Lucian’s eyes did not leave hers, despite the sheer torment of her fingers. His entire body felt leashed, as if held on some invisible string connected to the lightness of her touch, seeping through layers of brushed wool and silk. “Amnesty.”
Her hand settled into his lap and Lucian inhaled sharply. “Come now, Lord Devereux. Surely you do not expect me to believe that is all you want. I can smell it on you—your desires, your cravings, your need.”
“Power,” he bit out, the slight pressure driving him to distraction.
“At least you were honest this time.” She eyed him, the grip of that diamond gaze almost as powerful as that of her hand. “What are your terms?”
Lucian stood swiftly, closing the gap between them. His hand curled around her hip as he attempted to turn the tables in whatever game she was playing, but before he could even draw a breath, a bolt of energy threw him on his back several feet away. She eased off the table, standing to face him. He crossed the room in the blink of an eye, but as he reached her, she teleported out of his grasp.
“Did you think it was going to be that easy?” Freyja laughed, her voice echoing in the cavernous room. “Trust me, Lord Devereux, I know everything there is to know about you, and while you are correct that a diversion between us would be … interesting, I assure you that I am not like your usual conquests.”
Lucian fought a wave of humiliation, his desire turning to acid in his blood. Either he’d been incredibly transparent or she’d read his mind. She had played him like a fiddle—seducing him with her words and her eyes and her hands, and he’d been careless, caught up with lust like an errant schoolboy. He snarled and shifted toward her. Freyja wasn’t slow in confronting him. He dodged a second bolt of energy with inhuman speed and spun to avoid another.
Rage and desire surged through him as the maddening scent of her filled his nostrils, mingling into an explosive cocktail that fired his blood. Games or not, he wanted her. He grinned and charged, keeping his gaze on hers. Magic users moved with their eyes, not with their bodies. He ducked beneath a fire spell, spinning like a cyclone toward his head, and rolled until he was only a few feet away. The air around her shimmered as she teleported once more, but Lucian closed his eyes, following the magic surge with his vampire senses and spun backward. When Freyja reappeared at the far end of the room, he was right there, his fingers closing about her slender—oh, so beautiful—throat.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked, pressing her into the heel of the altar at her back and taking pleasure in the scrape of her shoes on the floor. His eyes slid to the pulsing vein at her neck. Her blood would be rich, he knew, from the magic that flowed in her veins. He could smell it rising in tantalizing wafts with each stroke of her pulse. His teeth lengthened in automatic visceral response.
Freyja smiled at him, her mouth shaping an incantation that made a wild rush of vivid green fog surround them in a haze. The wisps of mist cut into his skin like touches of pure sunlight. Lucian didn’t flinch, even though they burned his flesh raw. He was used to pain—it focused and motivated. He pressed closer until his mouth was inches from hers, so close that he could taste the warmth of her exhale. Her eyes widened even as he felt her pulse quicken beneath his fingertips … with excitement, not fear.
His thumb slid along the taut column of her neck and he licked his lips slowly and deliberately. “And I assure you that you know nothing about me.”
Lucian stepped away, releasing her throat and watching the acid fog flicker and recede. He steeled himself and held his transformation at bay, his features returning to normal as his vampire strength healed the blisters on his body. “Now that we have that out of the way, shall we proceed to business?” A smile crooked her lips at his arrogance, but Lucian was done with the games. “I offer you information on Le Sang Noir in return for destroying the Vampire Council. You get what you want, and I get what I want.”
“And what is it you think we want?” she asked, signaling to an invisible servant. Within seconds, another warlock appeared with two glasses—one filled with a clear liquid in a flute and the other golden colored in a whiskey glass. She took the first and the man approached him with the second. Lucian shook his head, refusing the drink. He wanted all his wits about him.
“War,” he said as the servant melted from the room. “You want the witches and the vampires to destroy each other so you can be rid of your two greatest enemies.”
She eyed him over the rim of her glass, her eyes shadowed. “If you are correct and that happens, there won’t be much left for you to inherit.”
“Whatever is left, I want it. Those are my terms.”
Freyja nodded. “Tell me who she is.”
“I want your bond.”
“You have it.” She strode forward and grasped his forearm. Lucian felt the surge of energy binding her word to their agreement and had to restrain his sense of triumph. His strategy worked. “Now divulge your information.”
“Why do you want the witch from the prophecy so badly?” Lucian asked, his eyes narrowing. Something in the warlock’s tone was anxious, fretful even. “For power? With her on your side, you can have absolute control.”
“She is dangerous.”
Lucian shrugged. “Tell me something I do not already know. I saw her blood possess another vampire to the point of making him do its magical bidding.”
“You have seen the Cruentus Curse in action?”
“Yes.”
Freyja frowned. “And yet you live to tell the tale.”
Lucian smiled. “My brother saved me. He was the one it possessed, you see. She gave him her blood to save him and it did. Only it had other designs for him once he was under its spell. He almost killed everyone in that room with that blood magic, until she exorcized it.” He could see the disbelief in Freyja’s eyes. His tale sounded fanciful to his own ears, but it was the truth and he hadn’t spoken of it to anyone, not since that fateful day in the underground room in New York. He shook his head. “Trust me, I know how it sounds, but it is true.”
“And the witch?”
“She is more powerful than the Witch Clans and the warlocks combined. And her power was only fledgling when I saw her last.”
“Is that why you were looking for her?” Freyja asked and smiled at the look on his face. “That was part of our plan. We heard you were looking for young witches. Roan’s idea, actually, and it worked.”
“I lost my last witch to her,” Lucian snapped. “I needed a replacement. Magic has its uses, even to us vampires.” He knew he had nothing to lose by confiding his plot to her. “I wanted to use the prophecy to retake control of the Vampire Council, but her loyalty was to my brother, not to me. He was the one to take the power of her blood into himself.”
“Her loyalty?” Freyja asked with a frown. “You said that she offered it to him. Why would she do that? Knowing he was a vampire?”
Lucian smiled and played his hand. “Haven’t you heard? She is my brother’s consort.”
“Consort?” Freyja repeated.
“Yes.”
“A witch and a vampire,” she breathed. “It is forbidden. The Clans would never allow it, nor would the Council.”
Lucian winked with a lewd grin. “See? Not as farfetched as it seems. And forbidden or not, neither the Council nor the Clans can stop them. She compelled an entire room full of vampires at our headquarters with a single word in a room warded for magic.”
“How do you know it’s her?”
“I saw her blood with my own eyes,” he said. “I smelled it, too, when she teleported from vampire headquarters a hair’s breadth from my fingers. Black as midnight and as decadent as the blood of the Goddess herself.”
Freyja’s eyes widened. “Where is this witch now?”
“Alas, that is where I cannot help you. She is training with the Witch Clans. It took them longer than I expected to pull them apart, but they have succeeded. They refused to teach her about her magic un
less she left my brother. And she did. And as far as I know, he wasn’t very happy about it, but he agreed because it was what she wanted. They didn’t want a vampire having undue influence on the wielder of the Cruentus Curse, you see.”
“I fail to understand how that helps us, Lord Devereux, if what you say is true and that she is no longer with your brother.”
Lucian walked to the table where the servant had left the glass of whiskey. He raised it in a toast and drained the contents. “We have both lived so long that we have become jaded, don’t you see? It’s true love, Freyja.” Sarcasm dripped from his every syllable. “They love each other to the point of destruction. And this little witch will do anything for my brother and vice versa. Get my brother and you get her.”
“You would sacrifice your brother?”
“I would sacrifice my firstborn son if I had to.” He smiled. “Most of the rumors you have heard about me are true.”
Freyja lifted an arm and, suddenly, a dozen warlocks pooled from the shadows, including the one who had brought Lucian here, Roan. “You have heard this vampire’s testimony. He speaks the truth.”
Lucian exhaled. Of course he had spoken the truth. Any witch or warlock worth his or her salt would know when someone was lying. And he wasn’t about to risk his neck by telling falsehoods or exaggerating what he knew, not with the most powerful warlock he had ever met. He felt a twinge of guilt for what he had done, but he did not owe Christian anything. He was doing him a favor, after all. Christian had never wanted to become a vampire and now he would be free from his curse.
“What are you going to do to her?” he asked Freyja. “The witch.”
“She is dangerous.”
“You said that already,” he said dryly, raising an eyebrow.
“Not that it matters to you, vampire, but her powers upset the balance of magic on this plane. She is—as the humans say—a ticking time bomb, one with the potential to kill every supernatural being in this realm.”
“So you mean to kill her.”
“Yes.”
She eyed the warlocks in the room. “We have a new target. Lord Devereux’s brother. His Grace, the Duke of D’Avigny.”
Lucian felt his stomach clench at the sound of the title—yet one more thing Christian had stolen from him. Jealousy burned within him with the force of a thousand suns. Christian had always been the bane of his existence, and when he was gone, it would be the beginning of a new era … a new start without the shadow of his brother looming over him. He raised his chin and squashed the remnants of any guilt. Christian would get what he deserved.
“He is not to be harmed,” she warned her followers. Her gaze fell on Lucian. “And Lord Devereux is now under my protection.”
Roan’s lips curled over his teeth and Lucian could see his fingers clenching into fists at his side. He was not pleased by Freyja’s announcement, Lucian knew. They did not trust him and with good reason—he had killed thousands of them over the years. When this was all said and done, he would make sure that Roan was added to the list.
Freyja addressed him. “What is her name?”
“Whose name?” Lucian asked, distracted.
“The name of the witch.”
He cleared his throat. “She is the descendant of the Duchess of Lancaster.” The room went silent at his announcement. Every witch or warlock knew the stories of who she was—and the blood madness that had consumed her. If they doubted him before, they did not now. He could smell their collective fear. He kept his smile carefully contained, keeping his face expressionless. “Her name is Victoria Warrick.”
THIRTEEN
The Immortal Son
Christian felt the tug deep in the marrow of his bones. Lucian was in trouble. They had always been connected as twins, but the vampire connection between them was even more powerful. He fought the immediate urge to rush to his brother’s defense. Lucian had made it clear that he didn’t want his help. He was so stubborn that he’d rather face execution at the hands of the Council for his perceived crimes than ask for help. And now, even though every cell in his body warned that his brother was in jeopardy, Christian ignored the insistent pull of it.
Standing in the massive boardroom in the Tour Areva of the vampire headquarters, he surveyed the city of Paris, his eyes pausing on the elegant lit frame of the Eiffel Tower. It was one of his favorite monuments, along with the Notre Dame cathedral, also visible in the distance. He’d planned to take Victoria sightseeing to all of his favorite places, but they hadn’t made the time. He swallowed hard, his fingers clenching at his sides. And now neither of them would have that chance. She was gone.
Composing himself, he focused on the matter at hand—Enhard’s letter. He’d read it a hundred times, but hadn’t found the answers he’d sought. He had asked his assistant to summon David. As if on cue, he felt the Elder’s presence, swirling among all the other energies in the building. Christian frowned—being able to distinguish identities was yet another new development in his growing array of skills.
The power worried him. He knew nothing much about the Reii other than they were the founding fathers—the original vampires—of their race. They were powerful, their blood undiluted by time or generation. And it seemed that he had been graced with their strengths. He knew that it had to be because of Victoria’s blood—it was the only thing that explained his accelerated changes.
Enhard had written that he would inherit his maker’s memories and her strengths, but only when his body was able to control such tremendous and dark power after many, many years of life as an immortal. It seemed that Victoria’s blood had expedited that, spreading within him and forcing him to evolve or die. And so, he had evolved … enough to inherit a legacy he had no inkling of.
“Your Grace,” David said as he entered the room. He bowed in deference, even though at the moment he was by far the stronger vampire of the two. “You wanted to see me?”
Christian glanced at the old vampire and nodded. Enhard had said that David was only three generations removed from the Reii. He held up the letter. “Please, have a seat. You know what Enhard wrote in here.” He paused. “Of the truth of my maker.”
“Yes.”
“And you also know what I have told you about Le Sang Noir and what happened in New York. Do you believe that it caused me to evolve?”
“When you took Victoria’s blood, did she remove it completely?”
“As far as I know,” Christian replied. “Although it has left an indelible mark.” He jabbed a finger toward his eyes. The black ring around the silver of his irises had not disappeared and was a daily reminder of how potent the blood’s magic had been. He fought back a shiver at the visceral memory of it and turned his attention to the Elder. “Enhard wrote that you went through a version of the change?”
David nodded. “When I had lived seven centuries as a vampire and was old enough to withstand my inheritance, I did.”
Christian withheld his gasp. He had barely claimed two centuries as a vampire and he was nowhere near that age … nowhere near ready. “What was it like?”
“Overwhelming,” the vampire said with a rueful smile. “The memories were fragmented, agonizing to piece together at first, but it became easier. And the gifts, they came more gradually.”
“What kind of gifts?”
“My sensory abilities sharpened a thousandfold. I developed psychic powers and was able to read people, see their truths and lies, understand their desires and their fears. My speed … well, let me show you.” He smiled and blinked, but did not move.
Christian’s eyes narrowed on him. “Are you going to demonstrate?”
“I already have,” David said, opening his fist to display a strawberry. Christian turned around in disbelief, his gaze falling on the fruit platter sitting at the far end of the table on the other side of the room. He was a vampire with formidable vampire strengths of his own and he hadn’t seen David move.
“Do it again,” he comm
anded.
David nodded. This time, Christian felt the slight disturbance in the air, but he still did not see David leave his chair. The only indication that the vampire had moved was the glass of water now sitting at the edge of the table.
“Impossible,” Christian murmured, even though he could see evidence of David’s speed in the materialization of the glass.
“Enhanced speed, enhanced strength, enhanced everything,” David said, taking a casual sip of the water. “Everything you were able to do before, you can do it better. Shifting into other forms will be like breathing. Advanced healing. Super strength. And as you have no doubt already discovered, you do not need to feed as often.” The vampire eyed him. “But you will still need to feed, Christian. Blood, as always, remains our one sustenance. And the more you use your new powers, the more quickly your strength will drain.”
Christian paced, his mind spinning with the new knowledge. “What of dark magic? Enhard’s letter said that the Reii have control over it.”
“I expect that the presence of such magic is what Le Sang Noir responded to in you. Your powers of compulsion will grow. Few will be able to resist your will, animal or human.” David eyed him. “And you will be less susceptible to the magical powers of witches.”
Christian froze, thinking back to Victoria’s fire and frowned. Her hex had been powerful, but he had barely felt it. A lesser vampire would have been incinerated and turned to dust. But he had withstood the spell and healed.
“You will also have the power to call on other vampires and the ability to communicate with the dead.”
“Call on them how?”
Bloodcraft Page 15
