by Billi Jean
She laid Christian’s mind bare, and once he was groaning and begging for mercy, she threw his deeds at Bryson—forcing them through the bond Bryson had forged by giving her his blood. She felt Bryson stagger and fall to the ground, his head in his hands as the painful thoughts attacked him.
She struck Christian hard in the head with her boot.
The chamber filled with light as a thousand candles blinked into existence. Hands above her head, she called to the fire and drew it, building the flames brighter and brighter. When she could hold no more, she crouched and lowered her hand down on the still-thrashing body. Flames caught and erupted as Christian screamed. When he was no more, she called the wind and let it blow his black ashes to the surface, cleansing the sacred space of his evil.
Agatha. She will be next. Then I will have to find this other.
A sudden shout, inside her head, and she nearly lost her footing. Bryson?
But that was impossible. She had not shared her blood with him. There should be no bond. She spun, not seeing him, then realized why.
He is in trouble?
She waited, not sensing more, and unwilling to open the line. Except the longer she stood, the more she wanted to check. He had saved her from the Hunters. He had stayed, while she’d left, battling the last so she could escape with Christian.
She shifted, not materializing but hovering as he had, in the air, to scan the surroundings. Below her she found him. He was held by two Vampires. He could have easily thrown them off and killed them. Instead, he allowed them to bind him painfully and shove him to his feet. She breathed in and scented more. He was hurt. Somehow, he’d been stabbed. She remembered him shoving Christian off. He’d grunted. Had he been wounded? She had taken hold of Christian and left. She had assumed Bryson would do the same.
She came behind both men and slammed their heads together, but not hard enough to kill them. She could tell Bryson didn’t want that, so she used enough force to stun them. Once down, she broke the tight cords on his arms. Bryson fell forward, barely catching himself from landing on his face by placing an unsteady hand to the grass.
“What ails you?”
He coughed then groaned. “Why did you come back?” he asked then quickly demanded, “Did you kill those men?”
“I came back because you were in trouble and I didn’t think you should die.” At her words, Bryson stared at her blankly. “And no, I did not kill them. Do you have enough strength to return to your home?”
Another cough that she realized was a laugh.
“I can’t go home, Isobel. I just aided you in killing… You killed Christian?”
“Yes.”
He groaned louder, much louder than she thought necessary.
“I…know why now. Although, for the future, if you wish to share someone’s goddamn memories, do it…” He stared at her throat. Was he imagining sinking his fangs in her? Tasting her and gathering her memories? “With some warning.” He hung his head and rubbed his temples.
She crouched in front of him. Now was not the time to discuss his foolishness. Or be preoccupied with thoughts of how his bite would feel. She pushed against his shoulder. “Can you rise?”
“I can rise.” He didn’t. He lifted his head and sat up but stayed on his knees.
He was weak, the loss of blood substantial. But still the width of his shoulders drew her eye. She’d felt how hard he was. Knew his body was corded with strength. He’d held them in the clouds without a sign of difficulty. Such brawn was exciting.
“Why did you kill the others?” The command in his voice angered her, but she waited and he grimaced—finally. “They were on the council that killed your brother,” he guessed.
“You saw Christian’s deeds.”
He avoided her eyes at that, scanning, unnecessarily, the bodies of the two unconscious Vampires.
“Can you go to a safe place?”
He laughed then groaned and grabbed his side. She pushed his coat aside to see the dark stain of blood coming from two wounds on his stomach.
“You should heal by now.”
“Help me up.”
She shook her head. “I cannot help you up. You are too large.”
“You just bashed their heads in with enough power to crack their skulls, you can bloody well—”
She helped him up, easing next to his unwounded side to get him on his feet. He stumbled and his weight nearly unbalanced her. She caught him with both arms, holding him around the chest so as not to press on his wounds. He dropped to one knee, bringing her with him. Before she could comprehend what he’d do next, he fell forward only catching them with a hand on the grass like before. She was stunned silent because when he landed, his thick thigh pressed right between her legs.
She thought he might fall all the way on top of her, especially when his hand slipped, but he straightened himself with a painful groan.
“Damn it, if I pass out, do not leave me here.”
She laughed, caught off guard by the idea. “It would serve you right. You left me to the sun.”
“I didn’t leave you—”
He slipped and his hips pressed into her stomach. The weight of him was thrilling, or would have been, if he were not nearly passing out. She detected that either he was a well-endowed male, or erect all the time.
“If you pass out on top of me, I may have to shift home without you, because you will be too heavy for me to lift.”
A groan answered her, but along with that came a puff of hot breath along her temple. She shivered, suddenly aware of how solid Bryson was, and how well he was made. His scent was spicy, an intoxicating reminder of the taste of his blood.
Bondings were different for each couple. Some knew immediately and could not resist the call, while others slowly eased into the need. The idea of Bryson, so stern and filled with conflicts over her caressing her body, knowing her more intimately than any other man ever had, or would, sent a shock of awareness down her flesh. It wasn’t distasteful, she discovered, even if she still had lingering anger toward him.
But this is not the time. Not even to sample his lips again.
He managed to lift his head and gain a little distance between them by putting more of his weight on his knee. That also tensed his thigh, which rested against her sex.
“Bryson, I suggest you roll off me before I have to remove you.” She was surprised at how breathy her voice sounded.
He jerked upward to his knees, wavering on them, but stayed upright. If she had to guess by his lowered brow and grimace, she thought he was worried he’d harmed her.
“Now, let me up.” She scooted carefully free from between his legs, cautious of his groin now that she had felt the press of that particular part of him. “You will have to leave this place, quickly, and drink.”
After struggling with almost all his weight, she got him upright and on his feet.
“I can drink from you.”
“No, you cannot.”
He laughed painfully. “Fine, take me where you hide, then.”
“I will not.” She could not do that, for if she did, she wasn’t sure she could keep this desire to a level he wouldn’t notice. Vampires had a good sense of emotions. She was certain her sudden and growing fascination with his muscles would eventually rise to his attention.
“Then leave me here because there is nowhere else for me to go. I might as well face the sun, because I prefer that to—”
“Fine.” She couldn’t think of another solution. He was a traitor now. His people—his friends—would discover what he had done and come for him. I can’t leave him to face that alone. “Just hold on and do not pass out. You are too heavy.” She shouldered more of his bulk. “We go now.”
She shifted again, taking another man to the most private and sacred of places. Only this one was much more dangerous than the first.
Chapter Fifteen
The cavern’s warm glow welcomed Isobel as she settled next to one of the low beds. She eased Bryson down, noticing again t
hat his hair was shot through with gold. He wore it short, but he appeared more like a warrior from old with it like that. In fact, Bryson was the model of all she thought of when she recalled the brave men from her past. He was strong and capable of caring for a family. He was courageous and honorable, no matter what the task. Except, she worried, when it came to her, then he was blind.
“Here. You will be safe here for now. No more attempts at binding me.”
With a grimace, he grumbled, “Damn it, Isobel. I will need blood to survive. What—”
“Yes. I will fetch you something, but you will not drink from me.” She pushed his shoulder to get him to lie back.
He cast her a dubious glance but rested on the bed after another painful groan. “You aren’t safe going out alone. If you shared your blood—”
“I am not sharing my blood so you can try and pick my mind for the truth you cannot see otherwise.”
He lowered his hands over his face and shook his head. She wasn’t certain what it meant, but she left him before she got lost in how his trousers pulled tightly over a bulge on the left side of his hip much more than the right.
Is he aroused, or merely relaxed and shaped so well that even flaccid his member fills in the loose fabric with its bulk?
She had never seen a naked man. Statues, paintings and such things, but she had never witnessed a male unclothed. Would Bryson’s skin be as smooth as his forearm? Supple and silky-smooth? Or would he have hair on his chest? She knew from her own body that she had no hair under her arms or genitals like humans. But did Vampire men also not have this hair?
The urges within her were growing. Even though he’d not wanted her, he’d kissed her as if he might die without her.
‘I want one thing before we both die…’
A kiss? Why now? Why when he thought me a monster, and not before when I was seen as honorable? And cold.
If I had more experience, I would know. I don’t even have a person to ask…
She sighed heavily as she walked through the back of the hospital and right to the glass cabinet that held unusable blood. Inside, shelf after shelf of red, delicious and apparently unwanted blood was packed and waiting—for her it would seem. She took out several plastic containers. Debating Bryson’s size, she finally added more until her bag was overflowing. Bryson was a truly strong warrior. He would need a lot of blood.
A few minutes after she’d left, she returned. Bryson was sitting up, clutching his side and from the look of it, trying to rise to his feet or perhaps falling back down after gaining them.
“Where the hell did you go?” he barked, getting to his feet unsteadily.
She gave him less than two minutes. She set down the heavy bag on the bed and pulled out a pint of blood. “You should trust me.”
He sat back down as if he’d fallen. Of course he cursed in Latin, like she wouldn’t know? Does he always curse or is it the pain? Or me? His stomach should have already begun healing, but she shifted the tattered remains of his shirt aside to check. The flesh was still covered in blood. But the wound was not as large. The trickle of crimson had all but stopped.
His strength was impressive. She moved away from the tempting sight.
“I will rest now. There.” She pointed to the other pile of blankets she’d made into a bed against the far wall.
Bryson squinted at her, then the pallet. She took a bag off the top and walked away. There was no need to talk to him. But she wanted to. After so long alone, she wasn’t sure what to say, how to create that ease he’d given her over his meal. Even aching inside, she’d grown comfortable.
Her mentor had once loved to discuss anything and everything with her. But with Bryson, if she hoped to have another stimulating conversation, it would be a disappointment. She could feel his questions, could feel the need to demand answers, but weariness began to creep through her body. He had all he wanted—the why of what she did now, if he would only search through Christian’s memories.
She wasn’t certain he was prepared for what she was beginning to want. Am I?
“You stole blood from the American Red Cross?”
At his outraged cry, she put her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile. “Yes.”
“This saves lives!”
She held in the laugh, but only just. He truly thought the worst of her. Instead of angering her, she realized she was amused.
“Read the label, Bryson. I assume you learned to read as you grew older.”
The reference to his humble roots had him grunting, or from the pain as he picked the bag up and set it on the floor next to the bed. He muttered something, but she turned on her side and curled her hands under her cheek, choosing to ignore him.
“It’s unusable. You took blood marked for disposal. I see.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. Her humor of moments before dwindled.
He didn’t see because he didn’t want to.
Bryson finished the last bag of blood and knew the wounds he’d suffered were healed.
Christian. Christian had been a part of the council. I should have known when he came to the house. Or when I first found Isobel.
Christian, the royal who never would gain what he’d always wanted. Rule.
When they had been unable to find Aidan after Aaron’s death, it had been Christian and with him, Agatha and Aquinas, who had settled disputes among the Houses as if they would rule now that Aaron was no more. There had even been councils to decide on the matter.
Agatha. That would be Isobel’s next victim. Then there would be one more.
Back then there had been several nobles all tracing their blood back to the beginning of time. Aaron and his brother Gregory were sons of Augustine, who was the eldest. Aaron had two sons, Aidan and Alec, and one daughter, Abigail. Gregory had Gia and her sister, Giselle, along with Gideon and Rowan.
Alec had died long ago, leaving Agatha behind as his only remaining heir.
Gregory was nowhere to be found. Lost in the ages, or gone from this world.
Gia was now dead.
Giselle had perished years before in the Lykae-Vampire wars.
Gideon and Rowan remained, but Gideon had chosen the long sleep, while Rowan was…unaccounted for. Some whispered he was deep in the mountain ranges of Eastern Europe, others that he, too, had died at Isobel’s hand.
Aquinas had been the son of Abigail.
Christian had been the son of Giselle’s great grand-niece, Gwendolyn.
That left Agatha as the only remaining direct descendant.
If Christian had wanted the throne, he would have needed Agatha by his side.
Gia, Aquinas, Christian, and Agatha were members of the council. They had to be. But who was the last, remaining member? Rowan?
Rowan was the only male left in Gregory’s line, other than Aidan.
Bryson stood and walked to where Isobel slept. Unlike myths about Vampires that were so prevalent, his kind didn’t sleep in crypts. Neither did they sleep on their backs, arms crossed over their chests like the dead. Isobel slept curled up on her side, her head pillowed on her hands.
The flickering light from the candles illuminated all the perfections of her beauty, giving her skin a warm glow. She had survived the ages but hadn’t gained the ease most of his kind had through living near humans. She still spoke with care and only when necessary. Her complete lack of the colloquialisms he’d grown accustomed to from Jaxon and other immortals reminded him of another age, a simpler time. Sarcasm was missing from Isobel. So, too, was anything other than whatever she’d planned for the remaining members of the council.
Now he knew why. They had not just killed her brother. They had damned him. He would never journey on. He would never reach whatever waited for them after this existence. The council had done this, and worse, he sensed from the facts she’d shoved down his mind link with Christian that they had done this at Aaron’s orders.
Aaron had ordered Jorge’s death. But he’d punished him for slaying an entire village. Had J
orge been accused and not guilty?
He rubbed his shoulder, fighting the building ache. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept, or the last time he’d slept well.
What to do? Sleep? Or get answers? There was something missing from this, something far worse than the horrifying death the council had brought down on Jorge. He turned away and exhaled. I need to process Christian’s mind, but it is filth.
There had been another Vampire in the battle. Christian had come prepared, but he’d been no match for Isobel. Whoever the other Vampire had been, lurking in the shadows, he’d been powerful. He’d also been cautious. Near, but never close enough to make him out.
The candles caught his attention. He knew this place, or thought he did. They were somewhere underground in what was now modern Turkey. The cavern was enormous, far below where the humans had located a much smaller chamber, miles from where this one was hidden. This one dated back to well before the fall of the Roman Empire. As far as he could see, candles lined every nook and crevice, spilling dark purple wax in pools that alone were testament to its age.
Scroll upon scroll had been stuffed into the white sandstone shelves. In other areas, tables and desks, as well as the bed Isobel rested upon, had all been created from the existing rock. The blankets and sheets, along with the mattresses, were new, which intrigued him, but everything else was ancient.
Designs and decorative art gave a hint of the earliest days of Christianity, but most were so faded and worn by the ages they were difficult to read. Other forms of deities and ancient symbols were scattered through the cavern.
None of it was evil. Not an inch spoke of death, other than the spot by a broad slab of darker stone near to the back of the cavern’s deepest wall. There he believed she’d killed Christian and burned his body, sending his ashes far up to the surface and away from this place. An enormous dragon rose up along the back, carved out of the stone with its wide wingspan taking up the entire wall. Its head was angled downward, its jaw open as it blew flames outward in a pattern of jewels. Even its claws held beautiful symbols of power. One a long, bright sword, the other a chalice radiating golden lines of light. Below it stood robed and hooded figures with their heads bowed, swords held with both hands so that the tips rested near their feet, crossed hilts at their chests. The Dragon Guard. This was their ancient location.
