by Jan McDonald
The Proconsul nodded towards his companion signalling his contribution.
“Patriarch, I too believe the Proconsul is premature in his call for revision of the Code but, with the pressure from the Born, we are facing unrest that could escalate to a second war. Perhaps it would be prudent to show ourselves willing to compromise?”
“I will compromise on nothing. How dare you? You who have bought your way into the Curia – oh yes, I am aware of the background machinations. And why? This so-called Anti-HVV serum of yours. Are you insane? You can have no idea of the consequences of such a thing. The Council members that support you are as insane as you are.”
He saw the blade coming, saw murder in the other’s eyes – and did nothing.
Proconsul Rabb turned to his companion. “Leave. I will attend to what has to be done now. There is no need for us both to be a party to this. I will be in touch soon. Your support will not be forgotten, Prelate.
“I am grateful, Mihai. You will always find me loyal to you when you are officially our new Patriarch.” He bent low in an almost mock bow.
“Thank you, but there is much to do before that is assured. And you should know that only my oldest friends call me Mihai; I don’t believe you qualify and I would be grateful if you would recall that in future.”
“I apologise, Proconsul. Some of us have had so many identities over the centuries, protecting ourselves and those we love.”
Michael Rabb seriously doubted whether the Prelate had ever loved another soul in all of his comparatively young life. “It is as you say. Now, if you would leave, I will continue here.” He nodded significantly at the bloody blade still in his tightly clenched fist.
The Prelate bowed again and left without Michael Rabb seeing the resentment that played around the sensual mouth and hard eyes. If he had tried to read his companion he would have heard his thoughts. ‘Take your glory now Proconsul. I am going to be rewarded by greater than you, and then we will see who will revise the Code and who will be elected Patriarch. My benefactor has the greatest of all influences with no need for titles and Councils. When I return his son to him and . . . ah yes, the mother of his son, he will deny me nothing.’
*
Nik had indeed slept heavily and the sun had weakened and was low in the sky when he awoke, even so his retinas stung but he loved that. It was a reminder of who and what he was, and his potential.
The house was silent, it appeared that Santorini had not yet returned from wherever it was that had claimed him so importantly.
Nik yawned leisurely and strolled across to the dressing room. He opened the vast wardrobe and flicked through the clothes hanging pristine inside – Versace, Armani, Dior. He glanced down at the crumpled heap of his old denim jeans and T-shirt and a slow smile spread its way across his face, almost, but not quite, softening the cruel mouth and hard violet eyes. He picked the old clothes up as though they were contaminated and tossed them into the bin standing in the corner of the room. Goodbye uncertain teenager; hello sophisticated, soon to be, man of the world, well, vampire of the world.
He laughed aloud at his thoughts. What had seemed a curse was now a blessing and, when he was reunited with his father, he would no longer have need of Santorini and his arrogance. In the meantime he would use his power and knowledge and obvious influence to his own advantage – that way he would not appear to his father as a troublesome burden but a youthful vampire with a world of promise.
He became aware of Santo’s presence as a wave of unwelcome uncertainty washed over him. He spun around to find Santorini leaning against the open doorway, arms folded, with an air of amusement that only served to feed Nik’s resentment.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to enjoy your pleasure at your new life, Nik. That’s all. You are quite right, you will make a beautiful, sophisticated vampire and your powers will bring you anything that you desire. I am only pleased that I will have played a part in your transformation.”
Nik was uncomfortable; Santo had read his thoughts. Had he also picked up on his resentment and plans to abandon him once his father had accepted him as his own?
Santo came into the room and reached inside the wardrobe, retrieving a summer weight Versace suit and accessories.
“This one, I think. The soft grey will enhance the purple in your eyes. And it will be hot when we land in Greece. You will be glad of the comfort of the silk.”
“Greece? We’re going today? But you said . . .”
“I have changed my mind. There are things about to happen here that I would prefer not to be a party to. It will be good for me to be in another country for a while. I will expect you downstairs and ready to leave in an hour. Pack what you want, I find Greece sadly lacking in creature comforts these days. Quite frankly, it amazes me that your father chooses to remain there.”
Once more, Nik was irritated by Santorini’s tone, especially as he was close to criticising his father. He doubted that Santo would voice his amazement so freely to his father in person.
“What is about to happen? Why do you need to leave?”
“Nothing that need concern you, Nik – although I do need to teach you some of our history about the vampire wars, the Council, and the Code; yes, the Code is about to become a part of our history, along with the Council in its present form. Get ready, Nik. I will educate you as we travel. One hour.”
He was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The bright sunlight burned against Kat’s delicate new retinas, and she quickly closed the blinds on the window again. Unsure of her whereabouts and totally disorientated she began pacing the room; prowling, fuming.
She had awoken as Michael Rabb took her from the bed at the Sanctuary and, even though her vampire strength and senses were at a new height, she had been unable to fight against him, either physically or psychically. Whoever he was, he was indeed a powerful vampire. He had not spoken to her except to tell her that fighting him would be futile and the truth of his terse statement was immediately apparent.
Rabb took her to a room that was little more than a prison cell. There was a simple divan bed and an en-suite bathroom and nothing else. Even without a clock, the degree of burn in her eyes told her that the sun was high in the sky. She thought it was probably somewhere around the early afternoon. Michael Rabb had not made an appearance since he had dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and told her that he would return later in the day; that she would not be able to escape and, that she would be better resting than wasting her energy in trying to do so.
Her thoughts were solely on Rabb and his motives. Why had he taken her from the Sanctuary? Who was he? A vampire of considerable power, that was obvious, but there was something else; something that she couldn’t define. He had an air of authority and was obviously used to having his instructions obeyed but, beyond that she thought she sensed ruthlessness tempered with compassion. The whole picture was confused.
She wondered where he had gone; to sleep ahead of the night, when presumably he would be at his best and be out seeking to feed? The house had been cloaked in the pastels of the dawn when she had arrived with him after travelling, apparently, hardly any distance at all. And throughout the house there had been no sign of any other presence. He had carried her from the moment he had picked her up from the Sanctuary bed and stepped from the window ledge out into the night. His physical strength was phenomenal and even with her new found abilities she had been unable to free herself from his iron grip.
Reaching out with her heightened senses she knew that she was still alone in the house, a solitary prisoner. She had tried for over an hour to open the door to the room and failed and, from the pain in her eyes when she opened the blinds, it was obvious that she would be unable to cope with the sunshine without darkened lenses. It was easy to see where the literary and Hollywood myth of vampires burning up in sunlight had come from, however exaggerated.
It seemed she had to be content with waiting for
his return.
Kat sat on the bed and listened, searching the neighbourhood to try to identify sounds and aromas that may give away her location. She locked onto a woman who was frustrated and worn out by her crying baby. Concentrating on her hearing she was suddenly surprised when she found herself ‘looking in’ on the scene. The woman was young; not much more than in her late teens. Her hair was unkempt and her face was lined and haggard, aged beyond her years with lack of sleep and hardship. Her one-room flat was untidy and Kat could sense the despair even from her distance. Her heart went out to her and the child and she wondered if she could make her presence known and give some kind of comfort.
Before she could put this to the test, her consciousness returned to her predicament and her surroundings. It had been a shock and one that she hadn’t thought about. Her physical senses were heightened to the ultimate degree, so why not her psychic abilities? Both Lane and Andrei had both shown this capability but she had assumed that it was a trait that came with time and experience. She tried to focus back on the young girl, but although she could still hear the infant crying she could not overlook them again.
Thoughts of Lane brought Beckett into her mind – if only she could reach out psychically to him; draw him to her, to her rescue. She became irritated at her own frustration and scorned herself for the fantasy. Then, as suddenly as it had happened before, her consciousness travelled outwards again, and this time it found a target that responded to her immediately.
She sensed him at first and then ‘saw’ his burning eyes, felt the power of his thoughts and heard him as he whispered to her across the ether.
‘Where are you, Katerini? Ah, I see you; a beautiful prisoner and you wait for your rescuer, no? How romantic. Sadly, real life is not that way. Or perhaps, it is … shall I be your rescuer Katerini? Will you come with me? Shall we journey together? I appear to be too late here, and have missed those I sought, but instead you have found me. I will come for you, I see that you have transformed into a very beautiful vampire. I sensed that potential in you and I am not to be disappointed.’
Kat surrendered her mind to the seductive depths of Andrei’s consciousness. She had no idea of how she had managed to connect with him, but the warmth that arose within her, softly stroking her mind and being with its sensuous tentacles, robbed her of any resistance.
“Andrei,” she whispered aloud. “help me. I will come with you. I want you; want to be with you.”
His voice was at the very centre of her being, sending ripples of pleasure throughout her body and, she heard his every word within her essence, within her cells. ‘Remember,’ he whispered, ‘remember how you became what you are. Relive it, moment by moment and I will come to you, following the energy of that memory.’
“I remember,” was all she could say; her whole consciousness now in another place. She saw the emerald light within the absinthe, the heavy velvet drapes on the ancient four poster bed, the flicker of the seductive firelight. Then she felt his hands on her body, persuading again, searching again, finding again.
She writhed in pleasure at the sensation of his mouth at her throat, breast and thigh, and as he released the crimson life force from her vein she passed from pleasure through ecstasy and finally into hunger – a hunger a so deep that she felt that it would never be sated and a thirst that would never be quenched.
Until she drank from a vein that still pulsed with life.
In the time it took for the thought to lodge in her mind, she was off the bed, alert, sensing the other’s presence.
He had come.
“Katerini, go to the window. The sun will burn your eyes only momentarily. Step out onto the ledge and I will be there should you fall. Trust me Katerini, I will not allow you to come to harm. I need you too.”
Kat sensed truth in his words and warmed to him again, he was not as bad as Lane and Beckett had tried to paint him. They had their own agendas, and – after all – it was Andrei that had come to her aid, not Lane or Beckett and, it had been Lane that had left her vulnerable at the Sanctuary. To hell with them both.
She went to window and hesitated only momentarily in pulling back the heavy blind. The sun had lost some of its earlier potency but the tingle on her retinas was instant and progressed to a burning in moments; she squinted against its glare.
“Come Katerini. Trust me. I will shield you from it.”
She opened the window with apparent ease; it had been unlocked all the time as her captor relied on her daylight blindness to confine her. Her painful eyes streamed and the dazzle was almost unbearable. She put her forearm over her eyes and stepped out onto the window ledge.
“Step out, Katerini, step out and into my arms.”
She took her arm away and found herself looking into Andrei’s sultry face. His arms were outstretched as he once again defied gravity and hovered in front of the window ledge. His eyes blazed crimson and his sensuous lips were parted, revealing the white sharpness of his elongated canines.
And she stepped out.
*
The reception area and desk at the Sanctuary was deserted and no sound came from anywhere within when Lane eventually returned. She had driven directly to Santorini’s home to find the place empty. It didn’t matter; she had his lair, and there would be another time.
Despite the advancing daylight, Lane felt more alive than she had for days. Although she possessed an innate dislike of violence and killing, she had no qualms in dispatching anyone who preyed on the innocent and vulnerable. Killing the old man had been distasteful but it was tinged with satisfaction that there was one less perverted predator prowling her territory and preying on young girls whose mothers should be taking better care of them. She despaired of modern society and its lack of cohesion. It all stemmed from the breakdown of the family and family values – no wonder the kids were angry; they had every right to be. It was such a shame that their reaction was one of violence and disrespect. She shook her head, trying to dispel the path her thoughts were taking. She needed to be positive for Kat; she was going to travel to hell and back before she could come to terms with her new condition and, she needed Lane and Beckett’s protection. Already she’d been away too long, but it had been necessary – finding the whereabouts of Andrei was equally important if she was going to protect Kat properly, and it coincided with the quest for her own answers.
She was at the foot of the stairs before the stillness of the place hit her. She stopped and reached out with her vampire senses. Something was very wrong. She could only detect a single heartbeat in the building and that was human.
In a single fluid movement she was on the landing and seconds later she threw open the door to Kat’s room. Jane lay curled up asleep on the bed. Of Kat there was no sign.
Lane shook the sleeping girl forcibly, immediately aware that her sleep was unnatural.
“Jane. Jane, wake up. What the hell ….?”
The girl stirred and struggled to open her eyes. Lane crossed to the window and yanked open the curtains.
Jane sat up slowly. “Doctor Dearing?”
Lane lost no time in probing the girls mind, sensing immediately the shield on her memory placed there by one of her own kind. “Jane, release your mind to me. I need to see what happened here.”
Jane nodded, all too aware of the nature of the Sanctuary and its business and patrons. Lane’s tone left her in no doubt of the urgency of the situation. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willingly allowing Lane entry to her deepest consciousness.
“Good girl. Thank you,” said Lane softly.
She saw Kat asleep on the bed and Jane answering the intercom. The scene flashed to outside the room then and she felt the thrill of the seduction as Jane surrendered to Michael Rabb. Then the empty bed and Jane falling asleep on it, totally oblivious of all that had taken place. Now though, with Lanes probing, she was all too aware.
Her hand flew to the tingle on her neck and throat where Rabb’s seduction still lingered. The thrill of his touc
h was still fresh on her skin and she felt her response as if she still lay against his chest. Her eyes filled with tears as she realised the enormity of what had happened.
“Oh, God,” she whispered in a strangled voice. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry. I … I should have …”
Lane put her arm around Jane’s shoulders. “Shhh. It’s OK. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left her. At least I know where to find her, thanks to you allowing me in.” She took in the girl’s distress; it wasn’t fair to leave her this way. The fault hadn’t been hers. Lane didn’t know the human that would be able to withstand Michael Rabb’s intentions, fair or foul. It was with good reason that he held such a high post in the Curia and, given her earlier misgivings, she was alarmed to the edge of panic.
She probed Jane’s mind one more time, erasing once more the memories of what had taken place. ‘Sleep again,’ she instructed the girl.
Jane would wake unaware of the events of the previous night and Lane had left the suggestion that she had slept for only moments.
Lane closed the door gently, a grim expression etched on her face. Now for Michael Rabb. What the hell did he want with Kat, and how did he even know about her? And where in God’s name was Beckett? This would be the second time she would have to tell him that she’d lost Kat and didn’t look forward to it in the slightest. She felt an unreasonable resentment against him. Damn the man.
As for Rabb, she decided that surprise would be her best tactic, although this relied on the fact that he wouldn’t be scanning his surroundings for other vampire presences.
Proconsul Rabb lived in an old Celtic manor house; a stereotypical dwelling place for a vampire of his great age, as the ancients seemed to take comfort from the history in the fabric of their homes – especially when built of stone which probably stored more memories than they did, having been on, and part of, the Earth for far longer.
