, Lady Loretta. His daughters, Adele, Susanna, Mellisende, and his sons Gaspard and Roul LaChapelle.”

  The one named Armand narrowed his eyes at Lord Sylvestre. Ian detected an unpleasant history between the two.

  “Sylvestre Marcel,” The master greeted. “My, my, it’s been a long time.”

  “Long indeed, Master Armand.” Sylvestre’s eyes glanced to the other members, but paused on a beautiful woman with blonde hair and green eyes. Like a fly on the wall, Ian glanced back and forth between the two. The woman stared at Lord Sylvestre with a death-like glare, but her heart hammered loudly in her chest. Ian broke out in a sweat at the uncomfortable stare-down.

  “Since we all know why you’re here,” Armand said, snagging Lord Sylvestre’s attention again. “Let’s get straight to the point. Which one is the girl?”

  Rachel stepped forward, her body visibly quivering as she gave a short, awkward bow. Her nerves were justified. Ian’s insides tugged with the need to hold her hand, caress her wrist with his thumb in a show of support, but he stayed behind. No way would he interrupt or jeopardise this meeting. A lot was at stake and these witches were her last hope. The Primes didn’t know Rachel, weren’t her friends or family, didn’t care for her welfare. They had nothing to lose if they chose not to help. Ian clasped his hands in silent prayer for an outcome in their favor.

  “What is your name?”

  “Rachel Ann Johnson.”

  The powerful family stared at Rachel, all of them except for the son, Gaspard who had his eyes firmly trained on the dark-haired vampire, Cynthia.

  “Johnson. Of the Johnson clan in the United States? Yes, your family is of the Elite. I’ve heard of them.” He straightened in his seat. “Now here you stand, an incomplete vampire.” He wasn’t snide, but matter of fact.

  Ian swallowed. Was the warlock displeased by the news or simply unconcerned?

  Please, help her.

  “Yes. I’ve come to beg your pardon. I want a chance to live, but I can’t do that if I remain this way.”

  “You are her only chance,” Lord Sylvestre threw in.

  Tension grew in the room. Ian could sense it wrap around his neck and choke him as silence lingered. He stood, fists clenched by his sides. Primes or not, it took everything in him not to shout at the powerful family.

  “We haven’t made an Impure in over a millennium. The first time we did so, was to prevent you from dating my daughter.”

  The blonde who had stared at Lord Sylvestre closed her eyes as though remembering something unpleasant.

  Lord Sylvestre’s jaw tightened. “Yes, I know you only do things at a price, but—”

  “But, what?” The master shook his head, humor sparkled in his eyes.

  A growl rumbled in Ian’s throat, claws bit into his palm. He could see it as clear as day. This original warlock had no intention of helping them, he simply called them here to mock at their desperate situation. The bastard.

  “Please,” Rachel stammered, her gaze strayed from Master LaChapelle to his family members. “I have nothing to offer, but if you help me, I will be forever indebted to you.”

  “Master Armand,” Cynthia stepped forward. “Rachel is in this situation because of my moitié. He is an addict. His destructive behavior already cost Rachel her life as a witch. Please, let what my moitié did be rectified.”

  The blonde, Adele, leaned forward in her seat. “This man you speak of, is he in the facility?”

  “Yes.”

  Adele stood and sauntered to her father’s side to whisper in his ear. The woman must have used a spell to block others from eavesdropping because he couldn’t hear what she said. As Master Armand listened, he scoffed, his gaze still fixed on Rachel. Adele stared at her father, determination in her hard-set eyes. Again, she lowered to whisper something else. A nanosecond later, Master Armand gave a content sigh. “My darling daughter, you are too smart for your own good.” He nodded for her to return to her seat.

  Seconds ticked in Ian’s head like a damn bomb.

  Master Armand studied his well-manicured nails, as though enjoying the tension in the room. “Rachel dear, I take it you’re aware of the addicted?”

  “Yes.” Rachel’s voice lowered. “I’ve seen the facility. I even came face to face with the vampire who killed me.”

  Armand’s brow rose. “Such bravado. Will you be so brave after the proposition I have for you?”

  Ian swallowed, unease settled on him like rolling clouds. The calm before the storm. What on earth were these witches up to?

  “We’ve had several complaints over the years about the addicted, from all species. I see that the facility is holding them, but let’s not forget many others have yet to be captured. I will complete the spell, make you an official Impure, but in exchange you must allow us to perform another spell.”

  Rachel straightened, head inclined with interest. “What kind of spell?”

  “One that would make your blood the cure for the addicted.”

  The room broke out in gasps and whispers. Rachel…the cure. She would be able to heal the addicted. This cure could help many. But what did that mean for Rachel? What if it were too dangerous? What if she were harmed?

  “How would that work?” Rachel asked.

  “You’ll be a living cure, an immortal that could be the answer to the addicted vampires. One bite of you will set them free from their addiction. Your responsibility will be to hunt them down and heal them. I’ll give you completion in your transformation. In return you resolve what’s been a problem for the vampires for centuries.”

  Rachel gazed at the floor, eyes wide and immobile. Did she contemplate what her future would be like if she agreed? Having to hunt down the addicted, travelling high and low to be bitt
en again and again.

  “Are you bonded?” Adele’s blonde brow arched.

  The question struck him like an arrow to the chest.

  “No, I am not.”

  “This spell won’t prevent you from finding your moitié. You may have heard vampires recognise their mate by the taste of blood. This spell will not change your natural essence, if that’s what concerns you.” Even though the words were directed at Rachel, Adele’s eyes veered to Lord Sylvestre.

  Ian swallowed as images of Rachel with a moitié bombarded his mind. Rachel in the arms of another, kissing and loving a man that wasn’t him. His muscles jumped, heart twisting. Why couldn’t she belong to him? It wasn’t fair to be so overwhelmed by this need for her, and unable to claim her.

  “All right.” Rachel gave a stiff, sure nod. “I’ll do it. I’ll be the cure.”

  Chapter 17

  Pride, fear, excitement, protection. Each emotion bounced inside Ian with powerful force. Rachel would live. His heart sang at the news. But she had agreed to become a cure for the addicted. What a destiny; hunt the monsters who preyed on innocents, track down every unstable bloodsucker. His stomach coiled into knots.

  But she would not be defenceless or alone. He’d be by her side every step of the way. Once they left France, he planned to give her boxing lessons. Supernatural strength wasn’t enough, not when she’d be up against vampires just as strong, if not stronger than her.

  Armand stood from his throne and beckoned Rachel over with a flick of his finger.

  “I’m coming too.” Ian stomped forward before he registered what he said.

  Armand cocked one dark brow. “I’m afraid not.”

  Afraid not? That was it? No further reason behind that stupid response. Ian clenched his fists by his sides. Hitting the bastard would not help the situation.

  Rachel gave a soft smile, but reassurance did not greet him. Ian’s gaze returned to Armand. “Do I have your word she’ll be fine.”

  The master’s smug grin bestowed his utter confidence. “I am the most skilled warlock in the world. She is in safe hands.”

  Rachel cleared her throat and hooked her arm with Armand.

  Ian’s limbs itched to follow the pair, but he remained rooted to the floor. Every part of him wanted to be by her side, to hold her through whatever the warlock would dish out. If he was this protective over a woman who wasn’t his mate, how would he react when he found her? All he’d ever known about mates and bonds had to be a lie. He’d never felt more connected, more meant for someone than Rachel. She wasn’t his, yet she was everything. And he couldn’t think of anything better than to have her love intoxicate him for the rest of his life.

  Armand paused at the doorway, then looked at Lord Sylvestre. “Flash to Désuet and bring the one who turned her.”

  Lord Sylvestre’s eyes widened. “Maurice Delacroix?”

  “Yes, I think it’s fitting. He changed her life…now she shall change his.”

  The woman, Cynthia, let out a distressed sound. Petite hands trembled by her sides. Her moitié would receive a cure and she looked…devestated.

  “Very well.” Lord Sylvestre flashed from the room.

  Ian paced, his insides quivered as if his nervous system had been hijacked. Until Rachel entered through that door again, he’d remain on edge.

  A tap on the shoulder startled him. Ian faced Brianna. The woman gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I wanted to see if you’re okay?”

  He said nothing, unable to find the words.

  “I’m so happy my sister will live.” Brianna smiled. “As for being the cure, she’ll get through it. Tristan has already agreed to give her an army of his best men to lead the hunts. She’ll be all right.”

  Ian ran a hand through his short hair. “I hope this change doesn’t harm her. I want her safe, always.”

  Brianna’s mouth formed a perfect O. “You care for her, don’t you?”

  Images of him and Rachel making love, of them lost in the corridors earlier, laughing and kissing surged in his mind. “Yeah, I do.”

  She then furrowed her brows. “But you’re not destined for my sister.”

  He and Rachel shared a past. He still didn’t know the full details of those days. A part of his memory gone was too impossible to fathom, but it didn’t change the way he ached for her. So what, she wasn’t his destiny? Fate had already played enough cruel pranks on him in one lifetime. Wouldn’t he be worse off denying how he felt, rejecting what he wanted?

  “Ian, you do know you’re playing with fire,” Tristan said, standing beside Lucas. “If Rachel finds her moitié, he’ll be her only source of life.”

  Lucas straightened, eyes wide. “You mean she won’t be able to live without him, literally?”

  Tristan nodded in confirmation. “She will die. As of right now she can drink from whoever, but that will all change the minute she takes from her moitié.”

  Ian swallowed bile. Rachel’s life would hang in the balance…again. “But if she doesn’t drink his blood, whoever he is, she’ll be fine, right?”

  “Yes, but the pull of a moitié is overpowering. When I met Brianna, my draw to her was compelling. Once I tasted her, I became lost in her blood, everything else tasted like ash in my mouth. I began deteriorating when Brianna refused me her blood, had been close to death. The only one with a moitié who is still able to drink from others is Maurice.” Tristan’s eyes grew vacant. “My brother grew addicted long before he discovered Cynthia was his. It was too late. Her blood gives him strength, but the craving he has for others is strong, if not stronger. From what’s been assessed of the addicted, the act of draining their victims is what hooks them. I don’t think Maurice is even aware of how distasteful other blood is, he is so rapt with the thrill of the kill.”

  Lucas crossed his arms over his chest. “Now with Rachel as the cure, she’ll be able to fix vampires like your brother.”

  “It’s a miracle. She’ll be the greatest thing that’s happened to the vampires in over a thousand years. The best thing that’s happened to my family.” Tristan spared Ian a half smile. “Rachel has a chance at a new life now. If she finds her moitié, can you honestly stay with her, watch her depend on another man for survival? Let’s not forget as a werewolf you too could find your bonded. Do you want to break Rachel’s heart?”

  Rachel would be respected, protected and adored by her kind. She would have a family, an alliance. Yet, where did Ian fit in all of this? He didn’t want to think of the man out there who contained life-giving blood that his Rachel would not be able to live without, but the fact he remained with her was a risk. What about their connection? Did they dismiss the feelings they shared? Was his relationship with Rachel worth her life in jeopardy? No. Never. More images of him and Rachel flared in his mind. The memories that made him smile, crave her…would they now become bitter recollections of what was never meant to be. His heart gripped with burning pain.

  ****

  Rachel inhaled to settle the butterflies that coursed through her body. Here she was, faced with a turning-point, but was this for the best? Was she risking her life in the process? Her role would be dangerous. What choice did she have? Either this or die. With the help of Ian and her family, she could do this, she’d be the cure for the broken, a right for the wrong, a good for the evil.

  Rachel could sympathize with the addicts and their strong urge for blood. She abhorred the cravings that overpowered her. Even though her mind begged to defeat the thirst, the hunger always overcame her. The draining, terrifying experience was like a lifetime in hell. She wouldn’t wish such a level of helplessness on anyone.

  “Please sit.” Armand’s words broke her out of her thoughts. She glanced about the cool room with its strong scent of vintage whisky. Heavy velvet drapes hung from the tall ceiling-to-floor windows. Various shaped bottles sat stacked on a large shelf against the wall, each one swirled with a colorful liquid. Potions.

  She traipsed to the centre of the room and sat on a tufted
brown leather sofa. The black mosaic and brass coffee table was a beautiful piece, bare of magazines and books.

  Glass clinked, and she lifted her gaze. Armand trailed his fingers over the shelf of potions, then stopped in front of a brick wall. With a wave of his hand, the structure glided open. A silver mounted safe sat behind the hidden wall.

  “And here I hoped I’d never have to use this potion again,” he uttered with a wiggle of his fingers. The steel door opened. He grabbed a black bulbous bottle adorn with carvings of melted gold in a filigree pattern.

  “It takes four things to create an Impure.” He gripped the bottle and started toward her. “Unlike your vampire friends who presume it’s the consumption of blood, death, and a spell from a Prime—two of which you’ve already fulfilled.”

  “What else is there?”

  “When Sylvestre Marcel asked for my help, what do you think he possessed in himself that neither blood nor power could give him?”

  Sylvestre Marcel had been a troubled young man who’d lost his family and had been desperate for revenge. She bit her lower lip. “Willingness.”

  Armand winked at her reply. “When Sylvestre told me about you, I did my research on you and your family.” He grinned and handed her the flask. “I did not know you before you changed, but you must have been unhappy enough to want a different life for yourself. That willingness helped you transform.”

  “But I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live.”

  The master produced a long needle from the inside of his sleeve and took her hand. Rachel swallowed as he nodded at the potion. She raised it, and he pricked her finger, then squeezed three droplets into the bottle. When he gazed at her, the coldness that encompassed him earlier faded, revealing a humbleness he hadn’t displayed out in the throne room. “You had hope. What is the first thing witches learn about emotions?”

  “I could answer that if I remembered.”

  “They play a part in our craft.”

  No wonder she’d bore Ian’s mark all those years ago. Her obsessive desire, together with whatever spell she’d conjured had worked.