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Wicked Obsession

Page 17

by Cora Zane


  “She’s dead, Henri. Gisele killed her and attacked Eleni. She has gone mad.”

  Henri stared at him in shock, then looked up at the house that was now billowing smoke, the upstairs windows pouring out flames.

  Julian leaned over Eleni and discovered she wasn’t breathing. He dipped his head down to listen for a heartbeat, and at that same moment, the peaked roof over the premiere suite collapsed with a sound like crackling, groaning torment. The onrush of oxygen stirred the blaze into an inferno that began to lick a path along the roof.

  Julian began CPR on Eleni. He tilted her head back, opened her mouth and puffed air into her lungs, all the while praying he was not too late.

  “Come on, mon amour. Breathe for me.” He completed a series of chest compressions, then paused and listened for breath, a heartbeat. Hearing nothing, he repeated the cycle.

  Her lips were blue from lack of oxygen. Julian’s mind began to race. He worried about death. Smoke inhalation. Dark, purple bruises had begun to form on her forehead. It would take at least fifteen minutes for emergency services to arrive, and by then, Eleni would be dead.

  “Work with me, Eleni,” Julian murmured as he pulled her lip body into his lap. He was shaking, determined, as he angled her in his lap so he could initiate a blood exchange. Henri hobbled forward on his knees to help him pull her into his lap. The old man couldn’t have anticipated what he planned to do.

  But Julian had no intention of quibbling over details. He couldn’t let her go, his only protégé. Not only had she changed his life, she had given him reason to rise from the ashes of the man who had been scarred by the past. He loved her, and he couldn’t bear the idea of facing eternity without her.

  His eyes on Henri, a look of warning, he sank his fangs into Eleni’s neck. The sweetness of her blood sprang hot into his mouth, the iron taste of immortality pouring down his throat. Her heartbeat was so weak, he was afraid to take too much.

  He let go with a gasp and pulled open his shirt, quickly slashed a line over his heart, and as the blood flowed, he pulled Eleni to him, and laid her head against him, but she was unconscious and he struggled to make her drink.

  He swore under his breath and looked up at the horror on Henri’s ashen face.

  “Call Marguerite,” he ordered as he stood and gathered Eleni’s limp body into his arms and carried her toward his car, which was still parked in the drive. “Tell her I’m on the way, and explain what has happened.” He swallowed over the lump of fear that threatened to close his throat. “If I don’t turn Eleni soon, she will die.”

  Marguerite was waiting at the front door when he arrived. The outdoor lights were turned on for him, and as he parked in front of her house, Marguerite and two of her protégés stepped outside to offer him assistance. A small cry of shock escaped her Marguerite’s lips when he tugged Eleni from the car, and boosted her up into his arms.

  “Julian… Is she breathing?” She held the front door open for him as he shuffled into the house with Eleni’s limp body held tight against his chest.

  “It’s begun, Gita. I’ve already made an exchange with her, but the addiction… It has made her resistant. You must help me.”

  Marguerite looked suddenly afraid. Julian carried Eleni across the threshold into her house, ignoring several of Marguerite’s protégés who were in the sitting room, looking around in alert fascination as he carried Eleni straight up to the room where he stayed when he visited as a guest. He turned the knob and kicked the door open with his foot, then carried Eleni into the room and placed her in the middle of the large bed. The room was country provincial, spacious and closed off from the rest of the sleeping quarters. Julian chose it now because it had blacked out shutters over the windows, and a private bathroom.

  “How can I help you, Julian? What must I do?”

  “She needs more blood. More than I can give alone. You must help me complete the exchange.”

  She gaped at him. “Do you know what that could do to her?” He didn’t answer her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Do I want to save her life?” he asked incredulously. Frowning, he knew what she meant. “She is clinging by a thread, Marguerite. Now is not the time for analyzing our greater desires. But if you’re asking me if I’m certain about entering the blood bond with her then—” He looked down at the woman in his arms. “I cannot bear to lose her.”

  “Julian, what you ask…there is a reason it isn’t done. The results would be unpredictable. She could end up blood bound to us both. If it is my blood that turns her, she may end up bound to me.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “You could lose her entirely.”

  “I will lose her entirely if she dies,” he snapped. “I would not ask this of you, but I love her, Gita. Do you understand?”

  Her eyes flicked over his face. “Damn you, Julian.” She licked her lips. “I do not like this. You know what a dual exchange could do to her,” she said in a low voice. “I adore Eleni, but what you are asking is dangerous. Not just for her, but for all of us. The bond will connect all of us in some way. The results are not predictable. There is a reason why we are only allowed to turn one blood mate.”

  He laughed sharply. “I don’t need you to lecture me on the subject, Marguerite.”

  “With both our voices in her head, it could drive her to suicide.”

  “If it comes to that, then you can place all the blame on me,” he snapped, his eyes glittering with impatience. “I know the risks. Will you help me? Or will I be arranging for her burial come morning?”

  She pulled a face, baring her fangs in frustration. “You are a bastard, you know that? You always must have your way.” She ran a shaking hand over her mouth and cursed under her breath. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried to the bedroom door, flinging it open and startling several of her protégés who were waiting in the hallway.

  “Yvette,” she called one of her most trusted Acolytes to the door. “Heat a pan of water,” she told the young woman when she was close. “And have Oksana bring spare towels.”

  “What’s going on?” Julian heard one of the young women ask from the hallway.

  “Monsieur Julian’s blood mate is dying,” Marguerite said quietly. “Now, do as I say. And be quick!”

  She shut the door and returned to bed, where Eleni lay like a broken doll across the ivory sheets. Julian looked up at his cousin in silent gratitude. She was already rolling up her sleeves.

  “Thank you,” he said in a voice that was both rough and weary. “I know this may well take away your one chance to have a blood mate.”

  “There are never any perfect choices are there?” Marguerite sighed, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Let us save her, and pray we are not too late.”

  * * * * *

  They worked with Eleni for hours, Julian giving her blood first before passing the duty to Marguerite. They each bled for her several times, and through it all, Eleni remained mostly unresponsive, her breathing raspy and irregular. Weak from blood loss, he sat back in a chair beside the bed, and didn’t argue when Marguerite went to the door and called down for bottles of blood wine to be delivered to Eleni’s room.

  They drank in silence, bottle after bottle. It was potent, but not enough. Marguerite excused herself and went to feed. She had offered him the blood of one of her protégés as a restorative, but he declined. It seemed wrong in the face of what they were attempting to do.

  Marguerite returned a little while later, sated but obviously tired. He hadn’t heard her enter. He sat slumped in the chair with his thumb scraping over the bristles of his five o’clock shadow. The tap of a cup against his shoulder make him glance around. His cousin had brought him a large snifter of blood.

  “For your strength,” she said quietly.

  Julian slipped the glass from her hand, and watched as she crossed the room and sat in a chair to wait. Beside one of the narrow windows, she smoked cigarettes and watched the glow of the fire on the horizon. Julian dra
nk the blood and felt better, tired. His eyelids felt heavy. He watched Marguerite until he dozed off.

  Around 4:00AM, Eleni awoke in shrieking sobs, her body gripped in throes of agony. Julian leapt up, severed abruptly from a dream of wandering aimlessly through the vineyard. In an instant, he was beside her on the edge of the bed, holding her down to keep her from hurting herself.

  “Mon Dieu!” he gasped. The whites of Eleni’s eyes had turned the color of a dark garnet. Her skin was clammy, yet blazing hot to the touch.

  “It’s happening,” Marguerite grimaced. “The blood… She’s turning.” She hurried around to the opposite side of the bed and did her best to hold down Eleni’s legs.

  Eleni writhed, moaned, and hissed for a five full minutes. Then, she began to convulse. Horrified, Julian cursed, shouted in fear at Marguerite, who had no idea what to do.

  “Eleni, everything is all right,” Julian told her in his most soothing voice, trying to calm her even as he struggled to keep her on the bed. He couldn’t risk her hurting herself. Sweat beaded along his brow while turmoil raged inside him.

  You must be all right, mon amour. Because I need you—I can’t lose you. How would I live?

  Almost as soon as he thought the words, a searing white hot pain erupted across his brain. It nearly toppled him. Clenching his eyes tight, he growled and felt his fangs elongate—a defensive reaction. His head swam, and distantly, he could hear Marguerite’s voice asking him if he was okay.

  Rising up through the agony—the sharp awareness of hunger. His body was on fire with it, the need so strong it nearly took his breath. A minute passed before Julian realized the hunger was not his. It was Eleni’s. Their connection had cemented, and his bloodmate needed to feed.

  In a flurry of movement, he ripped open his shirt and pulled Eleni close to him. “You need to feed, Eleni. Do you hear me? The pain you feel…only blood will make it stop.” Blood rushing hot and potent through your veins. Drink, love, drink from me.

  He felt her panic, the uncertainly lingering in her mind like a shadow. Then, instinct took over. Julian flinched in ecstasy as Eleni’s fangs pierced his flesh.

  She stilled as she drank from him. Her pain ebbed away, but in its place, Julian discovered a well of fear and confusion. He let her drink until he could feel the tugging in his veins warning him to stop. When he at last disengaged her fangs from him and laid her back in the bed, she had grown limp, docile. Her expression had grown even more distant.

  The room had fallen abruptly silent, the only sound Julian and Marguerite’s ragged breathing. They were both still reeling in shock when Eleni’s head turned to the side, her gaze regarding her Biter as if through the mist of a dream. “Julian…”

  “I’m here, my love. I’m right here,” he croaked raggedly.

  Without warning, her eyelids drifted closed.

  Julian hovered over her a long minute, trembling, shaken. He leaned over her, cradled her to him, and kissed her hair, murmuring a jumbled litany of relief against her lips.

  Finally, Marguerite tugged him away. “Come. We should let her rest.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  They stepped out into the hallway, where Julian stopped and leaned against the wall. Worry ate at him. He ran his hands through his hair, then stood away from the wall and paced. A minute later, he leaned against the wall again and covered his hand with his mouth. He was so stressed it was almost unbearable.

  “Julian, you have to be calm.” Marguerite laid a hand on his arm. “She will be okay.”

  “I don’t know,” he rasped. “I just don’t know.” He shook his head. “I feel her confusion.” He hesitated before admitting what he had noticed while in the room with Eleni. “She senses your emotions.”

  Marguerite froze. “Are you sure? I don’t feel any different,” she said in quiet amazement.

  “I will take that as a good sign. Then again, you didn’t drink from her directly. Even so, I know for certain we’re all connected. I can feel Eleni feeling you,” Julian confessed, and leaned heavily against the wall. He raked a hand through his hair.

  “Madame,” someone said from behind them.

  It was a slender young woman with dark hair. Her brown eyes skimmed warily over Julian.

  “What is it, Josephine?”

  “There is a man at the front door. He says he works for Master Julian.”

  “Henri,” Julian rasped, and pushed past Marguerite. He walked through the house and found the old man standing in the foyer, crumpling his hat in his hands.

  “Monsieur, the police came. I told them you weren’t home when the blaze started. They’re looking for you, nonetheless. I suspect it is to do with Claudette and Gisele. They said you should contact them as soon as possible. This is the inspector’s card.”

  Julian slipped the contact card from his fingers, and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Henri. I will reward you handsomely for your loyalty once this mess is over.”

  “I am grateful, Monsieur, but that is not all of it. Last night, a vampire came to me at my gîte. He was well tailored…tall with reddish hair. He appeared to be from the city. The man asked for you, and then asked if the girl, Eleni, had lived through the blaze. I told him I didn’t know.”

  “Did the man give his name?” Marguerite asked.

  “No, Madame. He spoke passable French, but his accent was distinctly Russian.”

  A flame gleamed in Julian’s eyes as he turned to Marguerite. “Liev Sidorov.”

  “You know who it is?” Her brows lifted.

  Julian’s eyes narrowed. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “He has come to the house before to speak to Eleni. He’s a representative of Zander Rubio, Eleni’s former Biter.”

  “Are you sure? It could have been someone from the council. The fire at the chateau has been in the news.”

  Julian had already guessed that much. He knew for sure the fire had been reported as far as Paris. Eloise, the housekeeper at his townhouse, had tried to phone him many times. He had waited until Eleni was resting comfortably before he returned her call.

  Julian turned to Henri. “Did the vampire say where he was staying?”

  “Non, Monsieur, but by the cut of his clothes, I don’t think he would choose poor accommodations.”

  Julian thanked his servant, and offered to find a place in the village for him to stay, but Henri had lived in the gîte for over thirty years—it was his home. He was determined to remain in the former rental cottage, and Julian had no desire to take that small comfort from him.

  The following night, Julian gave his statement to police. The inspector from the village had traced him to his cousin’s house. He answered their questions as thoroughly as possible, yet careful not to go into overly elaborate detail of his whereabouts, since he didn’t know what Henri had already told them. Curiously, they didn’t ask him about Eleni. Perhaps they did not realize she had lived at the chateau. Whatever the case, he certainly wasn’t going to mention her. She was not in any state to face questioning by the police.

  The inspector didn’t stop with the one interview. After Julian, they questioned Marguerite, and also, briefly, Marguerite’s premiere, Oksana, who sat demurely on the sofa and obviously knew nothing about the fire, or the typical goings-on at the chateau. The inspector lingered a few moments after that, looking around with great interest at both the arrangement of the house and Marguerite’s protégé, Antoinette, who had arrived late, and sat like a haughty bronze goddess in one of the leather wing-back chairs.

  Finally, the inspector gave Julian his card, and said he would be in touch if he needed any more information. He didn’t seem to think he would.

  Once the police were gone, Julian went upstairs to check on Eleni. In the dimly lit room, he walked over to the bed, and looked down over his sleeping bloodmate. She had curled on her side with her hands tucked protectively against her body.

  Overall, she slept soundly and didn’t seem to be in any pain. Julian was glad for that. He brushed her
hair back from her forehead and leaned down to drop a tender kiss on the bruise that darkened her forehead near the hair line. On his way out of the room, he grabbed his sport coat off the corner chair.

  When he came back downstairs with his keys in his hand, Marguerite looked up from a book she was reading. There were dark shadows under her eyes. She sat straighter, closed the book. “You’re going out?”

  He couldn’t tell her where. Several of her protégés had joined her in the sitting room. They lounged about in front of the television where they could overhear him. The less they knew, the better.

  “Keep an eye on, Eleni,” he told her. “I’ll be back before dawn.”

  He walked to the front door and let himself outside. For a moment, on the edge of the walkway, he stopped and looked out over the horizon, past the silhouette shape of sprawling walnut trees where an orange glow hung in the sky in the direction of his chateau. It still burned. The police had warned him it would likely burn for days.

  His heart clenched as though a vise had gripped it. Losing the house was like losing a first love. It had been his sanctuary for hundreds of years. But even as he stood and gulped in the cool night air, he knew that even if he rebuilt the house, it would never be the same. His life revolved around Eleni now.

  He’d just taken the first few steps toward his car when the front door opened behind him. He glanced back, waiting as she walked toward him, her hands fisted on the gap of a tan cardigan she’d apparently thrown on quickly before stepping outside.

  “Where are you going? Surely, not to your chateau?” Her eyes were worried.

  “I have to find Liev Sidorov before he leaves the village.”

  She was silent a moment. “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “I have to go. I have to find out what her Biter wanted from her…and what he had been discussing with Gisele that pushed her to…this.” If Eleni’s Biter wanted a war with him, he was more than willing to accept.

  “Julian, you must be careful.” Marguerite lowered her voice. “If anyone were to find out what we have done—”

 

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