“What is?”
That you have ended it with the vampire prince.
Her hands stalled over the button closure of her jeans. “Vampire what?”
Oh, I take it you haven’t heard? Word via the secret grapevine is that your ex-boyfriend is the child of a Reii.
“A what?” Victoria was starting to feel like a broken record. A dumb one. She frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. “Explain.”
A Reii. They are very ancient vampires—the most powerful of their kind. One of them was his maker.
She knew what the Reii were, but wasn’t Enhard Christian’s maker? She narrowed her eyes at the silver feline. “How do you know this?”
I have my sources.
Victoria thought back to the primeval sense of power she had felt earlier and Christian’s newfound ability to control his hunger so easily with her. “I thought Enhard was his maker?”
So did he.
“I thought the Reii were extinct? No one has ever mentioned them before.”
Leto moved his shoulders in a very human shrug. They are—were—thought to be extinct. No one has heard of them in centuries. The one that made him was one of the few remaining. She hasn’t been seen since she turned him. It is a mystery whether she is still even alive.
“Why did you call him a prince?”
The strengths of the Reii are revered by the vampires. In the old days, they were rulers of their people—kings and queens of the blood. The new Vampire Council governed by the various vampire houses is an invention of modern times, meant to distribute their power equally. Vampire kings and queens were a thing of a past, until now.
“Have you told anyone of this?”
He stared at her knowingly. Like the Witch Clans?
“Yes.”
No, but this will not remain hidden for long. Lord Devereux’s power will become a new weapon for the vampires. And should war arise between the witches and the vampires, they will look to him for leadership. He eyed her. Just as the Witch Clans will look to you.
“I’m not going to fight Christian,” she said. “That is absurd.”
You won’t have a choice. You have made your position clear, and you are as much a weapon for the Witch Clans as he is for them. If it comes down to it, Victoria, will you sacrifice your people to their enemies over whatever paltry feeling you may have held for one vampire?
Victoria felt the blood drain from her body at his words. Leto was right. She would have no choice but to fight. If the vampires attacked and Christian was on their side, she would have to defend her people. She couldn’t let thousands of witches be slaughtered because … because she had loved the enemy. Still loved the enemy. Her breath caught as a fresh wave of agony overtook her. The loss was raw.
“Go,” she growled to the cat, pushing her hand out toward him, the magic rushing through her body like wind. “Go back to whatever you were doing.”
Victoria, wait, Leto began.
But she couldn’t look at him. He reminded her too much of what she had just done, and she needed to be alone with her grief. She had to put Christian where he belonged—in the past. She closed her eyes and willed him back to Paris. When she opened them, the familiar had disappeared.
She walked over to the white and pink antique dresser and picked up one of the framed photos that Holly had kept. It was one that someone had taken at the masquerade at the Rainbow Room in New York City—she, Angie, Charla, and Gabe. Christian hadn’t gone. She traced the faces of the people in the picture. Strange to think that two of the smiling faces were dead—both casualties of the enmity between vampires and witches that raged on the sidelines of human existence. It seemed like a lifetime ago. And it seemed that history was about to repeat itself.
She picked up a photo set in a silver frame. It was one of her and Christian. Contrary to what most people believed, vampires could be photographed. Frozen in time they looked so happy, untouched by anything but what they felt for each other. She had been so naïve to think that their love could survive all the outside influences. Here in Maine, they had been sheltered from all the hate that divided their species. Their love had blossomed and grown, only to be ripped apart by those who didn’t want to see them together.
And she had let them.
A tear dripped on the glass of the photo frame. Christian looked so unbearably handsome. Anyone with a heart could see the connection between the two of them—one that was evident even in this glossy photograph. She saw it in his hands, in his eyes, in the way his body braced protectively around hers. She placed the frame face down on the dresser and wiped the tears from her face before leaving the room. The sooner she put Christian out of her mind, the better.
On the way downstairs, she heard voices, one of which she recognized. Her heart soared with delight.
“Angie!” she said, rushing into the room and pulling her friend into a warm hug. “You’re here? I thought you moved back to New York?”
“Grad school,” Angie said, smiling back.
“You look great,” Victoria said and she meant it. Angie’s dark hair had been cut in a pixie style and her eyes glowed with happiness, a far cry from the sour and miserable girl she’d been when they’d first met. Notwithstanding that she no longer had the dark cloud of her evil warlock brother Gabriel hanging over her, Angie looked like she was enjoying life.
Her friend’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her. “What’s wrong?”
Victoria knew that Angie was using her special sight, the one that allowed her to see her aura. It was a gift that had been the bane of Angie’s existence—permitting her to see the truth of what people were—vampires, witches, werewolves, or any manner of supernatural creature.
She swallowed. “I’m fine.”
Angie exchanged a glance with Holly, who suddenly busied herself with an excuse about getting fresh herbs from the garden. “I can see that you’re not fine. Your colors are mottled, so much unhappiness. What’s going on? And be honest because I can tell when you’re lying.” Angie’s face was fierce, despite the compassion layered in her eyes.
“I broke up with Christian,” Victoria said, proud that her voice didn’t waver. It seemed that the more she said it, they easier it became. She took a breath at the expression on Angie’s face.
“Why? You two love each other.”
“It’s complicated.”
Angie frowned at her. “I hate that word. It’s a word that complicates everything it is used to describe. Last I knew, you and Christian were closer than ever. What happened?”
Victoria collapsed on the nearby window seat and stared out at Holly puttering at the far end of the garden as Angie took a seat opposite at the kitchen table. “Everything happened. School, the clans, the vampires. There’s been a slew of murders. We’re on the brink of war. Being with Christian seemed to be too much of a risk.”
“For him or for you?”
Her gaze snapped to Angie’s. “For him.”
Angie drummed her fingers on the table. “Are you sure about that? Pushing people away is easy to do instead of standing and fighting for them.”
Victoria swallowed and reddened. Angie always could cut right through the heart of the matter. “It’s not like that. I—”
“Then what is it like?” she asked gently. “Talk to me, Tori.”
Victoria closed her eyes. On the one hand she knew she could trust Angie. She trusted her with her life. But she didn’t want to betray sacred covenants of the Witch Clans. She took a deep breath. Angie had sacrificed more than enough for her in the past, including being tortured by her own brother. She deserved the truth. “The witches don’t think it’s safe for me to be with him because of the Cruentus Curse. They’re worried that if things do come to war … that … that …”
“You’ll choose to be with him,” Angie finished.
“They’re afraid of me.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Who wouldn’t be? I’m a monster who can kill with a thought.”
; Angie moved to sit beside her on the bench, taking hold of her hand. “You can also heal with a thought, Tori. And you’re no monster. We’ve both seen more than our share of those.” She paused, her eyes unfocusing slightly as she stared at Victoria. “Your power has grown a lot in the time we’ve been apart.” Her voice softened. “I remember the first time I saw you and you were just coming to terms with your magic and what you were. It was so chaotic, like a shimmering rainbow of black and red.”
“And now?” Victoria prompted.
“Now it’s mature. The black is there but it’s layered in so tightly with the rest that it’s almost all one color.” She blinked and her eyes settled on Victoria’s face. “You’re in control, Tori. And I know that’s what you’re really afraid of—that you’ll lose control and put everyone you love at risk. But you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know my friend. And I know that she’ll put herself in harm’s way before hurting anyone she loves.”
Angie stroked her back as Victoria hugged her, the first tear joined by another and another until there was veritable deluge pouring down her face. “I slept with him,” she whispered into Angie’s shoulder.
“What? With Christian?” Angie nearly toppled off the window seat, her eyes going wide with alarm. “Like sleeping or the other thing?”
She nodded. “The other thing.”
“But I thought you couldn’t.”
“Me, too,” Victoria said, flushing to the roots of her hairline. “I initiated it and we did, but then we didn’t really finish. It’s hard to explain. But he didn’t bite me and I didn’t go blood crazy.”
Angie’s brows slammed together. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah.” Victoria stared at Angie. “I know I’m stronger, but he said that he had changed, too. And I sensed it. That he was more powerful. He didn’t have to run off to feed as he usually does when we make out.”
“And then what happened?”
“And then I opened my big mouth and said I wanted to … you know … before we broke up. We fought. I used magic.”
“Wow.”
“Trust me, I know.” Victoria swallowed again, her heart swelling on a surge of regret in her chest. The look in his eyes had been excruciating to witness. It’d been damp with betrayal and sadness—emotions she had caused. She’d hurt him just enough so that he would let her go.
“Are you okay?”
“Physically, yes. Emotionally, I don’t know. I feel shattered inside, like I’m coming apart into a million pieces and I can’t stop it.”
They stared at each other in silence until Angie cleared her throat. “I’m going with you. Back to Paris.”
Victoria shook her head. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous. And what about school?”
“It’s orientation next week,” she said. “And plus, if there’s some mega-supernatural war erupting in Europe, I’m pretty sure that school isn’t going to matter once this shit hits the rest of the non-humans back the United States.”
“Angie—” Victoria began.
“I’m doing it. You need me. You’re emotionally vulnerable and I know you trust these witch leaders, but I don’t. Everyone wants a piece of you because of what you can do, and I’m the only one who can protect you.”
“How?”
Angie tapped the side of her head. “I can see what they are and what they want, remember? You don’t know who to trust and I’m going to help you with that.” She shook her head decisively. “Nope, it’s settled. I’m going with you and there’s nothing you can say about it. Trust me, the witches will be thrilled to have an Aurus in their midst, but I am there for you, no one else.” She smiled. “And I’ve never been to Paris, so there’s that.”
Victoria threw her arms around her friend, the prospect of returning to Paris suddenly no longer so daunting. “Do you know how much I love you?”
“I do,” Angie said. “But promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“You’ll rethink this thing with Christian. You two belong together and you’re far stronger together than you are apart. You always have been. And if you’re right about a war coming, then you two will need each other more than ever.”
“But the Witch Clans want me to lead them.”
“Then lead them,” Angie said with a grim smile. “But on your terms.”
TWELVE
The Price of Power
Within seconds, Lucian and the warlock teleported to another dark greasy alley that mirrored the one they had just vacated, and Lucian gasped as his body regulated to the transfer. The warlock started moving toward the west end of the alley and Lucian followed, straining his ears to see if he could determine where they were. A few sentences in French caught his attention. They were still in France, he guessed, Paris even. The smells were the same. He expanded his awareness. From what he could tell, they were on the northern edge of Paris, near Saint-Denis, one of the northern suburbs infamous for its crime rates.
Lucian suddenly wished he had fed before going on Kristos’s fool errand. He also wished that he could communicate with Lena, but she was bound to Christian, not him. And since he was known for disappearing for hours on end, she wouldn’t think twice about his absence. Lucian felt exposed, but he hadn’t become as powerful as he had by being cautious or scared. He gritted his teeth—if he were going down, he’d take as many of the creatures with him as he could. He followed the warlock to a crumbling stone church covered in demonic looking gargoyles. He blinked and swore that one of them twisted its gruesome stone head to mark his approach.
“Wait here,” the warlock said as the heavy studded doors opened to admit them.
Lucian nodded curtly, his face impassive as the doors shut behind him. The inside of the church had been gutted except for the stained glass windows, which cast colored puzzles along the dusty floor. It was quiet and empty, yet Lucian knew that it would not be. They were there in the silence, hiding in the darkness. His skin crawled as the sensation of danger intensified.
The warlock returned and crooked a finger for him to follow. Leaving the vaulted main room, they descended down a stone staircase. The air was not musty, which made Lucian think that this was a passage that was used often. Again, he felt that prickle of awareness along his senses as if hundreds of eyes were watching his progress. As yet another wooden door slammed shut behind him, Lucian was well and truly trapped inside the den of the enemy.
They arrived in a large underground chamber nearly double the size of the upstairs room. His eyes shifted across the space, noticing the long table standing at one end and what looked to be a blood-soaked marble altar on the right side. He couldn’t help himself. Self-preservation rose within him. His fingers shifted into claws, his teeth elongating at the threat that pressed on all sides of his body. A feral change overcame his face as the beast inside surged forth. Dark magic shifted in the space and he readied himself.
“Calm yourself, vampire,” a laughing voice said. A laughing female voice. “You will not be harmed.”
“You’re a woman,” Lucian burst out as the owner of the voice came into view. She was stunningly beautiful and tall, almost as tall as he was. Her hair was the color of flame, her eyes like ice chips. Clad in a voluminous gown of pale silver, she exuded sexuality and confidence. Power, too. He could feel it emanating from her like a wave of heat. Lucian knew that she was old and she was strong. He was no stranger to magic and he could feel the very air pulsing in response to her presence. “I thought all warlocks were men.”
“Most assume the same.” She smiled, her teeth white and perfect. “We do not discriminate by gender. Warlock is simply a misunderstood term. I am Freyja.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “Norse?”
“If you wish.” She waved a hand, indicating the stone-faced warlock who had transported him at her side. “Roan says you have something you desire to share.” They were the only three in the room, but Lucian was
not foolish to believe that they were alone. He was already supposed to be dead and the only way out of this trap would be to use his tongue. Freyja indicated that he should sit as she strode to the end of the long table. “What is it?”
“Did you give the order to kill me?” Lucian asked instead, following her lead and sitting as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
A smile shifted across her lips. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you are a chess piece, Lord Devereux. Although it appears that you have now advanced from pawn to knight and that intrigues me.” She crossed long shapely legs, the soft material outlining the sleek silhouette of her thighs, and leaned back in her chair. Lucian felt something respond deep in his nether regions as the electricity crackled between them. In another world when she didn’t want him dead or he didn’t want to rip her head off, he could see them engaged in another kind of discussion—one that included this very same table along with considerably less clothing. He’d rarely had dalliances with other supernatural creatures, but for her he’d make an exception. Lucian shifted forward in his seat, letting his eyes flare, and was rewarded with a tiny quirk of her eyebrow as the chemistry between them climbed another notch.
“Your vampire compulsion does not work here,” Roan snapped.
Freyja’s eyes flashed. “Leave us.”
Roan did as she asked, staring with malevolence at Lucian the entire way past. Lucian was not cowed by the warlock’s antagonism. He let his smirk show, remaining idle in his chair.
“He does not like you,” Freyja commented. “None of my people do. They know what you are capable of. There aren’t very many people in Paris who haven’t heard of the infamous leader of the House of Devereux. Your methods are … notorious.”
“And you?” Lucian asked with a lazy smile. “What is your opinion?”
A vaulted eyebrow. “Of you?” Lucian nodded and Freyja stood, closing the gap between them. She slid a hip on the edge of the table inches from him and leaned down. The scent of her—warmth and spice—curled around him. Freyja’s fingers trailed along the collar of his black coat. Her voice was husky. “I think, Lord Devereux, that you are hanging by a very thin thread. Either you are lying about the existence of Le Sang Noir and trying to avoid your very real execution, or you are telling the truth and want something in return.” Her voice lowered, as did her fingers, trailing down button by torturous button. “So what is it that you want?”
Bloodcraft Page 14
