Kindred (Kindred, Book 1)

by Nicola Claire

He reached back and grabbed a thick white towel from behind the door and I stood and let him towel me dry, wrap me in it and then pull me to him. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, his chin resting on my head. I used to think I didn't like it when men did that to me, I'm short, I don't need reminding, but there was something so close, so precious in this moment, that I had no desire to be anywhere else at all.

  “Come, you must eat.” I dressed quickly and when I came out he was removing the metal covers to my dish. Lamb roast, baby peas, carrots and potatoes, with a delicate sauce on the side. Perfect.

  He drank his wine while I ate and then when I couldn't possible fit another bite in - oh maybe just one more baby potato - then he rose and came round to my chair, taking my hand and flicking his wrist, making music come out of the very walls. I couldn't see any speakers or a stereo for that matter, but it was soft and sweet and so romantic.

  “May I have this dance, ma douce?”

  How could I refuse? Michel danced with the practised grace of someone who had danced for centuries. His steps so fluid, his body moulded to mine. I didn't need to think, or act, but simply allow myself to curve to him, letting him lead around the room. It was magical. A more perfect birthday I could not have imagined.

  The song came to a stop, another starting straight away, but Michel stilled us, tipped my head back gently with his hand on my chin and let his mouth brush against mine, then deepened it into the most exquisite kiss, all lips and tongue and heat and desire and promises of so much more. It was wet and warm and oh so lovely, I never wanted it to end.

  But that's not how my life goes, is it? Nothing ever goes the way I plan it. Even as he was kissing me, stroking my arms, my back, up into my hair, holding my neck, I felt a slow sense of humming in my mind. It started out as a musical whisper, almost in tune with the music playing through the room, then surpassed it and took over all other sound. The crescendo of noise wasn't awful, far from it, it was clear and crisp and beautiful and pure and so full of light. And that's when I noticed, there was light, every where. Not like when I lit up the vampires on the roof or when I faced Charles in the museum, but within me, through me, it felt so contained and yet so powerful. I felt like I could reach inside me and pull it out, mould it, use it, give it away.

  I looked down at my body and noticed it glowed. All the times I had been told by others, Rick and Nero, that I had a glow and could not see it, finally I got to see. And it was spectacular; fresh violets, majestic purples, comforting mauves, and dazzling amethysts. All blending together to create a shine and light not exactly blinding, but so intense it made you blink.

  The colours began to thrum in time with the crescendo of whispers in my mind. I felt a surge of power shift through me, making me stumble forward and collapse against Michel. I blinked and tried to stay focused, but the noise and colour were so distracting, so all-consuming, I couldn't see anything else. It lasted a good five minutes, not at all painful, but unfamiliar and a little scary. I was finding it hard to catch my breath.

  So much for a little tingle then.

  Michel was holding me in his arms when the glow diminished and the buzzing stopped, the look on his face when my eyes met his, said it all. This is what he had been waiting for, this is what he had expected all along.

  I felt crushed.

  Then I was distracted again by the power accumulating within my veins, it filled every corner of my mind, every cell of my body. It was calling to me, caressing me, enfolding me, in such a rich blanket of sheer brilliance it blinded.

  I became aware of something else then, a sense, or perhaps just an awareness of power and not just any power, but Sanguis Vitam, near me, in the city, through the country and I realised with a start, throughout the world. It was as if the more I followed that source of power, the more I could see. Initially, I was confused, it just didn't make sense, why was I sensing all this power? But then it dawned on me, I was actually seeing all the vampires throughout the world. I could seek them and find them all and it was... frightening.

  There were more vampires than I had ever considered possible. They were spread around the globe and growing.

  I knew without a doubt that although we may have eradicated the Cadre of Eternal Knights from our world, evil still lurked within; festering, growing, kneading at humanity. I could see it, I could feel it. It was a tangible entity right before my eyes.

  But what to do with it?

  I forced myself to breathe, to let that Sanguis Vitam flow back into the world, away from me, away from now. I looked up then, into the softly glowing indigo and amethyst eyes of the man in front of me and shook my head. I could see it there, but I didn't want to believe it. He had planned this, to what end, I did not know, but he did not look surprised and that alone scared me.

  Despite his beautiful smile, his soft caress of my cheek, despite the kiss he rested on my lips, I was scared of what this power would mean to him, of what it would do to him. Despite everything we had been through I still wasn't completely sure he would turn toward the light.

  I took another deep breath in to steady my nerves.

  “This changes nothing, Michel, nothing at all.” If I said it aloud, perhaps it would come true.

  He just smiled at me, that damn knowing smile of his, and leaned in to kiss my forehead.

  “Of course, my dear, of course. Anything you say.”

  If you enjoyed reading Kindred please tell others about this book.

  Share on Facebook.

  Tweet on Twitter.

  Write a Review.

  It all helps, and I would be extremely grateful for the support.

  Kindred at Amazon

  Kindred at GoodReads

  Find out more about Nicola Claire books at:

  http://nicolaclaire.blog.com/

  Read on for a sneak peek at Michel's view...

  Chapter 2 Kindred (Kindred, Book 1)

  Master Knows Best

  From Michel's Point of View

  It never fails to amaze me the lengths certain vampyres will go, to prove their idiocy. I lean back in my chair and force myself to reply to the idiot on the other end of the line.

  "Manuel, you know as well as I, that my interests do not stretch to your land. Why would I be interested in America, when I have the South Pacific to myself?" I pinch the bridge of my nose in an effort to dispel the headache forming behind my eyes. I feel out of sorts this evening, an unsettling that is making my vampyre-within growl.

  "Michel," Manuel's Hispanic-American accent drawls, "Tomas is not concerned that you may have interests here, he considers your attempts to dominate the market... intriguing. He merely wishes to remind you that any ventures into our land should be sanctioned by the King. You would not want to alienate the King, amigo."

  I force myself not to let the growl, threatening to explode from the back of my throat, out. Instead, I reply calmly, "I am not interested in your lands." How many times and in how many different ways must I say it?

  There is something here I am missing. The American Families have never shown this much interest in my business pursuits before. They have never set foot on my land. But, all of a sudden, I hear reports of American vampyres travelling our roads. Why now? Why me?

  Manuel drones on. "Tomas would merely like to remind you, amigo, that together you could accomplish much more. He would like to increase his offer to 1.2 million. I believe this should satisfy you that his intentions are only to aid in your expansions."

  "1.2 million is an embarrassment and you know it, Manuel," I reply, unable to contain the growl any longer. I am sick of these quasi negotiations. America is not interested in my plans for expansion. I know this, but I cannot pin-point how I do, or what is leading me to this conclusion. The only thing I have to go on are the hackles rising on my back. My vampyre stirs restlessly within, he is also disagreeable tonight.

  "You leave us little choice, Michel," Manuel says with a forced sigh. I say nothing, let him dig his hole. Then from nowhere, "There are rumour
s on the Iunctio that others have noticed your land."

  A chill runs down my spine and I sit forward in my chair. "My land? Or my business interests?" Just where is he going with this and why are my fangs suddenly itching to descend?

  "You do not believe your departure from Paris was not noted by those who watch these things, do you, amigo?"

  My departure from Paris? That was 95 years ago. "It has been a long time since I left the Iunctio, Manuel. I am sure if interest were to have been garnered, it would have happened before now."

  His cold laugh reaches me down the line. He knows more than he is saying, but how?

  "The great Michel Durand leaving his position and life on a whim? How is that not going to gain notice?" My fangs flick out and down, my heart stops, I am barely breathing. I have no need to, but the vampyre on the other end of the phone would pick up on my lack of breath if I stop completely. He may already be aware my heart no longer thuds, but I can do little to prevent that now.

  A whim. No one, other than close confidantes, are aware of why I came to this country. No one else should have knowledge of what called me here. But this... cretin, this poor excuse for a vampyre, implies otherwise.

  I waited over 70 years for her. Seventy years of not knowing whether I had made a mistake or if my patience would be rewarded. Seventy years of yearning for something I was not sure would even exist. And this vampyre is aware. A part of me, long thought controlled, rears its ugly head. My fingers clench around the first object they can find, my Visconti pen. In a split second it is dust. I painfully release my grip on the remains - one finger at a time - and force my dragon back down.

  "My interests in this land were varied, Manuel," I say in a surprisingly bored voice. "But my desire for a change of scenery cannot be of that much entertainment for the masses."

  I wait for his chuckle. So predictable. Perhaps my boredom is not entirely feigned.

  "I appreciate the effort Tomas is putting into his offer," I continue, before he has a chance to reply. "But, he is wasting his time and you know it. My answer will not change. The Durand line does not require American assistance, now or ever." That last was perhaps overkill, but this has gone on long enough.

  "You are making a mistake, amigo."

  "So be it," I reply and return the phone to its cradle, disconnecting the call.

  I sit immobilised in my current position. Neither reclining in the seat nor perched on the edge. Somewhere in between. They know about her. They know why I am here.

  Ninety-five years and just when I am so close to the end, so close to gaining what I have desired for so long, it is threatening to explode in my face. I will not let it. I will not let, what I have nurtured and cared for and coveted for so long, be taken by another. She is mine.

  I stand and start pacing, distractedly send a thought out to one of my line and return my mind to when she first arrived. I knew the instant she had come. Several months before her birth I felt her. I didn't follow that call, I sat in stasis for weeks, awaiting the proof to materialise. Too scared to consider I was wrong.

  But she did not fail me. She was born in the New Land, just as they said she would be. And then that night, that cold, wintry night. I don't know what made me go there. I had to use the Ley Lines to get there quickly, something I don't usually consider. It is not safe, but the need to be there for her was astounding. I stood and watched in morbid fascination as they drove the family's car off the pass. I watched in horror as they forced her father to avoid their vehicles and consequently careen down the side of a cliff.

  I have never moved so quickly before in my life. Nor have I since. In a fraction of a moment I was beside the tumbling car, the colours of the occupants' clothes blurring as the momentum of the vehicle picked up. I could see her, in the back seat. Strapped securely in a baby capsule. She smiled at me. Actually smiled. Even as the car tumbled like a discarded toy tossed from a cot, her parents' screams reverberating around the vehicle as the metal crunched and windows shattered and the inevitable crashed towards us all.

  Without a thought for the amount of Sanguis Vitam it required, I pulled her from the car. My ability to move objects without actually touching them is sound, but such a task under such circumstances has its disadvantages. The car tumbled on as we slowed down and then silence reigned.

  I collapsed beside her quiet figure, still strapped securely in the capsule and allowed the world to spin around me for a moment more. I could hear the slowly dwindling creaks and groans of the crumpled metal below. I could not sense any life. But above me, coming down the ravine, were others. Heartbeats frantic, breathing rapid and hoarse, the scent of victory on the air.

  With the last of my strength I shielded her. I wrapped my conscience around her precious body and hid her from their sight. I used what little reserves I had to summon the sound of emergency vehicles, conjured an image of the baby several metres from the wreckage and prayed to whatever God would listen, to a Dark soul like mine, to make them believe what they saw.

  They must have, because I cannot remember what happened in the next few moments, my consciousness only returned when one of my line arrived. The sun was threatening the horizon by then and my kin's urgent demands for both our safety finally reached my ears. My last memory of that scene was watching her watching me. So peacefully, so warmly, so unafraid.

  We left as the emergency vehicles arrived and only barely made it to shelter before the day dawned bright and clear.

  I glance up now, returning my attention to my immediate surroundings and the vampire who had crossed my office threshold and stood waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. He did not say anything. He did not indicate any concern for the fact that he had been standing there several seconds before I realised his presence at all.

  "Dillon."

  "Master. How may I help?"

  "What have you heard of American interest in our land?" I return to my side of the desk, I need the illusion of control it will give. I am not in control. If Dillon senses it, he wisely doesn't show concern.

  "There have been some visits, but nothing that would raise alarm. Merely curious travellers. Nothing more."

  I don't sit, but pause to consider his words. "How many curious travellers?"

  "Perhaps a dozen."

  My gaze shoots up to his, he blanches. I don't know what he sees on my face, but it is enough for him to gauge how precarious his position currently is.

  "I will immediately investigate further, Master. A dozen is an increase I had not recognised as a concern. My apologies."

  He bows low, hand fisted across chest. He doesn't stand up again. I don't encourage him too. He has overlooked an obvious threat. It is not like him, but it is not acceptable either. I watch him for several minutes and realise distractedly, that my hand is rubbing my chest, above my heart. I stop the motion and stare down at my torso. A heaviness has descended inside. A squeezing that threatens to crush my body, shatter my ribs and pulverise my heart.

  She is in the city. She hunts. I sit down in my chair stunned, this is not the first time I have sensed her hunting, but lately, it has become more acute. As though time is running out and if I do not make her mine soon, I will be lost. I swallow past that uncomfortable feeling, that sense of lost control. No one, not vampyre, not human, has ever had the effect she has on me.

  "Tomorrow you shall start investigating their interest further," I say quietly to the still bent vampyre before me. "There is more to their presence than we are aware."

  "Of course, Master," he replies automatically. I wave my hand and he springs upright again a small grimace flashing over his face and then a blank mask.

  I notice, from the corner of my eye, he is watching me, intently. It is only then I realise I am rubbing my chest again. I force my hand to my lap.

  "Leave," I command, lacing my voice in Sanguis Vitam, ensuring he cannot return to the club tonight. I don't want him to be aware of her approach. To put two and two together.

  He nods, bows again an
d leaves. I lean back in my chair and allow my hand to return to my chest. I need to get control of this motion, but for now I seek solace in the movement and let myself feel where she is.

  She is fighting. I have no concern that she will win. I know how good she is at what she does. But still I ache to be at her side. I sigh and force myself to detach from the sensations she provokes. Merde! She is not even before me and I feel so much.

  I send a thought out to one of my line to fetch her. But to only announce his presence when she has finished with the rogue. I know she would abhor interference of any sort. A small part of me wants to tease her, to turn up there myself. I feel my lips spread in a smile.

  My vampyre acknowledges my request and I sense his retreat. I send directions on where to find her. I can trust him. Others would not think so, he appears less than he is, but Shane will not overstep the mark, he will follow my instructions to the letter. He is more than others see.

  Now I must wait. Without even being aware I find myself straightening my suit jacket, making sure there are no creases, that the tie is sitting just so. I curse myself, she couldn't care less how I appear. She barely even registers anything other than the shade of my eyes or the Dark within my soul. She is a Hunter, through and through. And I wouldn't put it past her to attempt to stake me should I cross that Darkened line. Somehow that settles my nerves.

  I clear the remnants of my shattered pen to the trash can and pull a duplicate out of my desk drawer. Grabbing a sheaf of paper I begin to write nonsense. Anything to appear busy. Several minutes pass and I feel her at the front door of the club. Bruno opens his mind to me and lets me hear their conversation.

  "Lucinda Monk, long time no see," my Second says, allowing his gaze to wander the length of her body, he does it for me. "Good to see you," he adds, purposely instilling a gruffness in his voice that pales humans, but not her.

  "Yeah right, Bruno. Wish I could say the same."

  I laugh at her response and then glance down at the paper I have before me. I cringe. My writing has produced evidence of my insanity. I crumple the paper before anyone has the chance to see how lost I truly am. Throwing it in the trash can beside the desk, I see line after line of her name taunting me from its crinkled corners.