by Olsen, Lisa
I was dimly aware that Rob had stopped feeding, shuffling to his feet, and Jakob had become fully engrossed in the feel of my mouth pulling at his wrist. Only when I felt his arm snake around my waist did I stop drinking, before he got too frisky.
“You’ve not had enough,” Jakob protested when I pulled away, his voice husky with need.
“I’m fine, better than fine, thank you.” The powerful Ellri blood had given me a strength of purpose, but that purpose was not to jump into the sack with Jakob. I wriggled out of his grasp with only one thought in mind. I had to reach Volkov before Bishop did what I knew he would.
Sure enough, Bishop’s head was still bent to Volkov’s throat, drinking deeply.
“Bishop stop… he’ll bleed out completely.”
“I think that’s the general idea,” Rob muttered at my side.
“Are you alright?” I asked softly, temporarily distracted from my goal by the sight of him.
“Good as new,” he nodded curtly, hardly sparing me a glance.
“Bishop,” I said more sharply. “Stop it, now.”
“He must pay, petal.” Jakob had recovered from the intimacy of sharing his blood, his movements slower, but still strong as he gained his feet.
Jakob’s blood made me reckless, it made me brash. I wanted to see Volkov’s blood pour out onto the floor. I wanted to bathe in it. But I forced those thoughts down into the darkest corner of my mind where I hoped like hell they never clawed their way to the surface again. Still, I wanted the man to suffer for how he’d treated us.
For what he’d done to Rob.
“I know. But not like that.” It was easy to pull Bishop away from his feast, thanks to the Ellri blood. “Like this.” I grabbed the poker from the rolling cart, its tip glowing hot from the can of Sterno that still burned low, and plunged it deep into Volkov’s chest. His eyes flew wide with pain and I loomed over him, wanting my face to be the last thing he saw.
“My name is Anja Evans, daughter of Jakob Thorssen and Elder of the West. I want you to remember that. This is what happens when you hurt what’s mine.” My muscles shook as I hovered over him, waiting for the light to fade from his eyes. It wouldn’t kill him, the hot metal wouldn’t even put him into a torpor. But with all the blood he’d lost, his body shut down, dragging him into a deep, coma-like sleep. With any luck he’d have plenty of time to relive those last few moments of tortured consciousness, trapped in a body that couldn’t respond.
“Put him in the ground like that. I want him to live for a long, long time.” My voice sounded cold to my own ears and part of me was sickened by what I’d done. The bigger part felt avenged though, and I decided to go with that for now.
Jakob laid a hand on my shoulder, his words gentle. “Come away, älskling, it is done.”
I looked up, aware of my surroundings again for the first time. The doorway to the cell and the hall beyond was packed with bodies, delegates and their crew crowding to get a look at the spectacle. What they thought of me kneeling over the impaled body of the head of the Order was unclear, varying ranges of shock and wonder on their faces.
There was no chance of sneaking out of there now, no chance for Jakob to hide who he was. Depending on how long they’d been standing there, at least some of them had to have heard me declare him my Sire. Rein Faust was the first to go down on one knee, and the others followed, their eyes downcast.
“Hail Jakob Thorssen, son of a living god and his consort!” Faust declared, in a ringing voice. The call was taken up by the others, and the ripple of greeting echoed through the stone walls.
Jaw dropping, my gaze darted up to see how Jakob took it, but he looked pleased as punch, his chest puffing out as he accepted the praise. “Wode tìan,” I murmured, as a feeling of dread settled into my stomach. My life was about to become so much more complicated.
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Books by Lisa Olsen:
The Touch
Pretty Witches All in a Row
Moonsong
Nine Steps to Sara
The Company Series:
The Company of Shadows
The Company of Darkness (announced)
The Fallen Series:
Angel of Mercy
Mercy for the Wicked
Mercy for the Damned
Child of Mercy
Mercy for the Fallen (end of 2013)
Forged Bloodlines Series:
Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down
Meet Me When the Sun Goes Down
Find Me When the Sun Goes Down
Miss Me When the Sun Goes Down
Follow Me When the Sun Goes Down
Hear Me When the Sun Goes Down (early 2014)
The Vampire Diaries:
Tabula Rasa
For more information, visit the author’s website at http://www.lisaolsen.net
or her author page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/lisaolsen
Nine Steps to Sara
“Repeat after me, I am Sara J. Darling, millionaire. I own a mansion and a yacht.”
The corner of Sara’s mouth tilted up into a faint smile as she conjured images of Elmer Fudd going through psychoanalysis to cure him of his rabbitosis. “I don’t own a yacht.”
“You could own a yacht…” Joanie’s green eyes darted to the dark window for a brief squint before they returned to regard Sara steadily. “You don’t know.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Sara allowed, leaning back against the supple leather seats of the chauffeured Mercedes. Despite the fact that the car was at least thirty years old by the body style, it’d obviously been kept in mint condition and still impressed the hell out of her. It was the first time she’d ridden in a car that cost more than her college education and for sure was the first time she’d been driven around in the back seat, unless she counted the time she took a cab to the hospital on the night Jack was born (but somehow, she didn’t think that fell into quite the same category).
Joanie had a good point though, she had very little understanding of her inheritance so far, only that it was big enough to earn her a plane ride and an all expense paid trip to England in style, and there was a manor house somewhere in the countryside with a family history she knew nothing about. After the year she’d had, it hadn’t taken more than thirty seconds to decide to go check it out, especially when her best friend offered to come along for the ride. Still, Joanie’s excited speculation had spilled into the ridiculous after so many hours spent traveling.
“Why would I have a yacht? It’s a land locked estate.” Probably. There could be a lake, she supposed. If she hadn’t been so excited to get the heck out of town, she might have asked a few more questions. As it was, she had a vague sense the estate was somewhere in the south, but that was about it.
Joanie waved her hand back and forth, unconcerned with logic. “So? England is basically an island. It’s like a nothing commute to get to the water.”
A snort came from the front seat, and Sara looked up to catch a flash of the driver’s grin. “I’m not too sure about that,” she murmured, looking out the window, but she couldn’t penetrate the gloomy fog apart from the occasional glimpse of an empty paddock or a copse of dark trees. “We’ve been driving an awful long time.”
“You’re telling me, I shouldn’t have had those drinks on the train,” Joanie muttered, shifting in her seat. “Excuse me, driver?” she leaned forward, bright auburn hair glowing as it caught in the dashboard lights. “How much longer is this gonna take?”
“Just until we arrive, Miss.”
“Okay, thanks,” Joanie slumped back against the seat and Sara looked up again, teeth pressed against the inside of her lips to keep from laughing as she caught his wink in the rearvi
ew mirror. Had he introduced himself? Sara couldn’t be sure with all the rigmarole to get their luggage to the car and make sure Jack didn’t go wandering off on his own. What he must think of them… Sara wasn’t sure what to expect from the locals yet. Would they accept her as the new heir or did they have their hopes set on a different disposition for the estate? Would they even care? It wasn’t clear how much her family’s estate was tied up in the local community, but for a town called Darlington, she imagined it was close.
Incapable of maintaining silence for more than a few minutes, Joanie snuck her way back onto Sara’s train of thought. “What is a Baronet anyway? Is it like a baby Baron?”
“Near as I can tell it’s not as high up as a Baron; it just means Jack will have to get used to being called Sir.”
“That makes you a Lady I guess, huh?”
“I suppose so,” Sara smiled faintly at the tinge of jealousy in Joanie’s voice.
“Thank God you got the call after your divorce came through,” she said, out of the blue.
“What?” Sara blinked, not tracking the change in subject right away. “Oh, I don’t know, I could have used the luck a little earlier in the game.” When she thought of the tiny little apartment they’d been crammed into for the past six months… the call couldn’t have come soon enough.
“Are you kidding me? Peter would have pissed it all away inside of a year.”
“Joanie!” she exclaimed, somewhere between a whisper and a hiss.
“What?”
“Shh, I don’t want him to hear you,” Sara scowled, even if it was true.
“Oh please, you know Jack can sleep through a hurricane,” Joanie demonstrated by poking the boy in the ribs with no response. But for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Jackson appeared dead to the world.
“Still…” Sara looked down at her sleeping son, slumped over on the seat between them. Small for a boy of eight, his dark brown hair was the exact shade as hers, blue eyes hidden behind round glasses that slipped low on his nose in his present position. Despite the fact that she knew he wasn’t listening, it didn’t feel right to talk about his father with him right there, even if she did agree with her friend’s opinion of the guy.
“I’m just saying, it gives me a happy to think he won’t get his hands on all your money. Can you imagine Peter with some serious cash behind him?” a roll of the eyes was given.
“I’m having a hard enough time picturing me with money,” Sara answered diplomatically, hoping to change the subject. For the next twenty minutes they chatted about what might be waiting for them at the end of their journey. Joanie seemed to think they’d land in an episode of Downton Abbey; the liveried servants lined up in front of the building, neatly dressed and pressed to greet her. Sara couldn’t imagine owning something so large; she was convinced it’d be more along the lines of a cottage with some pretty gardens. At least she hoped so; gardening was one of the few things she missed about the three bedroom split level home in LA.
A crunch of gravel alerted them as the car pulled onto the private road. “This is it, we’re almost there,” Sara breathed in excitement, wondering if she should wake Jack or let him keep sleeping. As they drew closer to the hulking shadow of the building, she decided to go with the latter; for the moment there was nothing to see. The house was completely dark, no signs of life to be found as they approached.
“Are you sure you have the right place?” Joanie frowned, leaning forward with a squint that couldn’t penetrate the darkness.
“This is Darling Park right enough,” the driver spoke, the lilt of his accent reminding Sara of the brief wink she’d seen in the mirror. “Don’t worry; I’m sure they’re about somewhere. Hold on a tick, I’ll get things sorted out. I’ll leave the engine running to keep the car warm for you.” Before either of them could so much as blink, he was out the driver’s side door, bounding into the fog that closed ranks behind him, enveloping him into the velvet murkiness.
“See, I told you it wouldn’t be like in the movies,” Sara’s voice fell to a whisper as she focused her attention on the driveway.
“Sure it is; it’s just the type of movie where we get murdered in our beds before sunrise,” Joanie replied sourly and Sara gave her a playful shove.
It was pretty creepy out there, the fog encasing them in a cocoon of silver mist, completely obscuring the house from view. She got the sense it was big, bigger than she’d thought, but that was about it. “At least we’re warm enough.” No sooner had she made the pronouncement, than the fates intervened; the car engine dying with a sputter. “I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute,” Sara added, unsure which one of them she was trying to convince more.
“This is stupid; why don’t we get out and go up to the front door?” Joanie muttered, unbuckling her seat belt.
“Fine,” Sara nodded, preparing to do the same. All at once, the mist swirled higher, cloaking the car in darkness. Sara shivered as the temperature plummeted, her breath visible in the sudden chill. “On second thought…”
Joanie pulled up the fur collar of her coat, bringing her hands up to blow on them. “Did I say murdered in our beds?”
“It’s just fog,” the words full of false bravado, Sara leaned against the window, desperate to find anything in the swirling fog to give her a point of reference. They could be completely cast adrift at sea for all she could tell; even the hulking shadow of the house was entirely hidden. Another shiver went through Sara as her fingertips pressed against the frigid glass; the sudden crunch of gravel the only warning before the door flew open and she nearly tumbled out, if not for the strong arms of the driver.
“Careful, my Lady,” he smiled, restoring her balance. Behind him, she could make out the entry of the house and then the fog seemed to dissipate, the porch lights dispelling the gloom with warm, yellow light.
“Thanks… I mean, sorry… for falling all over you like that. We thought you’d left us,” Sara offered a sheepish grin, releasing her death grip on his arms and busying herself with picking up Jack who still slept the sleep of the innocent.
“Would you like me to take him for you?”
“Oh, no, I’ve got him, thanks,” she flashed him a quick smile as she scooted out of the back seat, Joanie hot on her heels.
A matronly woman with iron gray hair pulled back into a bun in a severe black dress hovered by the door, peering at them with interest. “You’re early; we weren’t expecting you for another hour.”
“I’m sorry…” Sara’s teeth caught at her bottom lip, “we didn’t mean to be a bother…”
“Heavens, don’t apologize, my Lady,” she chuckled. “I wasn’t blaming you in the slightest,” her eyes lit upon the driver who deposited the first of the bags in the hallway.
“The train’s come early. I tried to call…” he started to explain, but she waved him off.
“The phones are a bit spotty every now and again. Come in, come in, you must be cold to the bone,” she waved them deeper into the entryway that stretched at least thirty feet high before a grand wooden staircase stained a rich mahogany.
The wallpaper was a little faded and the furnishings old fashioned, but there was no mistaking the grandeur of the home. An alternating pattern of honey yellow and dark brown marble tiles decorated the entry floor in a mosaic pattern picked up in the crystal chandelier that hung above. If a few tiles were weathered and cracked, it was still more impressive than anything Sara had seen outside of the silver screen, and it was polished to a high sheen.
The air felt wrong to Sara, a bit musty with disuse perhaps, but it was warmer than the chill outside. Next to the woman, a man stood at the door in a pair of gray trousers and a worn cardigan with leather patches on the elbows, his weathered face split into a welcoming smile.
“Thomas close the door, you’re letting all the heat out,” the old woman chided him gently, and he rushed to do her bidding, closing the door on the driver who still struggled with the last of the bags by the car.
“I
’m Mrs. Poole, the housekeeper. My husband and I are the only regular staff for Darling Park at present. Thomas, hurry get a fire going in the parlor while I get them some tea.”
“Right-o, we’ll have you warmed up inside and out in no time,” he grinned, revealing a flash of store bought teeth, but Sara called him back, not wanting them to go to too much trouble on her behalf.
“That’s not necessary,” she shifted her hold on Jack, his head lolling against her shoulder. More than anything she was a little tired, and the worst of the chill had already worn off. “It’s sweet of you, really, but I think all we want to do is get some rest. Oh, this is my friend, Joanie and I’m Sara Bailey, or Darling.” Not used to using her maiden name again, it sounded strange to her ears.
“Of course you are, you’re the spitting image of Lady Margaret, isn’t she?” Mrs. Poole replied and Thomas nodded sagely.
“Indeed she is.”
“Who’s Lady Margaret?” Joanie asked, suddenly finding her voice after spending the last few minutes gawking at the size of the foyer.
“That would be her ladyship’s grandmother, a few generations removed, of course,” Thomas replied genially, and it was odd for Sara to think she had a common ancestry with the Lady of the house. Of course, now she was the Lady of the house…
The door opened and the driver deposited the rest of the bags with a thud that echoed in the open space. A frown knit Mrs. Poole’s brows together at the unceremonious interruption, but she smoothed her expression before turning to Sara. “Would you like me to have Will take the young master up? There’s a proper fire laid out for him in preparation.”
“Oh no, I can do it,” Sara shook her head. “Just point me in the right direction, I’m used to it.”
Another flutter of distress went through Mrs. Poole and the young chauffeur stepped up. “Of course you are, but you’ll be knackered after your long journey,” he held his arms wide to take Jack from her. “Don’t worry, my Lady, I’ll take care of him like he was my own.”
