Bloodcraft

by Amalie Howard

  “If you say so.”

  His lips curled back from his teeth. “I do. My brother and I are estranged, you see. So I, unlike you, owe him nothing whatsoever.”

  “I only see what I see,” she replied as if that explained everything.

  Her lack of fear was beginning to grate on him along with her cryptic responses. Lucian’s eyes slipped to the ring in her grasp and he held out his hand, beckoning her forward. She did so without hesitation, although her grip on the crossbow did not relax, and dropped the piece of jewelry into his palm.

  The heirloom was indeed Christian’s. He glanced at the near identical one on the ring finger of his left hand. Although Christian’s gem was a sapphire and his was a ruby, the family ducal crest stamping the setting on both was the same. Their parents had given the rings to them on their thirteenth birthday and Lucian would have recognized it anywhere. A part of him didn’t believe that his brother had sent this girl with it, especially given what had happened between them. But the ring was genuine, of that he was sure. He palmed it and closed his eyes.

  Lucian’s heart clenched as he remembered the promise they had made to each other when they were thirteen, after the rings had been bequeathed in a special Devereux coming of age ceremony.

  “If you are ever in trouble,” the young Christian had said to him. “Find a way to send me your ring. And I will do the same. I will come to you no matter what.”

  “Agreed,” Lucian had responded. “Blood promise?”

  He remembered the sting of the knife cutting into his palm like it was yesterday and the feeling of slippery hot blood between Christian’s palm and his. They had never used the rings.

  Until now.

  As much as he wanted to kill the girl and be done with it, something—a residual sense of honor perhaps—tugged within him. He sighed. Pocketing the ring, he pulled himself to his feet then and closed the distance between them. She raised the crossbow and pointed it at his chest. “You think your arrows can hurt me?” he scoffed.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to hurt you. I came here with a message, but I assure you these arrows aren’t meant to hurt, they’re meant to kill. I designed them specially after what happened in New York.” Her eyes slid to the shiny pointed head of the dart sitting in the crossbow’s sights. “Pure silver with a core of UV light. It’s a hollow point so it explodes on contact. Auto reload. And I’m a crack shot. At this range, I won’t miss no matter how fast you think you are.”

  He grinned at her boast. Despite himself, he was unwillingly impressed. Narrowing his eyes, he shifted, using all of his vampire speed to move toward the fireplace. To his surprise, the crossbow followed him with unerring precision. He frowned—it had to have been a lucky guess.

  “Lucian,” Lena warned, her voice low. She, too, now stood, her body tensed for attack.

  He shot her a quelling look. “I want to test our new friend’s theory.” He turned his attention back to Angie. “I’m intrigued. What are the odds you could shoot me before I reach you? I give you my word I won’t kill you.” He paused, baring his teeth. “Yet.”

  “Your word?” Laughter threaded her voice. His glance moved to Lena, who was watching them will ill-concealed agitation. “One on one? I think my odds are better than good.”

  “Just me,” he agreed, nodding for Lena to resume her seated position. She wasn’t happy about it, but she obeyed.

  He watched as she pressed a button on the side of the crossbow and a whirring noise filled its chamber. She met his eyes. “Non-lethal wooden darts. I don’t want to kill you, after all. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I want to see how good you are.”

  Angie shrugged. “I’ll tell you what. If I get a strike, you agree to get Freyja and go to Christian.”

  “That’s two things.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Then there’ll be two strikes. Now are we doing this? I don’t have all day to play your silly games.”

  His amusement waned at her arrogant words, and he crouched into position. “Very well.”

  Angie cocked the weapon. “Your move.”

  He charged, blindingly fast, heading directly toward her, but she sidestepped to the right at the last moment before he reached her. He heard the click of the crossbow and the soft swish of its reload, his body bending backward as the dart lodged into the wall behind him. It had passed inches from his shoulder. He scowled and lunged again. She wasn’t fast, but she seemed to anticipate his every movement, only moving when he was a hair’s breadth from knocking her over. Growling savagely, he dove forward, his arm darting out to catch her in the stomach. She flew back and crashed into the bookcase.

  Lucian grinned in satisfaction, watching as she stood, crossbow still in hand, and wiped a smear of blood from her mouth. His senses fired at the sight—and scent—of the bright crimson trail. Snarling with savage rage, his fangs lengthened to their full length, and the beast in him begged for its reward. But before he could grant it, to his surprise, Angie smiled at him, her eyes falling meaningfully to his chest. He looked down. There, lodged directly above his heart was a small wooden dart. He’d barely felt it.

  “Got you,” she said, panting slightly. “And might I remind you that if I’d used my other darts, you’d be dead. Now honor our agreement, summon Freyja.”

  He plucked the projectile out and flung it to the floor, nodding to Lena. With a disgusted look, she walked to the door and passed on the instruction. “You still have one shot to get me to go see my dear brother,” Lucian said as Lena resumed her position. Her face remained expressionless, although her eyes conveyed her opinion of his continued interaction with the girl.

  Angie shook her head, looking mildly embarrassed. “Actually I got you the first time you came at me. I just didn’t want to make you feel too badly.” She pointed at his thigh, and to his infinite disgust, he could see the tip of a brown arrow protruding from his pants. Lucian glared at her. There was no possible way any human could do what she’d just done. Not without super senses or super speed. He scented her again, his nostrils flaring. She wasn’t a witch or a warlock—their blood was like nectar to vampires. No, she was pure, untainted human.

  “I suppose that that was fairly won,” he capitulated without an ounce of grace. “Despite not knowing what tricks you had up your sleeve.”

  “Coming from a vampire, that’s rich,” she shot back. He noticed that the cut on her lip where she’d smashed into the bookcase was starting to bruise. He could still smell her blood, rushing beneath the surface. He smiled inwardly. As he’d agreed, he’d hear her out once Freyja arrived, and then he’d drain her to the bone. She may be able to take one vampire on, but she would not be so lucky with a handful. The thought gave him great satisfaction. He did not like being humiliated, and certainly not at the hands of a teenage girl. But for the moment, he’d be civil.

  “Drink?” he asked her, pointing to the bottle of cognac.

  “I’m underage,” she said. “So no thanks.”

  “You’re in Paris. The drinking age, I believe, is eighteen.”

  She shook her head. “It dulls my wits.”

  “I should have offered you some earlier.” It was the closest he’d go to giving her a compliment, but she took his meaning. A true smile graced that resolute face of hers.

  “You remind me of him a little,” she said.

  Lucian vaulted his brow. “My brother?”

  “Why do you hate him?”

  His glance slid to Lena. For a moment, he considered ignoring the probing question, but then resumed his place in his armchair. He raised a palm toward the empty sofa across from Lena, but Angie declined, as he knew she would. Although she seemed calm, he could see her tension in the rigid slope of her shoulders and the thinned line of her mouth.

  “He came first.”

  She laughed and the sound was hollow. “That’s not a reason to hate your twin. So what, he came first. Big deal. One of you has to be the
older one—and it just turned out that fate decided it would be him and not you. Let’s talk about hate when you have a brother who murdered your parents, who punished you daily because you weren’t like him. We can have a drink and commiserate when your brother decides he’s going to kill you because he can’t stand the sight of you.” She laughed to herself, a spasm of pain flashing across her features. She met Lucian’s eyes. “Get over it. He’s a duke and you’re the second in line brother. Stop wallowing in your misguided sense of injustice. Grow the fuck up.”

  “How dare you?” Lucian hissed, her words as effective as those little wooden darts. He almost changed his mind then and there—he’d kill her and then offer his apologies to Freyja for a fruitless trip. “Who do you think you are?”

  She eyed him, resting the flat of the crossbow in the other hand. “Truth hurts, right?”

  “You know nothing, child.”

  “That may be, but I see enough,” she said and his eyes narrowed once more at her choice of words. “You tried so hard to make your brother hate you so that you can feel justified in your actions against him. When your mother died, he was the only one who stopped you from taking your own life.”

  “How—?” Lucian started, his jaw dropping into a snarl and eyes narrowing, but Angie ignored him, unfazed by his anger.

  “All you do in return is push him away. And the sad thing is in his hour of dire need, you’re the one he turns to. It’s baffling.” She stared blindly through the floor to ceiling windows, the city of Paris laid out like a carpet of lights below them. “Since we seem to be having a moment, you asked me before if I trusted Christian. I do. He and Tori saved my life. Just as he has saved yours countless times.” Her gaze flicked to Lena. “And yours, Baroness von Kurzberg.”

  Lena half stood, her glacial blue eyes snapping to Angie. “How do you know that name—?”

  “I know a lot about you,” Angie said, meeting her incensed gaze. “I know about the girl whose sense of justice trumped all, even though she often came out on the wrong end of her brothers’ temper. I know about the girl who hid her compassion because she feared it would make her weak. I see a lot, Baroness, including what you have become.”

  Angie didn’t elaborate, and for that, Lucian was grateful. He didn’t want to know any more of this girl’s truths, least of all Lena’s. Her words had troubled him, digging past all his walls and slipping beneath his layers. How could she have known about his mother? About the guilt that had sent him to the middle of an icy lake? He was the reason his mother had died, after all. The girl had stripped away everything, even his own defenses. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed. He didn’t like it one bit.

  Was she some kind of psychic? Able to see the future as well as the past? He asked the question, despite himself. Her mouth twitched. “No. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I only know about the past from reading history books and going online like everyone else. I only see the now because of the past.”

  “What do you mean you see it?” he snapped.

  But Angie didn’t have time to answer Lucian’s question as a knock on the door interrupted them. Freyja had arrived and was waiting in the entrance salon. Her presence—and her blood—would cause a stir among the vampires, Lucian knew. While he wanted to hear more of what the girl had to say, it wouldn’t be long before someone did something stupid.

  He drained the contents of his glass and nodded to Angie. “Come, you have your audience. Let us hear what you have to say.”

  Angie followed them at a discreet distance until they crossed the wide hall to the receiving room at the far end of his apartment where Freyja was waiting in the foyer. Lucian took a deep breath. She did not look pleased to have been summoned on some fool’s errand. Her second in command, Roan, was ever present at her side, and he looked like he was on the verge of declaring war. Lucian dismissed the hovering vampires with a nod, with the exception of Lena and two of his strongest vampires—Marc and Leon. If things went south, he wanted them close.

  “What is this about, Lord Devereux? Your messenger said it was urgent.”

  He cleared his throat, flinching from the acid in her tone. “My brother is in trouble, and he bid this girl bring you here.” He swept a hand toward the open door and Angie walked in. He noticed that the crossbow was back in its holster on her hip. Obviously, she did not view them as a threat as much as she had him.

  Lucian was not prepared for the reaction that swept the faces of the warlock contingent as the girl strode into the room. The very air turned electric, so much so that Lena took a hurried step to his side.

  “Angelique?” Freyja’s whisper was ragged.

  “Aunt Free,” Angie said in disbelief, her eyes widening as she came to a dead stop just inside the doorway. “What are you doing here? How is this even possible? Gabriel told me you had died. You’re the warlock leader?”

  Aunt Free? Lucian’s brows slammed together. The warlock was this girl’s aunt? But she couldn’t be related by blood—he’d sensed no magic within her. Perhaps she’d been adopted or taken in. He remained quiet, waiting to see what would happen.

  Freyja marched forward to take her niece’s face into her hands, her fingers running up and down the girl’s face. “Where is Gabriel? Is he with you?”

  The color drained from Angie’s face. “He’s dead. He tried to take the Cruentus Curse. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he lied about that, too. He told me you died.”

  The silence was deafening. “What?”

  “What do you know of the curse?” Roan snarled.

  “Hello, cousin,” Angie said with a startled smile, peering around Freyja’s body. “You’re as angry as ever.” Lucian couldn’t have agreed with her more. She shook her head and sighed. “I know a lot as it turns out. The witch is my best friend.” Angie threw a look to where Lucian stood. “And she’s dating his brother. Well, they’re broken up now, but they were together. Anyway, there’s trouble. Christian said I had to get the two of you. You need to come with me to the witches’ temple.”

  “Victoria Warrick is your best friend,” Roan said as if he hadn’t heard anything else. “Did you not learn anything when you were a child?”

  “No, I was busy being adopted by people who weren’t magical.”

  “Adopted?” Freyja looked confused. “I received letters from your mother for years. They stopped a few years ago when she said she wanted nothing to do with any of us anymore. I tried to find you, but you had all disappeared. I respected her wishes, of course, even though it broke my heart.”

  “Gabriel cloaked us,” Angie said. “And he wrote the letters. They died a decade ago.”

  Freyja’s eyes clouded, a soft huff escaping her lips. “I am so sorry I wasn’t there, Angelique. You must have felt so abandoned all these years.”

  The girl shrugged, as if she was all too used to dealing with pain. “It’s just Angie now, and you couldn’t have known. No one did.”

  Lucian cleared his throat, watching as Freyja pulled her niece into her arms, with more emotion written all over her face than he’d ever thought her capable of. Turned out she did have a heart, only it was buried deep. Not that it mattered. He wanted nothing to do with either of them, especially now that he knew that Freyja only wanted to destroy Le Sang Noir. He would have enjoyed killing the non-witch and it rankled that she, too, would be taken away under the protection of the warlocks. He gnashed his teeth in silent irritation.

  “Not to interrupt this lovely family reunion,” he drawled. “But I’m busy and I don’t have all day to waste watching you two make nice.”

  Angie’s eyes swiveled to his. She took a step back so that she could face each of them. “Christian sent me. He needs your help to gather your combined forces.” Her eyes slid to her aunt and to Lucian. “Both of you.”

  “Our help?” Roan snarled. “We do not align with vampires.”

  “You wanted to align with me,” Lucian interjected in a silky voice.

&
nbsp; “That was a means to an end.”

  “Ah, yes, all those empty promises you made. I remember.” Lucian felt the beast within him start to stretch. Maybe he would teach this warlock a lesson, release some of the tension of unfulfilled desire building up in his veins. Magic or not, they were on his turf. He shot a sidelong glance to Lena, who hadn’t moved from her position at his side. His teeth pushed forward through his gums, elongating to lethal proportions as adrenaline and bloodlust lanced through him. He didn’t even have to signal to the vampire near the door before Leon lunged toward Angie.

  Lucian wondered if she would sense the imminent attack as she had with him earlier. Watching it from an outside perspective gave him pause. Leon was so fast that Lucian could see Freyja and her two guards moving into defensive positions as if in slow motion. His eyes narrowed as the girl ducked into a crouch seconds before Leon reached her, crossbow armed and notched. There was no way she’d have been able to sidestep him, but that was exactly what she had done. She didn’t hesitate. She fired the dart right into Leon’s heart. It was not a wooden dart as she’d used with him, he realized, as Leon’s body crumbled in a blazing inferno of blue and white light before scattering to ashes on the polished mahogany floors. For a second, Lucian felt an odd twinge of relief that she hadn’t used those darts in their sparring.

  “Wait,” Angie said to Freyja, who had already started chanting a counter spell. She turned to Lucian and held up a hand to stop any retaliation from the scowling warlocks pressing at her back. “I’m sorry about that, but I told you what would happen. We have no time to lose with any more of your games.”

  “What are you?” Lena snarled at his side. “You have no magic. What you did is not possible for a human.”

  “I am an Aurus,” she answered, hiking her chin a notch. “No magical power, but I can see what people are, along with their motivations. Not that it matters, but for every minute we stand here arguing, one more of our people dies.”