Blood Bond asc-9

by Jeanne C. Stein

  “Older than Steffan?”

  “Oh yes.” He chuckles. “I think you will be surprised.”

  “But Steffan is their leader.”

  “For the moment.”

  His nonchalance raises the hair on my arm. “What do you mean?”

  “I did not want to say anything before but there are rumblings in the community. We may be witness to history in the making tonight.”

  Frey’s grip on my hand tightens. “What kind of history?”

  “You’ll see. Shifter, you should feel honored to be included as consort to the Chosen One. Few such as yourself have been granted the privilege.”

  Frey grows restive beside me. I sense an end to his patience with Chael.

  “You forget yourself, Chael.” I bite off each word. “Frey is more than a match for any vampire. I suggest you don’t give him the opportunity to prove it.”

  Chael takes the admonition calmly. He turns his thoughts inward and closes them off. Frey, meanwhile, is still fuming. I bring his hand to my lips. When his eyes snap to mine, I watch the transformation from anger to warmth as I rub his hand against my cheek. He nods that he is once more in control. Our hands remain clasped tightly together and we relax in our seats.

  I let my eyes drift to the world outside our car. We are traveling the main road out of Lourges—to the west instead of the route traveled last night. Up into the gentle hills that surround the village. In the lingering twilight, we pass several side roads that end in huge houses perched like jewels on manicured lots.

  Suddenly, an icy finger touches the back of my neck and I shiver.

  Frey feels it. His eyes snap to mine. “What’s wrong?”

  But I brush his concern away with a hand wave. “Nothing. Really.”

  I turn my face away. Glad once again that he can’t read my thoughts; carefully locking those thoughts away from Chael’s prying mind.

  Because it is something. This night reminds me of another night, almost two years ago. A ride up another hill in another part of the world that ended in a fight to the death against an old-soul vampire.

  Avery.

  Instinctively, my hand touches the hem of my dress. I was wearing Avery’s gift that night. Just as I’m wearing Steffan’s now.

  I was driven to the house then, just as I’m being driven now.

  My throat is dry. I have the terrible feeling I shouldn’t have accepted Steffan’s invitation. Worse, I shouldn’t have brought Frey along. I may have read too much into Chael’s show of goodwill, his compassion for my mother. Was it all just a trick to win my confidence?

  Blood pounds through my veins, heat rising as the vampire seizes control.

  Frey can feel it. My skin hot against his. He turns a puzzled frown my way. “Anna?”

  Chael senses a change, too. He can’t see me in the mirror, but he is acutely aware of the transformation taking place in the seat right behind him. It makes him nervous enough to pull the car over.

  Once the car is stopped, I’m out of it, at the driver’s door in a heartbeat. I fling the door open, grab Chael by the neck and pull him out, moving too fast to give him a chance to fight back. His vampire nature flashes, then retreats. He acts like a dog showing his stomach to an alpha, submissively waiting for whatever I choose to do.

  I choose to shake him until his teeth rattle. What game are you playing?

  None. I am doing as you asked. Taking you to King Steffan.

  His mind is open, his thoughts as passive as his body.

  I shake him again. There must be more. All this talk of making history and of King Steffan’s unseating. Do you expect me to fight him?

  At this, a smile, thin, unnerving. No. Not you.

  Then who? I shove him away, stand ready to defend myself if he unleashes his beast.

  He tugs at the hem of his jacket, straightens his tie, smoothes his hair back with both hands. You are still too impulsive, Anna Strong, he says through gritted teeth and tight jaw. Has it ever occurred to you to ask first before you resort to violence?

  Not when it comes to you. Now answer the question. Who do you think is going to attack King Steffan tonight?

  Chael shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, locks his eyes with mine. Ever heard of a vampire named Vlad?

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAEL’S WORDS SNAP THE HUMAN ANNA BACK IN A HEARTBEAT.

  I stare at Chael. “Vlad is a mythical creature.” I speak the words aloud as if by doing so they will carry more conviction.

  We are all mythical creatures, is Chael’s heated but mocking reply. Or have you forgotten?

  Frey is standing beside me. I was so caught up with Chael, I hadn’t heard or seen him climb from the car. But he has obviously been there long enough to catch the gist of our conversation. His voice at my elbow makes me jump.

  “Vlad the Impaler? Not possible.”

  “Oh, then, shifter,” Chael says, his voice dripping sarcasm. “You must be sure to tell Vlad that he does not exist. Your opinion will be valuable to him.”

  Frey lunges at Chael, moving almost as fast as the panther, catching him off guard and connecting with a solid right to Chael’s jaw. Chael lands on his butt, but when he jumps to his feet, the vampire has surfaced. I step between them then, knowing unless Frey shifts, he is no match for an enraged Chael. Much as I’d love to see the arrogant Chael brought down by the panther, this is neither the time nor place.

  “Enough.” The roar of my voice, of vampire’s voice, brings both men to a halt. Their heads snap around.

  Frey’s blood is still running high, the panther lurks behind his eyes. The growl that erupts from his chest is more animal than human. Chael’s eyes flash yellow slits, the vampire full-blown.

  “Heel your pet,” Chael snarls.

  Frey lunges again. I step between them again, stop Frey with a look and an upturned hand.

  A rumbling, hostile murmur of protest spews from his gut but he backs away.

  I touch his cheek. “Not now.”

  Panther gradually retreats from his eyes. He shakes his head as if to clear it and takes another step back.

  I whirl on Chael. You should tread lightly. I stopped Frey this time, but I may not always be able to. Or want to.

  Chael has turned away, going through his grooming routine again, straightening his jacket, smoothing his black lacquered hair. His thoughts are shielded. A good thing. I imagine they are filled with images of Frey, torn and bleeding, his neck at Chael’s mouth.

  He has never seen panther in action. I glance at Frey. He is leaning back against the car but his eyes are locked on Chael. Similar scenes are most likely playing in his head, too. But in his, it is Chael’s throat torn and bleeding before he severs it completely with a snap of powerful jaws.

  The showdown will come. I’m sure of it. Just not tonight.

  I take Frey’s hand. “We need to go.”

  Frey straightens, pushing himself from the car. “What about this Vlad nonsense? You should make Chael tell you what the hell is going on.”

  Chael glares at Frey. “You will soon know what is going on. You should pray Vlad doesn’t take umbrage at your attitude and snap your neck like kindling.”

  Frey’s back stiffens. Once more, I intervene. “Enough, Chael. Get back into the car.”

  Chael moves, slowly, grudgingly, taking his place in the driver’s seat. Once Frey and I are seated, too, he steers the car onto the road.

  The silence in the car is suffocating.

  Great. This is going to be some party. I may end up acting as a referee between Frey and Chael the entire evening. I hope Steffan has lots of champagne.

  I let my eyes drift to the road, to the soft spring greenery on either side. We are still climbing. To the top, I’m sure.

  Where else would a king have his castle?

  * * *

  WHEN WE FINALLY REACH THE END OF THE PUBLIC road, we are faced with a guardhouse and tall, iron gates. A watchman, a vampire, comes to the car, glances inside, then presse
s a remote. The gates swing open.

  Chael drives on, up and up, the driveway bordered by a brilliant display of spring color. Lavender and Lavendula, almond trees in full bloom, roses. I roll the window down to breathe in the fragrance.

  This may be the last peaceful moment I have tonight.

  When the house comes into view it’s a surprise, though not an entirely unexpected one. I’ve come to know that old-soul vampires do not stick with the stereotypes most often associated with them. Steffan’s castle is not a stone fortress, but a modern one built of steel and glass.

  The turnaround in front of the house is filled with cars—I’d guess close to fifty. Chael pulls up to a valet stand.

  “I thought you said one or two of the old guard would be here,” I mumble to him as he comes around to open my door.

  He shrugs and waits for me to alight, turning away quickly when it’s Frey’s turn. I smile as a guttural sound like a dog’s soft snarl rasps in Frey’s throat.

  A valet has already whisked the car away; a doorman stands on the porch. Both vampires. The double front door is gigantic, solid mahogany, at least twenty feet high and as wide across with opaque leaded-glass inserts. The glass displays a mosaic of a spider’s web, intricate, ornate, done in gold leaf.

  No spider.

  How appropriate. A work of art that also delivers a warning. The spider is inside.

  You are very perceptive. Steffan’s amused voice from the top of the porch stairs has infiltrated my thoughts. And very beautiful. Welcome to my home.

  He waits for us in the doorway, light spilling out from a tiled entryway. He is resplendent in an artfully tailored black tuxedo, the cummerbund and tie exactly the same shade as a lilac rose boutonniere. Frey takes my arm and we move to the door, Chael following behind. When we are face-to-face, Steffan holds out a hand to Frey.

  “Welcome. You are a very lucky man to have landed this woman,” he says. “Also, a very special one if Anna has chosen you as consort above all others.”

  I sense Frey bristle a little at the title “consort”—one that keeps coming up among the vampires we meet. But Steffan’s tone is not condescending and his greeting is warm. Quite a contrast from Chael and his constant, grating derision.

  Frey responds by returning the handshake and a smiling “thank you.” He gestures to the house. “And you are lucky to have such a beautiful home.”

  Steffan offers an arm to me and leads us into the interior of the house. Frey is at Steffan’s left. Chael follows behind. I notice Steffan has not greeted him and I feel Chael’s aggravation at the affront. It means I must be even more alert to Chael’s conduct tonight.

  There may be more than one drama played out on this elegant stage.

  From the great room in front of us, the soft strains of an orchestra serve as backdrop to a hum of conversation. Some of it is vocal, some of it is telepathic, all of it swirls on the air like pollen in a gentle breeze. Steffan pauses to let us appreciate a sight that I’m sure has never failed to impress.

  It is a large room, so large there are two huge chandeliers, one at each end, dripping four-foot ropes of crystal and pearl. Under the diffused light of a thousand candles, the gathering mills in relaxed comfort. There must be one hundred vampires here, along with two dozen or so mortals partnered with vampires, and a half dozen otherworldly guests.

  Frey looks around, too. He nods toward a group of five men standing together near the orchestra. “Shifters.”

  Their eyes turn to us in the doorway as if sensing, too, another shifter in their presence and it is to Frey that they bend their heads in acknowledgment.

  We continue to drink in the scene. Every female dressed in the finest couture, every male in a custom suit or tuxedo. The jewels glittering on earlobes and necks and fingers could bankroll a small country. There are liveried servants with trays of champagne-filled glasses or thick, crystal goblets of something dark and viscous. And red.

  I raise my eyebrow at Steffan, who has been following my thoughts. “Volunteered blood only,” he assures me.

  Do I believe him? I think of Avery and his treachery and a shudder racks my soul.

  Steffan reads it. He glances at Frey, acknowledging openly that he knows as a shifter Frey can pick up on his thoughts if he allows it. He does.

  I knew Avery, he begins. As you can see, he and I were neighbors. I was shocked to learn of his death. Angry. We who you call old-soul vampires, who have had hundreds of years, look on it as an affront when one of our own is snuffed out. Especially by one so new and ignorant of the way. But you killed him in defense of your own life. Something none of us could overlook. There was no vendetta waged, no call for your head.

  He pauses, catches the eye of a server and motions him to come to us. He chooses blood from the tray, Frey and I champagne. We tip glasses and drink and he continues.

  When your family showed up to claim Avery’s estate, the question was raised again. Did you have the right to dispose of his property? He had never aligned himself with us, choosing an American affiliation, but his roots were here in Europe. We are rather a closed group, steeped in tradition. But just as we have our ways, we respect those of others. When you were declared the Chosen One, it was decided to forever forego any act of retribution on Avery’s behalf.

  Another pause, another long pull at his glass. He wipes his lips with a silk handkerchief. The handkerchief comes away with a faint red smudge.

  I watch his eyes as he speaks. What is your point, Steffan? Are you asking that I respect you and stay out of European politics?

  A shiver runs up my spine at the moment I finish speaking. I look around quickly, senses alert. It’s as if someone reached out a hand to run an icy finger up my backbone. Cold, first, then hot as the path of that finger turns to fire. The feeling unnerves me, as real and visceral as a passionate kiss. It awakens something deep and primitive in the pit of my stomach. Not fear. Not anger.

  Lust.

  My eyes scan the crowd. If Steffan is speaking, I don’t hear. I’ve closed the conduit between us and to any other prying mind. I’m open only to whoever is causing this stirring in my gut. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.

  And in an instant, it’s gone.

  No one looks up from the crowd to catch my eye. No one winks or nods or grins a “gotcha” grin.

  I drain my champagne glass, motion to the server for another. When I can focus again, Frey and Steffan are both looking at me with puzzled frowns.

  Frey speaks first. “Anna? Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” I put a hand on his arm. “I felt dizzy for a moment. But I’m fine now.” Switching my gaze to Steffan, I add, “I’m sorry. What was I saying?”

  Steffan laughs. I think you were about to put me in my place.

  His laughter is contagious. My own face splits into a grin. Nothing so overt. Perhaps I merely wanted to remind you that there is more to the world than Europe. And if you act precipitously, we are all affected.

  Well said, Anna Strong.

  My shoulders jump.

  The unexpected voice comes from right behind me but I neither heard nor sensed an approach. The same gut tingling sensation as before spreads through my body, ice and fire. I know without looking that whoever just spoke is dark and dangerous.

  And a threat.

  CHAPTER 22

  MY FINGERS CLOSE AROUND THE CHAMPAGNE glass and with a crack, the fragile crystal shatters. Champagne sprays, my palm convulses and a shard of glass slices into my skin. Blood mixes with the bubbles spilling onto the polished hardwood floor. Both Frey and Steffan leap to my aid.

  But not quickly enough.

  Someone steps between us, taking my hand gently in his own. He pulls the sliver of glass free and brings my palm to his lips. His face is half-hidden by a veil of long, dark hair but instinctively, I know he’s the stranger whose voice I heard before. Where his lips touch my palm, a tingling begins. It travels up my arm, warms my face and neck, makes my nipples harden. I close my eyes, want
ing to moan with pleasure.

  Another’s hand is pushing the stranger away. When I open my eyes, Frey’s face is red with fury. He puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me to a bench along the wall. I let him. Not looking back. Not wanting to see who it is that has such power over me.

  Frey examines my hand. “It’s healed.”

  There’s nothing remarkable or magical in that. Vampires have the ability to heal. But it’s the way Frey is looking at me, as if he knew I was feeling more than the healing process. I remember wanting to moan in pleasure—sexual pleasure.

  Could I have actually done it? Moaned out loud at a stranger’s touch?

  Anger shakes me back to reality. “What the fuck?” I look into Frey’s eyes.

  Relief softens his face. “There you are. What the hell happened?”

  I look past him to Steffan. He is talking with the stranger who has his back to me but Steffan’s body is rigid, his face a mask of surprise and anger. All I see of the stranger is a long black duster that stands out in stark contrast to the formal dress of everyone else in the room. The coat brushes the tops of leather riding boots much as his long dark hair brushes the upturned collar of his coat. Even with my ability to penetrate most vampires’ thoughts, this one is completely closed to me.

  “Who is that with Steffan?” Not the question I really want to ask. But asking if this powerful vampire could be Vlad Dracul sounds like something out of a bad Goth novel even if it is what is going through my head.

  Frey glances over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Listen, maybe we should get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

  Frey stands up and extends a hand. I take it and get to my feet. “I’m ready but where’s Chael? We should tell him we’re leaving.”

  Frey looks over the crowd. “I’ll find him.” Then his eyes focus on my face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”