She added Maris’s sacre over her own, then slid out the drawer in her bedside table and tapped open the hidden panel in the bottom, releasing the ring into her palm. She turned it in her fingers, wondering what power the band held for Tatiana to want it so desperately. It must be great. No matter. If handing the ring over to Tatiana was what it took to get Aunt Maris home safely, so be it. The ring could be dealt with later. Certainly the heads of the Families would be interested in knowing what one of their children was up to, no?
The sound of her name being yelled at ear-piercing decibels rattled the door. She dropped the drawer, shoved the ring in her trouser pocket, and yanked open the door. Rennata stood facing the way they’d come, her face a horrified mask, a gold pocket watch in her hand. ‘It’s not been eight minutes yet,’ she muttered.
Chrysabelle flew past. Something was wrong. Mal would have given her the time allotted otherwise. She burst into the great room, her heart pounding, and skidded to a stop beside him. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothos. I smelled brimstone as soon as I opened the door. We need to go now. Did you get—’
Rennata rounded the corner. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothos.’ While Rennata crossed herself, Chrysabelle nodded to Mal. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Wait,’ Rennata called.
‘What?’ Mal hesitated.
Rennata gripped the door frame as though she might tear it from the building. ‘If you go against Tatiana, you must kill her.’ She pointed a look at Chrysabelle. ‘That is the only acceptable outcome.’
Chrysabelle and Mal both nodded, and with the speed only a vampire his age could manage, Mal disappeared from the room. Chrysabelle chased after him, following through the open door and out into the night. She caught up to him behind one of the massive oaks lining the drive.
Neither of them said a word.
Two Nothos, one on each car roof, trails of vapor leaking from their nostrils. They were hideous. Wrongly jointed and excessively muscled. And not one iota human. Brimstone fouled Chrysabelle’s throat. She envied Mal’s ability to forgo breathing.
The closest Nothos reared back, its massive hand aimed claws down. Mal pointed at Chrysabelle, then to the Nothos about to jam its talons into the car roof, indicating he would take the one farther back. She nodded and reached for her sacre. Her hand trembled slightly as her fingers closed around the hilt. This was no weak fringe she was about to take on. Holy mother, help me.
The handle warmed in her grasp, reassuring her. This weapon was tuned to her, its hollow hilt filled with her own life’s blood to marry the blade to her as though it were an extension of her arm. It quivered in her hand, ready to taste her opponent’s flesh.
She started forward, but Mal held his palm up for her to wait.
The Nothos plunged its fist into the car roof. Metal screeched. From inside the car, Fi screamed. Mal slashed his hand down.
They both leaped out from behind the trees. In one silent jump, Mal landed on the roof behind his Nothos. Chrysabelle ran toward her target, a calm settling into her veins. She was meant for this. With a steely sense of purpose, she vaulted onto the car with a thud and raised her weapon.
Her Nothos yanked its hand, trying to free it, but failed on the first try. That bought her enough time to bring her sacre down on his shoulder. The hot blade bit into the beast’s stinking flesh but sizzled to a stop against bone. The open wound smoked, releasing a brand-new stench into the air.
The creature howled. Car doors opened. She unstuck her blade as the Nothos’s free hand slammed into her side and swiped her to the ground. The pain and impact sucked the air from her lungs. She lay there gasping, watching the beast’s shoulder knit back together in an oozing line of flesh and hair. That shouldn’t be possible. A hot blade left a lasting mark. Slowly, the creature turned, its yellow eyes scanning the night, looking for her.
Doc stepped in front of her, roaring like a jungle cat. His body had partially shifted into a half-leopard, half-man state and his fingers now sported lethal claws. The Nothos roared back, reaching for Doc. She pushed to her feet and whipped a bone dagger into the beast’s eye. Fluid exploded, coating the side of the creature’s face and Doc’s right arm. With a yowl of pain, the Nothos fell to its knees, denting the hood. It grabbed the dagger and pulled. The punctured eyeball came out with the blade, leaving a gaping, wet hole.
The Nothos flung the dagger at Doc, eyeball and all, but missed.
Doc hissed and was about to pounce when Chrysabelle grabbed him and pointed to Fi, the last person besides the drivers still in the vehicles. Chrysabelle yelled to her, ‘Get out of the car.’
Fi shook her head, shivering against the leather seat. The Nothos pounded a fist into the roof and she jumped.
Chrysabelle turned to Doc. ‘Get her out of there and into the house.’
‘Will do.’ Doc reached in, grabbed Fi, and, tossing her over his shoulder, took off in a run for the main house. Rennata had better let them in.
Mortalis sprang onto the roof next to where Mal exchanged staggering blows with his Nothos. ‘Get back.’
Surprisingly, Mal did, jumping across to the other car and knocking the one-eyed Nothos off the roof and onto the hood. Sword in hand, Chrysabelle launched herself onto the snarling creature. Her knees met bone and sinew slippery with retinal fluid. Fighting for balance, she hefted her sacre two-handed and plunged it into the creature’s heart.
It curled upward like a spider, its great mouth gaping into an abyss of teeth. Shrieks tore at her eardrums. Claws raked down her arms, shredding the sleeves of her suede tunic but glancing off the body armor underneath. Vile yellow sludge seeped up around the blade. She wrenched the blade in deeper, gouging the hood beneath its body. Metal whined against metal. The screeching intensified. The sludge blackened, bubbled, and turned to smoke. The Nothos went rigid, its remaining eye fixed on her.
A second later, her knees smashed into the hood and a cloud of ash rose up around her. She sneezed, spit out a mouthful of bitter dust, then stood, blade aimed to take on the last Nothos.
It lurched atop the other car, wavering like a drunken sailor, eyes alternately rolling up into its head and locking onto her. Dominic stood off to one side, his short blade brandished, Solomon behind him. Since cyphers were basically defenseless, Dominic was Solomon’s only chance. Mortalis was nowhere to be seen. Had the Nothos killed him? Time to end this thing. She flicked out her remaining dagger and was about to let it fly when Mal stopped her.
‘Don’t. Mortalis is in there controlling it.’
Her hand dropped to her side. ‘He can occupy a Nothos?’
‘Not as thoroughly as a fringe or with the same consistency as a noble,’ Mal said. ‘But yes.’
She’d never seen a shadeux possess anyone. Heard about it. Read about it. Understood what they were capable of, but this … this was amazing.
The Nothos let out a gut-deep growl, its protruding lower jaw dripping strands of saliva. Had Mortalis ever tried to slip inside Mal and take control of him? What would happen if a shadeux tried to take over someone who had a soul?
With jerky movements, the Nothos jumped off the car and landed in a crouch. It straightened as though puppet strings pulled it upright. A voice spilled out of it, half Mortalis, half raging Nothos. ‘Do you want me to kill it, or should we use it as a Trojan horse?’
Dominic and Solomon had come around to stand closer to Chrysabelle. Only the drivers remained in the cars. Dominic sheathed his falchion. ‘I like the Trojan horse idea, but can you keep control of that thing long enough?’
The Nothos nodded jerkily and spewed out a yes.
Chrysabelle failed to see how the Nothos could work as a Trojan horse. No one but Mortalis could possess it that way. How were the rest of them supposed to get into Tatiana’s estate? Maybe it was time to tell them about the underground access. Rennata would have Chrysabelle banned if she revealed the tunnels. Maybe the Nothos idea was worth some discussion. ‘Explain it to me.’
She rested the point of her sacre on the dented hood. ‘And if things don’t go well?’
‘That’s why it’s up to you.’ He brushed a few flecks of stray ash off her sleeve. The gesture startled her almost as much as seeing the two Nothos had. ‘You decide.’
‘Please, bella,’ Dominic said. ‘It might be our best chance to find Marissa.’
Mal scowled. ‘And what if it gets Chrysabelle killed?’ What if? What if she didn’t do it and Maris ended up dead because they didn’t get to her in time? ‘I can take that risk.’ She moved closer to Mal. ‘There’s just one thing.’
‘What?’
She reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the ring, then extended her balled fist in the small space left between them. She opened it. ‘This. Tatiana will expect me to have it. If you hold on to it that might buy me some time to negotiate.’ As though that was even possible with Tatiana.
‘You sure letting her have it is the best solution?’
‘I’m not sure of anything right now, but it’s a plan.’
‘What makes you think I can keep it safer than you?’
‘Because if it comes down to it, you can let the demons inside you loose.’ Even if it meant the death of the rest of them. Her spine iced at the thought of Tatiana getting that ring, but if it meant freeing Maris …
‘You know what that might mean.’
‘I do.’
He held out his palm. She tipped hers, letting the circle of gold slide into his hand. He winced slightly when the metal came into contact with his skin.
‘You okay?’ she asked. ‘I know it’s sacred, but Algernon had no problems touching it. That I know of.’
‘Algernon didn’t have a chorus of banshees in his head.’ He closed his fingers over the ring and tucked it into his jacket. ‘Let’s just say they’re not crazy about this particular piece of jewelry.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going to want it back.’
Black rimmed the silver in his eyes. ‘You’ll get it without a fight.’
She turned to face the Nothos. One corded arm hung slack at its side, the other scratched a hole in its horse-shaped head trying to get at the fae inside it. This was going to be interesting to say the least.
‘Hang on to that thing, Mortalis. We’re going in.’
The fair-haired male struggled under Tatiana’s mouth, his heartbeat weakening to a thready rhythm that sang in her ears like a choir of castrati. The blood was sweeter when the victim teetered on that narrow edge between life and death.
‘Enough, mistress, please,’ he whispered.
This was not a victim, however. This was her comar, and it had taken her years to repay Ivan for the cost of his blood rights. Well worth it, though, for his blood was exquisite. Reluctantly, she drew one last mouthful from his wrist, then pushed him away and collapsed back onto the chaise.
Clutching his wrist, he lurched to his feet, bowing slightly as he backed away. ‘Thank you, mistress.’
She was only vaguely aware of the pale blond kine stumbling out of the room. His heartbeat receded as he shut the door and left her to absorb the strength of his blood.
The rush of power hit her with its familiar numbing warmth, needling through her veins with the stinging prick of morphine. If vampires had a drug, it was comarré blood. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the heady swirl of life. Her heart began to beat. She listened to the bleak cadence and was reminded of how weak she’d been as a human. Of everything she’d had to endure. That life was thankfully behind her. She had been twice reborn as a creature of unparalleled power.
Power that would see her through the coming battle.
One of the Nothos scouts had reported two others lost in a fight at the Primoris Domus. Losing the two Nothos was unfortunate, but all that mattered was that the girl was here. And coming to her. Even now, Mikkel watched the perimeter for her approach. Once the girl was secured, he would be free to decimate the rest of her party. It seemed the least reward Tatiana could offer him for his help.
The perfection of it all thrilled her. Her greatness was immeasurable. How long would it take before there was no vampire more powerful than she? None would be better suited to rule. The House of Tepes would rise to terrifying heights under her guidance. Another swell of power rippled through her. She would rule all the Families.
The girl would bring her the ring and take her aunt’s place as the sacrifice. Why use the old comarré’s blood when Tatiana could have the younger one? Was the old woman even still alive? Tatiana hadn’t checked on her since bedding Mikkel. Why bother? With the niece on her way, the old woman no longer mattered.
Sweet, dumb Mikkel. How wonderful that he’d been the inadvertent key to her figuring out the sacrifice.
How clever that comarré blood would unlock the ring. How had she not seen it before? Pure blood. Pure power. The covenant shall be broken. Then all manner of hell would be unleashed. Tatiana laughed, unable to contain the wicked, heady joy filling her soulless body. What would it feel like when she slipped that ring onto her finger? She craved it with an almost greater hunger than she desired blood.
A powerful presence filled the room, followed by an unmistakable scent. She forced herself not to shudder. The time was at hand. All fear had to be pushed aside. The fearful did not rule, only the strong.
‘Master,’ she whispered, opening her eyes and slipping off the chaise to bow.
He held out his hand for her to kiss his ring, and after she had, bid her, ‘Rise, my child.’
She did as asked, keeping her head down. Tremors of excitement skittered over her skin. She was so close to getting everything she desired. For once, she did not dread the presence of the Castus. She would do their bidding and gather her reward.
The room darkened around him as though his being overpowered the light. ‘You have just fed?’
‘Yes, master. I am prepared. The ring and the sacrifice approach.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Yes.’ She raised her head. Nothing could stop her. Everything was in place. Everything was perfectly aligned.
The Castus smiled. Tatiana forced herself not to look away. ‘How soon?’
‘Within the hour.’ She assumed. She hoped a more accurate answer wasn’t required.
‘Very good. The prophecy will be fulfilled at last.’ He laughed, shattering the mirror over the mantel. Glass rained down, slicing a thousand tiny cuts into her. They healed quickly, leaving traces of blood behind.
He lifted her hand and dragged his forked tongue over the beads of blood on her hand and arm. ‘Now then, when you have the ring and the sacrifice in hand, this is what you must do … ’
Chapter Thirty
Maris inched down the hall, careful not to scrape the heel of her bad leg on the floor. She’d found enough weapons along the way to arm herself with a short dagger and a cutlass. Not her first choices, but those had been the easiest and quietest to remove from their mounts.
The house reeked of vampire. Not the subtle spice she’d once found so alluring on Dominic, but the pervasive mustiness of death and decay. Like old paper money left too long in a damp place.
Tatiana had killed in this house. There was no other explanation. Maris’s lip curled in disgust. This Tatiana lived like the world owed her something and she was determined to claim it.
A noise up ahead sent Maris into a side room. A small guest room, nothing more. No closet either, just an armoire that would cause considerable pain to her hip should she have to climb into it. She pressed her ear to the door and listened as footsteps went by.
She opened the doo
r a slit and peeked into the hall, gripping the dagger close to her side. A servant disappeared down the corridor. She ducked out. Time to move. She couldn’t expect to remain undetected forever. At some point, someone would realize she was no longer tied to that chair and an alarm would be raised.
The hall split north and south. The stench grew stronger to the north so she went that way. Assuming Tatiana killed in her quarters was taking a leap of faith, but Maris had nothing else to go on. Step by arduous step, she closed on Tatiana, praying it wasn’t much farther. The beatings had left her bruised and weary, her hip a knot of pain.
An interior door opened and closed. Frantic to find a hiding place, Maris tried the closest room, but it was locked. Snapping herself against the wall at the side of a large display cabinet, she readied herself to attack. The cutlass blade rested against her cheek, the hilt held snugly by her breast. From here, she could strike out and slice the throat of whoever came by. Maybe even decapitate them.
Footsteps approached. Soft. Sluggish. Weak. Not the stride of a vampire. At least, not Tatiana. Her steps were much more determined, full of arrogance and carelessness.
Maris held her weapons, waiting to see … the air changed, the mustiness tempered with a sweeter scent. More like home.
A comar stumbled past. She couldn’t see his face, but one hand clenched his opposite wrist. Blood stained his gilded fingers. The wound would heal, but his wobbly gait indicated the blood loss had been great. Her heart went out to him for a thousand different reasons, but she had work to do and little time to accomplish it.
Bittersweet emotion filled her. She now knew where Tatiana was, and that Tatiana had just fed. She would be strong. Hard to defeat. But Tatiana’s careless use of her comar stirred Maris. The vampire needed to die. She was a blight on her own kind.
Maris swallowed down her fear. She’d lived long enough anyway. When the comar was safely past, she stepped out into the hall and walked as boldly toward the way he’d come as her bad leg would let her. That boldness didn’t mean she’d willfully throw away the element of surprise however.
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