by Ted Dekker
I didn’t know which was worse: that Alek was so far gone or this new bit of information about Lucine.
“When?” I asked.
“At midnight.”
“Tonight?” I was appalled.
“We were hoping you would . . .” He seemed to lose track of the thought, and he looked back down at Dasha. His mouth clamped shut then slowly drew tight. Bitterness began to replace horror.
“Alek, please. They are wicked.”
But even as I said it, a new thought crashed in on my mind. If they were wicked, was Lucine also wicked? And Alek and Natasha? Were humans infected with the bad blood wicked to their core? Even so, if Lucine was to be wooed and loved, were they not all?
Their blood was bad, but was there nothing redeemable about them?
Still, I pressed on. “I’ve learned so much, Alek. There’s no time, but . . .”
The male whose head I had shot moaned. He was coming awake? Was there no killing these creatures?
Panicked, I rushed over to him and shoved the stake into his chest. He shook once, then lay still. But I tell you, doing it sickened me. I could see that it wasn’t only the Nephilim in him that I’d killed. It was the human.
But now time was running on and I was feeling trapped in that underground grave. I rushed back to Alek, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. His eyes were fired and his jaw firm.
“I need you! Snap out of this, Alek. We can’t let him marry Lucine; she can’t possibly love him. I am sent here by God himself to save her. And you and Natasha. I’m under direct orders from Kesia to . . .”
He dropped his head and threw himself into my chest. My chin took the brunt of the blow and snapped up. Then I was falling, back over the couch where Dasha lay dead.
Alek roared and tore into me, pummeling me with both fists. I cried out and tried to push him off me, but he didn’t budge. His knuckles slammed into my gut like battering rams. He was far stronger than I remembered him.
But then he would be. He had turned, infected with whatever blood Dasha had put into his veins.
Another one of his fists landed and I felt a rib crack. His eyes, only moments earlier dark, were now red with rage. It was then that I realized he intended to kill me. His mind was lost in bloodlust, and he wouldn’t back down until I lay dead at his feet.
I brought my knee up with as much force as I could, managing a full swing despite the pain in my chest. It landed in his groin and should have easily pitched him over my head.
He only grunted once, then brought his elbow down on my head with enough power to knock out any ordinary man.
Panicked, I snatched for the stake still tucked under my belt. “Alek! Alek—”
He hit me again, and this time I thought the blow might be the last. My head swam.
I tugged the stake free and jerked it up so that the point angled up toward his chest. I don’t think he saw it in his blind fury, because he threw his full weight down on his next blow.
The stake cracked a rib and sank into his chest. I will never forget the look in his eyes, one moment red and glaring as if he himself were a demon, the next dark and round, stunned that something had changed. His blow glanced off my shoulder and went into the floor with an empty crack.
He groaned and blood bubbled from his mouth.
What had I done?
“Alek?”
In answer his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped over the stake, held up like a canvas over a tent pole.
I shoved him off me and clambered to administer life. “Alek!” I jerked the stake out and immediately tried to revive him, but my efforts were useless.
I threw my head down on his chest and grabbed my hair. What had I done? I’d just killed the very man I’d come to save! The one who could help me save Lucine!
I beat upon his chest with my fists. “Alek!” But he would not respond. What kind of calamity had I brought upon myself? I was torn with dread.
I staggered to my feet and looked about the room, surrounded now with three dead, all killed with those stakes. For a moment I could not think. What to do now? How to make amends for this slaughter wrung from my own hands?
I grabbed a lamp and threw it against the floor. Oil splashed around my feet. I rushed out to the library and grabbed three lamps, smashing each into the bookcases. My only chance now was to move before the rest knew what I had done and could mount any coordinated effort against me. I had to save Lucine and Natasha or I would not be able to live with myself.
I snatched up one of the torches and thrust the flame against the spilled oil in the inner room. The fuel caught immediately, flashing to a roaring fire that swarmed the couch.
Forgive me, Alek! I felt ill.
Grabbing my leather bag, I ran around the outer library, touching the torch to the books and cases. Flames erupted along the floor and hungrily licked at the paper and wood soaked in oil. A crackling whoosh chased me from the room. I ran down the hall, blazing torch in hand.
“Fire!”
I thundered the warning at the top of my lungs.
“Fire!”
Smoke billowed from the library’s entrance behind me. I saw the first response when I was only halfway down the passage, a dark head jutting past a gate, glaring at me with black eyes. Then he was gone in a blur that blew past me toward the inferno behind.
“Fire!”
Though I ran straight toward the stairs that would take me up into the thick of them, I pushed my sprint to its limit. Up the stairs. Two more brushed past me as I leaped to the landing.
“Fire in the tunnels. Dasha!”
I had one hope and that was that they would see me and think I had decided to join them. I was warning them, after all. I was voicing my concern in the most strenuous way possible. I had planned to do just this, only with Alek at my side.
An oil lamp sat on a table near the entrance. I smashed it against a large painting of one of their ancestors then threw my torch at the soaking canvas. Flames swarmed the portrait. When I spun around, four more of the Russians stared at me with wide eyes. Understanding sank into their eyes.
“He stole my bride,” I screamed, backing toward the passage that led to the tunnel through which I had entered. I had to make my escape there or all would be lost. “Now he’s paid his price.”
A fifth suddenly appeared next to the other four. He stared at the fire, then drilled me with his black eyes.
“Then so will you,” he said.
I thrust the crucifix at him. “In the name of the Christ—”
He snarled and swooped past me, knocking the cross from my hand. It clattered and came to a rest on the stone. Oily black smoke boiled through the passageway.
I stumbled backward, closer to my way of escape. My right hand found two more stakes and I jerked them out. The Russians said nothing but neither did they move.
It was all the hesitation I needed. I ran while twisted halfway around, keeping the stakes pointed in their direction.
“Stop him,” Stefan growled.
Something slammed into my shoulder as I rounded the corner, knocking one of the stakes to the ground. Pain flared up my neck.
Then I ran pell-mell for the first door that led to the tunnels. Only the stake saved my life, I’m sure of it. Perhaps without the distraction of the smoke they would have gotten to me already. As it was, I made it through the first door and raced for the second.
I flew down the stairs into the long tunnel, expecting to feel claws or teeth in my back at any moment. I kept my eyes on that glow of the study because I knew that my salvation waited there.
Three strides from the gate, something struck me again, knocking the other stake from my grip. They were taking their time, I thought, knowing they could pick me apart at their choosing.
I spun into the study, plucked the flaming torch from the wall, and spun to face them. Three appeared in rapid succession.
I held the fire toward them and backed to the door I’d soaked with oil. They stepped in carefu
lly. I wasn’t sure why I assumed they would fear fire, but now I had no doubt they did. Thomas had said water terrified them, but I saw more fear in their eyes at the sight of fire. Then again, I hadn’t confronted them with holy water.
Without removing my eyes from theirs, I touched the torch to the ground. A ring of fire swooshed around and then behind them. But the flames weren’t large enough to stop them from exiting through the gate. Only enough to give them pause.
I shoved the door behind me open, dropped the torch on the ground, and slammed the door shut on them. I could hear the rush of flame exploding up the oil-soaked wood. With any luck, it would be enough to hold them back.
However great the cost, I had managed to do what I planned with respect to the Russians. I prayed they would interpret me as the jealous lover who had come to exact some revenge before fleeing for his life. Now their hands were full with my distraction. They surely would employ all means to extinguish the blazes.
I turned my back on the door and ran out into the heavy rain, uncaring now for stealth, only speed.
My trap had been set and sprung, but the night had only just begun.
THIRTY-THREE
You must know your place, my queen.” Vlad spoke in a low rumble that shook Lucine’s bones. She felt both dread and wonder in his presence. “You must know that I have made you and that your flesh sees only my flesh.”
They were in the ceremonial room at the base of the tower, a space reserved primarily for the rituals that marked the changing of powers, such as a wedding or a death of any half-breed. There was no throne, as one might expect, but a slate table with candlesticks rising on each end. The candles lit a large circular carving in the wall behind, the image of a crucifix with three curled talons reaching down from above, piercing the middle where the members crossed. Blood, real blood as far as she could tell, seeped from the puncture wounds, glistening in long trails to the base of the carving, where they seeped into a large stone basin. One might easily mistake the throne room for a dungeon rather than a place of such esteem.
The rest of the floor was unfurnished. Oil lamps ran along roughly hewn walls softened by long red velvet drapes that framed the lamps. She stood at the center of a large black circle etched into the marble floor, dressed in a thin white cotton gown that hung to her knees like a scant whisper. At Vlad’s command, Natasha and Sofia bore witness from their places at one end of the circle.
Vlad walked around her, arms behind his back, black boots clacking slowly on the marble. His eyes swiveled to Sofia and Natasha. “Your sister should watch and know that her fate would be much worse if she ever broke our covenant.”
What was he saying?
“Sofia should watch and know that I see the fracture in her heart already. Hell will not contain her pain.”
Lucine blinked, frightened by the harsh words. Yet they were appropriate, weren’t they? If Natasha or Sofia broke their covenant with Vlad, they should pay whatever price he demanded. He was their lord and master.
He stopped in front of her and smiled. Brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Tonight we will be wed and the world will not contain my joy. The coven will gather, and you will lie on the altar. I will deliver you into hell, and you will become a half-breed, fully fleshed and fully dead. Together we will reign over these living. What do you make of that?”
“It is my honor, my lord.”
“It is. But you must also know your duty. You must know that I may do with you as I please. That your very existence now depends solely on me. If I would drain you of blood and leave you as ash, I will do so. If I would send you to my master to be used for his pleasure, you would run to him. You will have great power in your flesh, but it is mine, never forget that.”
It sounded both terrifying and beautiful. Lucine knew that she had changed, but the specifics of that change seemed to fade with each passing hour. Glimpses of her prior self flashed through her mind but vanished so quickly that she couldn’t dwell on them. She only knew they were there, not what they meant. Like knowing that the devil lived but not what his purpose was. Or that God was in heaven but not what he did up there.
“Yes?” Vlad prompted.
“Yes, my lord.”
“You must know that you are already dead. That your flesh is meat. Even your beauty is mine. All of it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you will love me always, like an innocent child loves even a brutal father.”
“I will.”
“Yes, you will.”
Vlad was smiling one moment, then his face twisted with rage. He drew back his arm and slashed at her with a grunt. His claw slammed into her face, spinning her around and off her feet. She landed on her left shoulder and felt her head crack against the floor.
Her world went dark and was filled with screaming. Her own, she thought. She clawed at the darkness above her, then was jerked upright.
“Now look at you, you whore.”
Her master was speaking. He was telling her what he wanted from her, and she would do it without question, because not to meant more of that screaming. Anything but that screaming.
Orange light flickered into view. She saw that she was standing again, held up by Vlad, who gripped the back of her gown. Without thinking, she lifted a weak arm and felt her face.
It was not normal. Lumpy. Fleshy. And wet with blood. She could only see out of one eye. She thought maybe other parts of her face might be missing.
Lucine began to cry.
“You aren’t so beautiful now, Lucine. And if I took Natasha’s head off, I would expect you to smile still.”
But she couldn’t respond. Her throat was choked off with her own cry. She could hear the soft cry of Natasha behind her, sniffing.
“Shh, shh, shh, now come, darling. Come.” He drew her to his breast and she leaned into him.
“Shh, shh, shh. You’ll be beautiful for our wedding.”
Then he dipped her in an embrace, bit his lip firmly, and let his blood dribble onto her face.
Lucine felt the numbing change immediately. Felt her face tingle and shift. Soft popping as flesh joined flesh and bone connected to bone.
Vlad licked her face gently, then wiped the excess blood off with his palm. In that moment she loved him more than she had at any previous moment.
“See? All pretty again. It is my flesh to do with as I please. You should never cry again. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“And who am I?”
“My lord and master.”
“And am I Natasha’s lord and master?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.” He released her, walked over to Natasha, and slit her throat with his nails. Blood spilled down her dress. Her eyes went wide and she tried to speak, but her larynx was severed.
She collapsed in a heap.
“Leave her.”
He would heal her, of course. Lucine felt her hands shaking with the horror of this sight, but she knew that he would heal her and they would dance together again.
Sofia’s eyes were misty.
Why, if she knew that this was all just a test? A rite of passage. The becoming of a queen.
Vlad returned to Lucine, wearing a smile. “Not to worry, darling. She will see our wedding from a very unique vantage. Yes?”
“Yes,” she said, but it came out like a croak.
“Do you love me?”
“I love you, my lord.”
A fist pounded on the door.
“Not now!” Vlad thundered.
“There is a fire, sir!”
He hesitated.
“Where?”
“In the tunnels.”
Lucine saw the flicker in his eyes, the momentary shock. Nothing more.
“Sofia, take Lucine to my tower. Now.”
She was instantly by Lucine’s side.
“Both of you, remember what you have seen tonight.”
“What about Natasha?” Lucine asked.
He searched her eyes. Offered a compassi
onate smile and kissed her forehead. “I will take care of her later.”
And then he was gone.
THIRTY-FOUR
Time was against me. From the beginning my plan had been to distract them sufficiently with fire to draw Vlad van Valerik’s attention. I had not intended to leave with such a loss. Though my slaying of Alek would undoubtedly help convince them that my purpose was retaliation, not rescue, his death rode me like a monster.
Still, I had to bear down and use what means lay at my disposal to find Lucine and get her out before the fire was put out and matters sorted.
I ran around the castle, drenched. The fortress was bordered by a stone sidewalk, and the pounding washed away my footprints as quickly as they were made.
I already knew precisely where I would scale the wall. The lowest section that ran into the tower was midpoint on the western side. I withdrew the rope, shoved the bag into my belt so as to leave no evidence of my passing, and stared up at the lip of the wall, only twenty to twenty-five feet here.
Still, it took me four casts to lodge the hook firmly enough to chance a climb. The wet wall compromised my footing, but I managed to scale most of the way before teetering on a fall. I lunged up and grasped the ledge with one hand, swung free for a moment, then grabbed that same ledge with my other hand.
Without the full benefit of fear, I might not have thrown myself over the wall so easily—scaling wet walls is difficult business without the proper leverage. I quickly hauled the rope up and left it ready to be thrown back down.
The top of the wall was not even two feet wide, and I ran it with far too much abandon. Thinking back now I realize how easily I could have missed my step in the rain and plummeted to a nasty end. But my mind was now swallowed with the tower just ahead and that window within easy reach of a higher ledge.
If Lucine was not in the tower I would . . . Honestly, I might have been tempted to throw myself to the ground.
Only when I was there, on the ledge at the window, did I realize that it was sealed. A curtain hid the room beyond. I would have to break the glass and risk drawing attention. I saw no alternative other than retreat, which was tantamount to death.
