“Can I do that? Is that why you don't want my blood?”
He made a dismissive gesture as though it were irrelevant. “Do not get ahead of yourself. I need to tell you what is occurring before I leave. A Challenge has been called. Any vampire who seeks to take my place must answer and be victorious.”
“There is going to be a fight for control of the vampires?”
He agreed with a slight movement of his head.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why so soon? Why not wait until you have your power back?”
“That is not possible. Marion attacked me in the open. My supporters fled. It is too tenuous to wait.”
“What happens if you lose?”
He actually smiled at her. Like a parent to a child, a reassuring smile. It was sincere and she could see little lines appear at the corners of his eyes, laugh lines bracketing his mouth, as though he’d smiled a lot as a human. “A fair contest is impossible for me to lose. That is why Marion attacked me as she did.”
“Why would she go along with a Challenge if she cannot win?”
“I suspect she believes she can.” He looked mildly disgusted with himself. “Vampires are very hierarchical, they do not respond well to chaos and change. Things are unsettled. The Challenge is designed to settle leadership disputes quickly.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked worriedly.
“Nothing. This has nothing to do with you. I only wanted you to know that when we next meet your safety will be assured. This situation will be resolved. I will be unavailable for a few days.”
He turned and walked to the door, unlocking it. “Why are you leaving that way? Shouldn’t you just poof on out of here.”
He paused, one large hand on the door handle. “I shall try to conserve as much strength as possible for the Challenge.”
“You said it was nothing to worry about. I didn’t realize dematerializing took that much strength.”
“I do not know how many Challengers there will be and who is still loyal to me, if any of the vampires are. It could be a long contest. Why tempt fate?” He said, closing the door behind him.
She wanted to tell him to wait, to stay and explain more but part of that was the lust talking and the other part of it was because she was afraid for him. And that was stupid.
She'd watched him talk and could barely listen she was so desperate to let him take her. All the kissing and fondling had only made the craving for him worse. It was like giving a hungry person a bowl of soup, really good soup, but then not having a main course.
She really wanted the main course.
But maybe she didn't. Maybe it was just him who wanted her and his feelings made her feel lustily psycho.
She shivered at the memory of how much he'd desired her. How she'd been able to feel him holding himself back. The strength of his control had been an aphrodisiac. She'd wanted to know what was under that, see what he would do if he decided to simply give in and do what he wanted.
Val took a shower, instantly feeling half of her energy go down the drain. She was exhausted mentally and physically. Her father was gone. She was an empath. Lucas might die. She had almost slept with him. Jack knew something was going on.
How many of those things could she actually control? She laughed weakly, struggling to turn off the water she was so wiped out. None of it. She had no control over her those things. Everything happened to her. That was her life. She needed to make her own decisions. Be her own person. Maybe there is a book for that.
Maybe things would be better when she was stronger. Perhaps she could resist better when she was healed. If she could just stay away from Lucas for a little while she'd have a chance to regroup and see what was real, and what was the blood.
She crawled under the stiff sheets and closed her eyes, sleep instantly there to drag her under.
Her body jerked, as though she'd been about to fall and reacted involuntarily.
What if Lucas died? All because of Marion, whom he seemed to hate. But if he did hate her, then why had he allowed Marion to live for so long? She’d spoken of him like they’d been lovers for centuries. What was she to him? She wanted to know. Then she was dreaming about walking on a bridge.
This isn’t my dream.
It was nighttime and cold. She could see a woman coming towards her. Tall, thin and hard, long dark hair cascading around her shoulders, a child in her arms.
Marion.
Not a dream, a memory.
She was on a bridge in London, watching Marion through Lucas’ eyes.
Chapter 14
London, England
1927
Marion walked quickly, heels echoing on the cement. To all the world she appeared a mortal woman, carrying a sleeping child home after a long day.
Lucas watched her, as emotionally engaged in the scene before him as he would be if he was watching a badly acted play. Actually, that summed up Marion nicely: a bad play that never ended.
She shifted the girl's form closer to her, trying to lift her higher, so her face would be tucked against Marion’s neck. The heavy red cloak slipped down to show a pale cheek and Marion took the time to stop, cover the girl's fair hair back up and settle her exactly how she wanted.
There was never logic to anything Marion did. She acted in the moment.
Her ‘children’ learned or they died. There was to be no crying and no complaining. No whining and certainly no running away. Marion liked the idea of dissent, that her children were individuals and would love her despite her sadistic coddling, but they could never give her what she really needed.
A foil. Someone to smack her down and keep her in line.
The wind rose as Marion stepped out onto the bridge that overlooked the Thames. Her hair lashed at her face and swirled about her like a mad ghost, the curls being pulled and loosened haphazardly. Again the cloak slipped and Marion left it, focusing on the wind and the shimmering water below her.
It was a full moon and the water was inky black and reflective, choppy because of the current and breeze. She looked over the ledge then laughed at something. The woman was mad.
She put the bundle down on the ground. The arms and legs instantly splaying open in a way Marion undoubtedly disapproved of. She made a stern tsking noise and wrapped the girl tightly in the cloak, swaddling her in the dense fabric.
Mothers did that to soothe their babies and so she did it for her children too. Of course, the girl was twelve so it looked a bit odd, but Marion wouldn’t notice.
She sat back on her heels, the knot complete, a velvet mummy with only her face exposed to the night. Marion put her hands on the cold concrete and leaned down to give the girl a gentle kiss on the lips.
For pity’s sake.
Sighing, she picked her up, walking confidently back to the rail. With an effortless heave she threw the girl over the bridge, like a woman dumping a chamber pot out the window.
Lucas moved out of the shadows and Marion whirled around, a kid caught with a sweet after daddy had told her no.
With a smile on her face she walked to him, hands clasped in front of her.
“What happened, Marion?”
“Nothing.” Still smiling, she shrugged. Her breath fogged the air, her body still warm from the girl’s blood.
“How many is that this year?”
Marion licked her lips nervously. “Two. She was the second this year, just two. And her death was a mistake. She became sick.”
The lies were just insulting. “Marion, it's March. And I know she was neither ill nor a runaway.”
Marion looked genuinely frightened for a moment then gave another careless shrug. “What would you have me do Lucas? I see a pretty girl, she reminds me of Margaret and I try— I do try to take only the girls you allow, but sometimes I am overcome. It's the mother in me. I love too deeply, Lucas.” She sounded so pitiably sad.
Lucas looked into her eyes, rich brown eyes that were beseeching
him so prettily and frowned. This would end. One way or another. “Marion, there can be no more mistakes. You are to make a companion.”
She gasped in horror and her hand flew to her mouth in shock, her little fangs flashing like diamonds. “Non!”
“There have been too many accidents and you are too restless. It's dangerous for you and work for me. I won't spend my time policing you. You will make someone to be your equal. I want to meet the person you choose as consort. I will be there for the change, ensure that a sufficient amount of your life-force goes into their making. I want them to be more powerful than you. You will become Second to whomever you choose. Do you understand me?”
Lucas saw fury flash in her eyes. But she was too powerful to be wandering around murdering at will. Too unpredictable. She needed someone to tame her, and that wouldn’t happen if her chosen wasn’t powerful enough to contain her.
She gave a laugh that pierced him like shards of glass. “You want me to be better behaved? You think to chain me like a dog? How dare you! I am six hundred years old. I try to live as you bid me but you ask too much. It is unnatural and perverse, Lucas. I did love that girl. I love them all!” Huge tears welled in her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks.
If he killed her now, he could go.
Marion decided to try a different tactic, “Please Lucas, for what we had, the love you bore us, do not take this from me. I know it must be hard for you, alone for so long and to see what I have with my children, that special bond that only a mother can have... but hurting me won't make you less alone or happier.” She waited, gaging the effect she might have had on him.
And there it was. The reason she lived. ‘don’t kill me because of the love you bore us.’ How many deaths did he allow because he’d once loved?
“Marion, I do not kill you in sufferance of the past we share, but the world is changing and little girls cannot disappear the way they have these last hundreds of years. The humans have come too far, it risks exposing us all. None of these girls are Margaret and they never shall be. You must change. Find someone to care for you. Bring him or her to me and I shall oversee the transformation. You have a year. Find someone.
“A year!” she screamed, “You want me to choose a partner for eternity in one year? You want me to be miserable. Admit it, you only wish to curb me because my power is a threat to you. Everyone else is gone, except for me. Don't pretend that I am so stupid to not see it! That you force the second most powerful vampire in the world to give up power on pain of death, only so that there is no risk to your throne.”
“Treasonous words, Marion.”
“True words,” she mocked him, “The world is changing, Lucas. You cannot rule with absolute power as before. These humans have evolved, there is democracy now,” she said democracy like it contained letters she had never heard before.
“That has nothing to do with our race. I do not fear you Marion. We know the outcome of a contest.” He moved before she could react, invading her personal space and cupping his hand against her face gently: a parody of tenderness. His hand moved downwards, touching the lean lines of her neck and he knew she understood the threat, he'd rip her head off before she could do a thing to defend herself.
He knew his power burned her. Marion held herself still, pushing all of her energy into her flesh, forcing herself to be just as hard as him. He gave her a sad little smile, his power running over her, forcing her flesh to softness. Then his fingers squeezed her throat.
“I will rip your head off of your swanlike neck, if you do not come to me with a consort within the year.” He released her and stepped away, vanishing before she could tell him what an utter bastard he was.
For the next two months Marion was in a fury, leaving a bloodbath behind her, killing anyone who would go with her, savagely tearing their throats out to display her frustration with Lucas. She was like a dog who peed in the house when her owner left her alone for too long.
He had done enough to spare her. Last chance and if she didn’t fall into line he’d break his word and kill her. He waited for her in her apartment.
He saw her wrinkle her nose at the smell. She walked into the dining room, where the smell worsened, seeing chairs filled with corpses. Flies buzzed around their heads, resting on their eyes and mouths.
Lucas strode into the room and grabbed her quickly. She tried to react, managing to hit him with one fist before he picked her up and threw her onto the dining room table.
She landed on top of a dead sailor with a thud and recoiled away from him, scooting backwards, misjudging the distance so that she plopped off the side of the table and into the lap of a small dead boy with dark hair and dirty clothes. Marion scrambled to her feet.
Lucas came towards her again, slowly and precisely.
“Kneel.” His voice was like thunder.
She complied. He saw her comprehend.
Her eyes dropped to the carpet, nipples pebbling against the bodice of her gown. “Lucas”, she breathed, the word filled with desire. Even as she feared for her life she desired him.
It was almost irritating.
He grabbed her from the floor and threw her into the wall, her cry of pain sounding suspiciously like pleasure. She sagged but kept her feet and waited for him to come to her.
“You have fouled my home,” she said, and it sounded flirtatious.
Marion pulled up her skirts, baring her legs and thighs. She made her stance wider, put her hand between her legs and touched herself.
Now that was irritating.
“Lucas, Lucas, come to me.” Her hands lifted to her breasts, lifting them as an offering to him and pinching her nipples. He didn't move.
Centuries ago he would have taken her roughly, goaded on her by her frenzied sexuality. She'd had no inhibitions with him, had sunk lower and lower to try and keep him.
“I have rescinded your year.”
Her eyes widened. “You won’t! Break your word to Margaret? Everyone will know you for a liar. You jeopardize your own throne if you kill me.”
“You are wanton and cruel, I give you one last choice to find a master who can contain you. But I will wait for you no longer. Come.” He held out his hand and she reached for him, making sure the hand she outstretched was the one that still glistened with her juices.
He ignored it, gathering her bony frame close to him, stretching his will over hers, transporting them from London to San Francisco in less than a minute.
He looked around at the houses and shops, the hills that were overlaid by streets. This city was a symbol of man subduing mother nature.
That never seemed to turn out well.
They stood in front of a building, the acrid scent of cigarettes and cigars, alcohol, human sweat and lust overlaid everything. Raucous calls from both men and women rolled out in greeting.
The door was guarded by a large human male. He nodded curtly at them and opened the door. It was dark inside and they went down a dark hallway lined with closed doors. The sounds of sex and violence drifted out from behind the doors as they made their way to the main theater.
Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel) Page 23
