Bloodcraft

by Amalie Howard

  “I love you,” she said as his hands trembled in hers. Touching his cheek, she climbed off his lap, putting some space between them. Despite the distance, she could feel her blood churning wildly, tempting him, inciting him to take it, and she shivered at the volatility of it. Her blood’s siren call was near impossible to resist, and she knew how hard it was for him. He’d once told her that he’d risk the consequences of her blood’s appeal because he couldn’t deprive himself of never being able to touch her.

  Seeing the savage transformation in his face and the tips of teeth pressing into his lower lip, she wondered whether he still thought the same. Christian stood and kissed her fingers, and with the ever-present apology in his eyes, excused himself from the room. Victoria watched him leave, his long, lithe body loping with an easy grace across the back gardens into the forest beyond.

  The château sat at the edge of the Fontainebleau forest, which, as in the days of old, continued to fulfill its function as a royal hunting park, for Christian’s purposes anyway. She pressed a finger to her lips, the impression of his lingering on them. Sometimes she felt like the vampire, as if she were the one who couldn’t get enough of him. And most times, she didn’t know if those feelings were hers or those of her blood. Given the chance, her blood would devour Christian’s very essence until there was nothing left.

  It thrummed in her veins as if sensing her ominous thoughts, its hunger unabated and ever-present. It, too, was voracious and would consume anything to sate its dark thirst—even the one she loved. Victoria shivered, wrapping her arms about herself and staring toward the forest lost in thought. She wasn’t afraid of Christian or the fact that he was a vampire. After all, she was more of a monster than he could ever be.

  TWO

  Desperate Measures

  An hour away from Fontainebleau, Lucian stalked into the study of his palatial Paris apartment, seething with frustration. He poured himself two fingers of brandy and swallowed the amber liquid in one sip. Things were not going according to plan. Despite Lena’s new position on the Vampire Council secured by the House of Devereux, it seemed once again, that he had underestimated the Council’s suspicion of his motives. Lena had just imparted the news that the Council had been reorganized and enlarged.

  With the death of Enhard, a respected Elder, the Council had been split into two groups, with the seven remaining Elders forming an additional line above the members of the general council. Together with the three vampires of royal blood, they were to be called the High Council. While the general council was expected to handle most of the standard affairs, the purpose of the High Council was to act as a final arbiter. In addition, the general council had also been expanded to twenty-five members. Previously a combined total of just twenty members, with the new changes, the governing body for the vampires was now a multi-layered organization of thirty-five.

  The intent was not lost on Lucian. He knew that the reorganization was a calculated, strategic move by the Council to attempt to diffuse the power of the House of Devereux. His nomination of Lena had only forced their hand. They couldn’t remove her seat, so they had gone the only route available to them—creating the High Council to discuss information that Lena and, by default, he, Lucian, would not be privy to.

  To make matters worse, his brother’s recent return to Paris meant that as a vampire royal, Christian would claim a seat on the High Council. Even though they both descended from royal blood, Christian was first-born and held the title of the Duke of Avigny. It infuriated Lucian that he wasn’t the one to hold the station when Christian had never wanted it in the first place and had renounced their ways, to the point of disappearing in some desolate town in North America. And yet, they all revered him.

  Lucian scraped his hands through his cropped golden hair, his mouth pulled into a sneer. And now, his prodigal brother had returned, and with a witch as his consort, no less. Although Lucian’s own credibility with the Council was at an all time low, given that they had unanimously voted for his execution just a few months before, he vowed that he’d find a way to rip Christian from his venerated pedestal. That witch would be the key.

  Striding to the window to peruse the sea of bodies on the street below, a familiar ache started to burn in his chest. His jaw tightened. Perhaps a meal would calm his rotten temper. He’d just made up his mind to go for a stroll when the door opened and Lena walked in. Her pale skin held a becoming flush as she glowed with stolen radiance.

  “Did you just feed?” he asked sourly.

  Lena’s mouth thinned at his tone, but she headed over to where he was standing. “Yes. Care for some?”

  She embraced him, her blue eyes flashing at the sharp feral hunger in his. Lena knew he liked it this way—it gave him a thrill to take something that she had just taken into herself moments before. Without a word, she tilted the long column of her neck backward in silent invitation. Her fingers bit into his shoulders when he sank his teeth into the side of her throat, feeling the still-warm life course into him as he crushed her unbreakable body to his.

  It felt like hours before he emerged from the desperate feeding haze that enveloped him, but Lucian knew that it had only been moments. He felt better. Clearer. Calmer. As much as he liked taking blood directly from the humans, he enjoyed it this way, too. Something about the combination—desire and bloodlust—was an electrifying mix. He licked her neck, sweeping away the last weeping droplets from her translucent skin.

  “Better?” she asked, fixing her hair and watching him, her expression unreadable.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Lena straightened and walked towards the fireplace where she sat down and studied him. The wound on her neck healed in seconds and the flush that had tinted her skin earlier disappeared, leaving her perfect face like pristine alabaster. Her long pale blond hair fell in a silky curtain over her shoulders. She waited for him to speak.

  “What of the Council? Have they discussed Le Sang Noir?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.

  “Yes and no,” she said, her husky voice low. Lucian raised his eyebrows at her answer. Le Sang Noir was what the Witch Clans called the Cruentus Curse—the terrible blood curse that had been his obsession for decades. Only when he’d finally found it, his brother had been the one to take its power. And even though its terrifying magic had almost destroyed them both, Lucian could never forgive Christian for claiming what was meant to be his … for always taking what was his.

  His fists clenched as Lena continued. “The Council is close, based on what the Watchers are saying, but the Witch Clans have not been able to identify the witch from the prophecy. They are still looking,” she added. “Even though she’s right under their noses.”

  Lucian’s brow furrowed. “I wonder why Christian hasn’t told them who she is. He must know that it would bring him even more adoration that he already enjoys,” he said. “Unless of course, he has some other purpose. I presume it must be something to do with protecting her.”

  Lena’s eyes dimmed at the mention of Christian, but she shook her head in a careless shrug. “Either way, the Council has more pressing matters on its plate.”

  “What could possibly be more important than the blood curse that could hold dominion over the supernatural world?” he said. Lena inclined her head, studying her nails as if considering her words with care. Lucian frowned as her eyes met his. “Spit it out.”

  “The Council is considering your appeal, but they are also considering retaliation.”

  “Retaliation against what?”

  “You.” Lena’s voice was so quiet, it was almost a whisper. “Even if they vote against execution, you will have to be punished for your part in the death of Enhard.”

  “I had nothing to do with his death.”

  Well, except for showing up at the crucial moment that had allowed a warlock to effectively dispatch the old vampire. It had been providential. He could have helped, he supposed, but Enhard had been a thorn in Lucian’s side
ever since he could remember. The fact that he’d been Christian’s maker had only made his death sweeter. Hurting Christian gave Lucian a pleasure like no other. Even now, he savored the memory of the look on his brother’s face the moment Enhard had met his end.

  “Not directly anyway, and that old fool deserved it,” he added.

  “Lucian, the Elders’ memories are connected. Enhard’s last vision before he died was of your face. In their minds, you have already been tried and convicted. They knew how much you hated him …” She trailed off.

  “Did they now?”

  Lucian knew she had argued on his behalf that an obscure memory did not make Lucian Enhard’s murderer, but most of the older members of the Council had clung to the idea so desperately that it’d been an uphill battle. Now they despised him, and Lena remained his only advocate. Lucian eyed the beautiful, composed vampire sitting across from him. He had never questioned her loyalty.

  After Christian had left the House of Devereux, she’d had no one, and he had been the only one there for her. He’d taken her in at first as a means to punish his brother, but over the years, Lena had become his most dependable confidante. With benefits. Despite the fact that she’d forever be linked to Christian because he was her maker, Lucian had grown to trust her. Her lust for power and ambition rivaled his. And he knew that she loathed Christian with a deep-rooted, immeasurable hatred, which meant that she would never betray Lucian.

  “When’s the final vote?” he asked.

  “In a few weeks,” she said. “It has to be unanimous, so we do have a little more time.”

  “Time for what?” Lucian could see that Lena was getting at something, and the careful blank look on her face made him edgy. “Don’t be shy, go on.”

  “To get on your brother’s good side,” she said. His face pulled into a scowl, and she placed her hands up in a placating gesture. “Hear me out. He’s the only one the Council will listen to and he was there in that underground chamber. He knows that you did not kill Enhard. He is the only one who can vouch for you.”

  “No,” Lucian snarled, standing so quickly that the chair beneath him slammed into the nearby wall. He stalked to the bar and poured himself another drink. “I would prefer execution than beg for his help.”

  “Lucian, please be reasonable. The Council will not delay a decision based on my vote alone. I will be overruled.” Lena’s voice was carefully modulated. She knew that if she pushed him too far, he would refuse just on principle. And of course he would. The thought of begging his brother to help him was ludicrous. Lena stood and walked toward him, resting her palm on his shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you, Lucian. Just promise me that you’ll at least consider it.”

  “There’s nothing that would ever make me do that,” he said, flinging her arm off with a violent shrug. “I would rather be burned in the fires of hell than beg my esteemed brother for anything. And you would do well to never mention it again.”

  Despite his ferocious threat, Lena stared at him and tried again. “Look,” she began, “your brother’s position as a royal vampire overlord on the High Council will afford him the authority to veto any decision of the Council. Even if he has to recuse himself from the vote given your relationship, he could prove without a doubt that Enhard had not died by your hand, and then you have a chance. Surely that’s worth something.” She took a deep breath. “Surely that’s worth your life.”

  “I do not need him,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

  “You do, but your goddamned pride won’t let you see beyond that.”

  “We are all damned, aren’t we, my love?”

  Her mouth tightened at his flippancy. “I’ll call him. You won’t have to do a thing.”

  Lucian watched in annoyance as she picked up the handset and dialed a number. She placed the call on speakerphone as Victoria’s lilting female voice answered. Lucian ignored the twinge in his stomach at the sound of it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, may I speak to Christian … er … His Grace?” Lena asked, forgetting to use Christian’s formal address. Lucian’s mouth flattened.

  “He’s out. May I say who’s calling, please?”

  “It’s Lena. I’ll try his cellphone. Thank you,” she said quickly and disconnected. She dialed another number. Lucian frowned, realizing that she had both numbers committed to memory, even after all these years. Despite himself, an unfamiliar bitter feeling coiled in his stomach, one he’d long forgotten.

  It clicked on, the voice imperious. “Yes?”

  “Christian, it’s Lena,” she said, her tone cautious. “I know I’m the last person you expected to hear from, but I need to see you regarding something important. It’s about Lucian. I … we … need your help. Can you stop by?”

  Lucian heard the dead silence on the other end of the phone line and knew that Lena had blindsided Christian with her blunt request. The silence deepened and he exhaled in an irritated rush. His brother would never agree to help him. His brows drew together and he was about to tell Lena to hang up when Christian spoke. “Where?”

  “My place. You remember?”

  “Yes. Thirty minutes.” The phone clicked off.

  Lena stared at Lucian, her look of triumph fading from her face at the glare on his. “My place made the most sense,” she explained. “There are too many people watching your every step here.”

  At her reasoning, he fought to bring his roiling jealousy under control. Lena’s apartment did make the most sense—they wouldn’t be overheard, and she had guards of her own. He poured himself a liberal helping of brandy and drained his glass in a single gulp. It wouldn’t matter if he drank the entire contents of the decanter, but the fire burning a path to his stomach kept his raging emotions at bay. “You’re wrong about him. He won’t help.”

  “He will.”

  “You better be right,” he said and stalked out of the room. The door crashed into its frame behind him.

  †††

  Christian stared at the silver phone in his hand and wondered what Lena’s game was. He pocketed the device, releasing his mental hold on the animal he’d fed from earlier. The deer bounded off on shaky legs into the woods. He debated what Lena really wanted. There was a chance that she wasn’t playing one of her usual games and his brother really did need his help, but with either of them, he could never be sure. The last time he’d seen Lena, she’d been clear that her … affections for him hadn’t changed. But Christian wasn’t interested in Lena. Not anymore. Not when he had Victoria.

  As he ran back toward his house, he felt the soft brush of Victoria’s voice in his mind. Lena called. Christian understood her hesitancy.

  Yes, I just talked to her, something to do with Lucian. I’ll be back soon.

  You’re going to see her?

  I have to. I love you.

  Okay, she said after a long pause. I love you, too.

  Christian felt her withdraw, sensing the coolness at the end of their mental conversation. He sighed. Victoria had nothing to worry about. His courtship with Lena ended a long time ago, but he knew that Victoria agonized over the fact that he had made Lena into a vampire. It was something she could never expect to become. But what Victoria didn’t seem to get was that Lena represented everything he hated about himself—her fierce love for killing went against everything that he believed. Lena belonged with someone like Lucian.

  Christian didn’t bother to head back into the house, instead sliding into the sleek car parked out front. He made the drive to Lena’s apartment in Puteaux, a western suburb of Paris, in exactly half an hour. La Défense touched on the northern part of Puteaux, which made it a convenient location for Lena as most of the Council meetings took place at their headquarters in the Tour Areva in La Défense. Christian also owned a home in the nearby suburb of Le Vésinet, but he rarely used that residence, instead preferring the château in Fontainebleau where he and Victoria were temporarily ensconced. Lena’s apartment was in a m
odern development overlooking the Seine River, and she was waiting for him out front as he parked.

  “Lena,” he said as he stepped out of the car. As always, she was impeccably dressed in a chic black suit. Her face was guarded as she leaned forward and kissed him in the French custom on both cheeks.

  “Thank you for coming, Christian,” she said. Lena’s voice was melodic and contrasted sharply with the ruthlessness she was known for. Although she certainly appeared it, she was the furthest thing from delicate. Like the perfect predator, her beauty and her voice were the things that drew people to her. But for Christian, the soft tones of her voice only served to put him on edge. “There’s a café around the corner. I was thinking we could go there. Unless you want to come up.”

  “The café is fine.”

  They walked in silence to the café and sat down at an outdoor table. The bruised twilight sky was clear and the streets buzzed with activity as the local Parisians enjoyed the balmy summer evening. Christian ordered a café au lait and sat back, his bearing impassive, giving no quarter to Lena. Whatever she wanted, she would have to come right out and ask for it.

  “You look well,” she said after ordering a black coffee. He inclined his head, but did not return the compliment, and waited for her to continue. Lena took a deep breath as she stared at him, her fingers drumming on the table’s edge. “You weren’t at the last few Council meetings,” she began. “I am sure you are aware that the Council is close to convicting Lucian on murder charges for Enhard’s death.” She glanced at him, but he kept his face blank, and she rushed to continue. “I wouldn’t contact you if I didn’t think that this was impossible. You are the only one who can help him.”