Reborn (Princess of the Blood Book 1)

by Jane Ederlyn

  “Your precious Abigail is my precious Abigail, whether she accepts it or not.”

  “She occasionally brings up her mother, but she was too little to remember. I am the one who misses her. Roxanne grew up with me in France. They are all my children, Odin. They are descendants of my Marcel. Roxanne especially resembled Marcel in both looks and spirit. She was carefree and more a sister and confidante than child. I treasured every moment we had.”

  “You can show more emotion.”

  Marie’s mouth turned up to appease him.

  He grabbed her face. “You’re lucky you’re beautiful.”

  “Please, it is my charm that attracts you.”

  Chapter XXIV

  England, 1806

  Anton stormed into Marie’s bedchamber. Dusk rushed in as a dark, cold night and Marie shivered with apprehension. She sat up in bed. Anton’s eyes were animated, his energy buzzing. This couldn’t be good.

  “I’m tired of England,” he said.

  “Good evening, Anton.” Still sluggish with sleep, she stretched her arms and turned her head to one side then the other.

  He watched her impatiently. “I hate this weather.”

  “Good evening, Anton,” she repeated.

  “Good evening, my princess,” he greeted finally, too preoccupied with his agenda to observe manners.

  “I like this weather.” She didn’t like the rain and dreariness any more than he did. They both loved France and the embers of the Mediterranean sun, but Marcel was in England for now, so she needed to sidestep the weather and any other objections that Anton threw at her. She lowered her bare feet onto the wood floor and went to him. As she intended, her touch soothed, and he ceased his maddening pacing up and down the room. She continued caressing him, long strokes down his torso and up his arms until the chaos inside him lulled. Then she faced him.

  “I like England.”

  “You like being around your son.”

  “Of course.”

  “I have humored you long enough. It is time that we go back to France.”

  Her stomach clenched. What would she do if she couldn’t change his mind? “I wish for you to continue humoring me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  He bent his head to glower at her.

  She tilted her head and just watched him, returning the stare without blinking. Outwardly she knew she appeared calm even though her thoughts had fractured into a thousand pieces. She couldn’t leave now! “You are well liked here.” She reached out and touched his face.

  “I am well liked everywhere but especially in France.”

  “Anton, be reasonable. Vampires have more liberties here. The people are less superstitious. You have a bed load of human whores, warming you and feeding you at your every whim, merely for a little money in return.” She shook her head.

  “My heart is in France and I yearn for it. Where there is poverty, there are men and women willing to sell their bodies to me.”

  And their babies. His penchant for babies appalled her, but like so much of her life, she had to look away or compromise with him, give him what he wanted so she could get what she needed. She often wondered what would happen to her when Marcel’s mortal body expired. Would she still feel the need to continue living this half-life or would the constant struggle with Anton finally become more than she could bear?

  “I have already made arrangements for our passage. If money and persuasion does not buy obedience, then death comes early.” He shrugged, uncaring of humans despite needing their blood.

  She ignored his callous indifference and pressed him. “Is it safe for us to go back?”

  “The frenzy is over and politicians are once again reasonable.”

  “And by reasonable you mean bribery?”

  He looked at her as if the answer was so obvious it didn’t deserve the effort of a response.

  “What if I am recognized?”

  “You do not have to go beyond the estate boundary.”

  “How boring for me, Anton, to be a prisoner in my home.”

  “I have made up my mind. We have been here long enough.”

  Arguments raced in her mind. Supplication wasn’t working, but if he was reading her, perhaps honesty was best. “Not long enough. My son still needs the vigilance of his mama. Please, Anton.”

  He grabbed her shoulders, the steely fingers digging into her flesh. “You should not be associating with your living family. It is not natural. You should have released all ties to the old life and begun anew, associating only with humans that serve a purpose.”

  “And other dead?” she spat.

  He dropped his hands from her abruptly. “You are so dramatic, my little princess. I grow weary with this little game you play with your little mouse.”

  “You grow weary of me?” she asked.

  “That is not what I said.”

  “Then explain yourself.”

  “As I said. The game with your son is unnatural.”

  “It is not a game. I do not play games. I am his mother.”

  “You are vampire.” Anton’s voice crept higher and the waves of his anger assaulted her senses. “Your mortal life is behind you, not in front of you. I have been very patient, but it is done, Marie.”

  She stomped her foot in frustration. “Do you know who you are talking to? I may be a vampire and an immortal, but I am the granddaughter of Louis XV, and I have a son. Louis Marcel is a child of France, and it is my duty to protect him. If you tire of England then go back to your friends. I shall miss you, but I will stay.”

  Anton backhanded her. Her head reeled back, and her cheek flamed.

  “You speak out of line. I am master.”

  She was silent, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Do not antagonize me. Do as you are told or your dear little prince will find himself in the grave.”

  “You would not,” she hissed.

  Anton smiled. “Life for mortals is so precarious.” He made a grand gesture with his hands.

  “But, Anton, you are my friend. How can you speak to me like this? I have never asked you for anything.”

  “Never asked, you say. I left my comfortable home to get your child out of the country. He still has his pretty head because of me. You make light of my assistance?”

  She flinched. “Has it not been an adventure? Have you not enjoyed yourself?”

  “Yes, it has been interesting.”

  “It has not all been a loss?” she asked. Although vampires healed quickly, they did experience pain. She touched her cheek, intentionally drawing his eye.

  “I am sorry, my princess. I hate marring your beautiful face, but you must obey me.”

  She nodded and blinked coquettishly. “How many masters have a princess?”

  “Only one.” His chest expanded with pride.

  “So then you will continue to indulge me?”

  “Of course, but it shall be in France. Do with your son whatever you wish.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But be ready to leave tomorrow evening.” He left the room with a whirl of his coattail.

  She fell on the bed. She wasn’t going to panic. Marcel was still so young. She wanted to see him get married and have children and she wanted to witness all of it. And she had made him a promise. If she left now with Anton, would he ever let her return? She played a dozen scenarios in her head, playing out actions and reactions. Finally, she stood and rung for her maid. She needed to dress and feed. She had an idea and needed a clear head to think it through. If she played Anton’s game, perhaps he would humor her. It seemed the mostly likely scenario for success and her leaden heart gave a desperate jump.

  A little later, hair curled and body draped in an exquisite French silk gown in pale blu
e, she knocked on Anton’s door.

  He opened the door a sliver. He was flushed and she refrained from looking beyond his shoulder.

  “I am going out for the evening,” she said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “Behave,” he said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The door moved with him, opening wider. Unconsciously, she glanced inside. The open bed curtains exposed three humans in his scarlet bed. He was obsessed with the color. The bed valance and curtains were red and gold, the sheets were red and monogrammed with red initials, and two redheads and a brunette, sprawled naked on the bed, entwined in each other’s legs.

  The two redheads were his regular donors. The other one, Marie didn’t recognize. She must have been pretty once, but now she was simply an exsanguinated body with streaks of dried blood and purple traumatized veins up her stiff thighs. She hung, legs open, half on the bed, half off. Eventually the redheads too, when he grew bored of them, would suffer the same fate. He promised them eternal life, but Marie knew first hand that Anton was stingy with his blood, as were most ancient vampires. He would never turn them. He would simply drain and discard them when he grew tired of the novelty.

  All of this appalled Marie. He didn’t have to kill to feed. He didn’t have to torture, but he felt his immortality made him superior, and he cared little for humans except as an unlimited food source. Did immortality have a time limit?

  She raised a delicate brow at him and then turned, paused, and then spun back. “Anton.”

  “Yes, my princess.”

  “I did not ask to become a vampire.”

  “You were dying and I gave you a choice. You said you wanted to live.”

  “Because I had a son who needed me. My husband was brutally murdered. To live as an immortal without reason would bore me.”

  “But we have the world at our feet.”

  “Yes and I do enjoy your company, but do not threaten the only thing I have—the only thing that makes my immortal life pleasant. I do not know what I would do if something befell my son. I would have no reason to continue. Strange things happen to immortals when their minds go. Goodnight, Anton.”

  “Marie, you look stunning, my princess,” he said in response to her thinly veiled threat.

  Anton loved adoration and he expected it, but at the same time he despised meekness.

  “Thank you, my Lord. Would you care to join me?”

  He glanced at the women on his bed and then back at Marie. “I think I shall.”

  When the carriage stopped, Anton exited and held a hand out for Marie. She accepted, but released it as soon as they reached the gate door. They nodded at each other and went their separate ways. Anton liked to watch Marie, and tonight, she would let him. Tonight, she would swallow down her conscience and do what she had to do.

  The English were prudes compared to the French of her time. She learned much during her time at Versailles. She liked Marie Antoinette, but there was no denying that her cousin’s wife had been a flirt. Raised in their court, she knew how to act or rather, how to pretend. Many things happened in dark corners and empty rooms. She had been relieved to finally move out to the country with Mathieu. They blossomed together, tending their vineyard and away from the excesses and intrigues of court. Ironically, the life she had been happy to depart prepared her for Anton.

  A young man, with dark hair and a thin mustache, stood with his back to the wall, and a half-empty cup in his hand. He had an upright stance that looked handsome in military uniform and was in conversation with an older gentleman, also in uniform. But he kept glancing at Marie. She remembered him from a ball a week past. She had avoided him then, he seemed so young, perched on the edge of adulthood.

  Tonight, she would not ignore him. Anton would be watching, and she needed to appear cruel and disengaged. He was as good as any, and she fervently hoped the absence of the sun in her life was condemnation enough, that heaven would open the door for her one day, so she could reunite with her husband and son.

  She licked her lips and motioned to a corner. After a moment of surprise, he placed his cup down on a nearby table, and followed.

  Where was Anton? She searched across the crowded room and met his cruel, flinty eyes. The young officer stepped in front of her, bowed, and straightened, blocking her line of vision. Even if she couldn’t see Anton, she knew he could still see her. There was no wavering from her decision. She grabbed the boy’s jacket and pulled him into her.

  “I am French.” Her hand dropped to his crotch and squeezed.

  He pulled her hand away. “We should not,” he said, but his body responded in contradiction to his words.

  She took his hand and placed it flat against her chest, making sure his fingers touched bare skin. “Oui, but I cannot help myself, monsieur. I have been watching you.”

  Her words were enough to brush away his thin reservation, and he pushed against her breast through the gown. A noise behind him made him jerk away.

  Emotions flickered across his face. Embarrassment, desire, concern, all warred on his youthful face and she had an attack of remorse. Perhaps she didn’t have to kill him? Perhaps Anton would lose interest and stop watching? She could take a sip and leave him to live a long human life?

  “Would you like to go upstairs?” the young man asked.

  Marie shook her head. “This is a mistake.”

  “No . . .” he trailed off and shook his head, as if weighing his conscious.

  “Marie,” Anton called from across the room.

  She stiffened and willed herself to return Anton’s cold gaze. There was no escape. The boy’s fate was sealed and all she could do was make it quick and painless.

  “Not here.” She looked away from Anton, leaned into the young man, and whispered into his ear. “Too many eyes who do not understand.” She nicked his ear, careful not to draw blood. “Follow me.”

  She led him outside to their carriage. When it rolled forward, she threw back her cloak and released her hair to cascade past her shoulders. His eyes devoured her, hungrily staring at the mounds of flesh above her neckline, peeking through curls of hair.

  “Andrew Ashmore.” Even breathless he managed to sound polite.

  “Mr. Ashmore.” She bent her head in a formal greeting then leaned toward him to drop her hand on his upper thigh. When he made a choking sound, she kissed him.

  Bloodlust threatened to engulf her when she accidentally bit his clumsy tongue, but she tamped down her hunger and continued kissing and exploring his mouth.

  The carriage stopped and the door burst open. Andrew looked up and stiffened at seeing another man.

  “Stop,” he commanded and shifted to shield Marie with his body.

  She grabbed his chin and returned his mouth to hers.

  “Do you mind if I watch, my princess?” Anton asked.

  Marie released Andrew’s mouth. “I was expecting you.”

  The young Lieutenant shook his head. “What is this?”

  “My master wants to watch us.”

  Andrew’s eyes widened. “My apologies. I did not—” He broke off. “I do not—”

  “Shh,” Marie ordered, and Andrew gentled like a broken horse. “Are you hungry, Master?” She slipped down Andrew’s body, settling between his legs and proceeded to unbutton his breeches. He glanced between Anton and Marie, eyes wild, the blush of his arousal replaced by a dull paleness.

  She licked his penis and he groaned. Despite his daze, his body jerked in response. With a sudden baring of fangs, she clamped onto his thigh with one hand, biting into the inner flesh, while she massaged him with her other hand. His hardened penis, full of beguiling blood, pulsed against her palm.

  Aroused as much from the smell of blood as the smell of sex, Anton pushed Andrew’s h
ead away to expose his neck and bit down on the pliant flesh. Andrew climaxed. The shuddering and convulsions of his body forced Marie to release her grip, but Anton clung on, tearing flesh unnecessarily as he hung on until the last of the orgasm.

  When done, Anton flicked a patch of skin off his tooth. “I want you.”

  Marie’s mouth was red with fresh blood. He pulled her closer and licked it with delight. She gathered the silk of her skirt, raising it to settle on his lap. He pressed her legs wider and plunged into her at the same time that she bit into him. Their movements were quicker than Andrew could follow.

  Marie sucked from Anton, trying to take as much blood as she could from him before he came. It was the only time that he gave it freely because the harder she drew on him, the harder he became. Finally, his body shuddered with an intense orgasm. He came, and after a deep thrust, pushed her backward with a heavy hand. “Enough. Kill him,” Anton ordered.

  If we kill them all, who will we drink from? she wanted to ask, but what she said aloud was, “I am still thirsty.”

  He called her bluff. “Drink your fill and kill him. Now.”

  She lowered the skirt of her dress and arranged her cape around her. Then she cradled Andrew in her arms. The wound spilled pearls of blood and she licked them up before sliding her teeth into the same punctures. She closed her eyes to Anton’s face and the undiluted avarice in his expression. After drinking a little more, she opened her eyes and met Anton’s, then released her fangs and snapped Andrew’s neck, swallowing down every breath of compassion she had lest Anton smell it on her and torture her.

  She dropped the limp body and kicked it free of her legs. She was a fighter, but again she couldn’t help wonder when all of this would finally become too much for her.

  “I am very pleased with you. You have learned well.” Anton glowed as if he’d taught a puppy a complicated trick and the dog had obeyed.