by Irina Argo
Tor brought her into an empty spacious, candlelit living room. The windows were open, allowing a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean Sea merging with a black sky strewn with brilliant stars. The view allowed Arianna to relax. But that moment turned out to be the calm before the storm; the next moment her shoulders stiffened and she squeezed Tor’s hand.
What seemed like an enormous number of Sekhmi began piling into the room, one after the other. It took her a second to realize that it was Tor’s pride. Ah, so this was to be her official introduction. She tried to think about them as just people, tried to manage the noise in her brain. It shouldn’t be hard to remember their names; she knew two already, Theores and Anock, and Tor and Theores had mentioned all of them in their conversations many times. The two bodyguards were Kennet and Shakir; the two others were Leon and Rune. The problem was that she only managed to memorize them just like that, in pairs: which one was Ken and which was Shak? Hadn’t Theores said that Leon was her brother? One looked a little more like her. Oh, hell, she’d just have to come clean and have Theores go over everyone again later.
They were all smiling at Arianna, acting as if her presence among them was totally normal. Then two servants appeared, rolling in a cart, on which sat a cake covered in candles.
All of them in unison began singing “Happy Birthday to You.”
Birthday! Goddess, it was Arianna’s birthday. She’d completely forgotten it; she was turning twenty-two. A rush of memories—of birthdays with her father, of his death on her birthday two years earlier, of how she’d spent the past year, how fraught her life had become—washed over her, and tears burned her eyes. She tried to stop them by lifting her gaze to the crystal, multi-tiered chandelier above her, but they continued to flow. She turned around, embarrassed.
Theores came over to her and gave her a warm hug, “It’s your birthday, Arianna; why are you crying? Look at me.”
But Arianna just buried her face in Theores’s shoulder, quietly sobbing.
After what seemed like an hour, she calmed down, and Theores led her to the head of the table and pulled a chair out for her. After Arianna sat down, Theores lifted her chin and wiped her tears away with a linen napkin.
“There we go, birthday girl. Smile! You look so beautiful in your new gown.”
The cake had been moved to the center of the table, and Tor himself was cutting pieces for everyone. It was a culinary masterpiece, a chocolate soufflé decorated with fresh cherries and curly-cue slivers of white chocolate. Arianna was struck by the absurd thought that she shouldn’t be crying over the loss of her father, over nearly a year of being drained and imprisoned, in the face of such magnificent chocolate.
Okay, chocolate didn’t trump death and captivity, not by a long shot. But really, why was she crying? She should be happy. Things were so much better than they’d been, and she was free, and safe, and she was surrounded by kind and supportive people.
Kind and supportive? A short three weeks ago she was being abused and degraded by Sekhmi who wouldn’t even call her by name. And now, Sekhmi were treating her as an equal, welcoming her into their family, making her feel worthy and loved. She let her gaze drift from one person to another. Gorgeous, powerful, they were masters of the world. They had something she’d never had, and probably would never have: they were a family. She felt almost tangibly the strong bond between them, the respect and support; they stood for each other and could rely on each other. She’d give anything to be one of them, to be a part of them ...
Come back to earth, girl. They feed on the blood of your people; they keep Amiti bloodstock locked in the basement of this villa. You’re up here eating your birthday cake, but one of them might be having their blood drained at this very moment, right under your feet.
“Now, make your birthday wish,” Theores urged her, her voice rich with invitation.
Arianna stared at the candles in a daze. If only she could forget everything. If only she wasn’t the Queen, with all of the responsibilities associated with her position.
In some ways, it was all too easy to forget: she still struggled to perceive herself as the Queen; it wasn’t a part of her identity yet. She had to work hard to remind herself again and again of who she was, what her mission was.
Highlighted by the candlelight, Tor sat at the table so close to her, his stormy grey eyes. It was if Arianna was drowning in them. She’d have given the world for a life with this man.
No. She could not. He was the enemy of her people. He was her enemy. Why was she agonizing over accepting this?
She took a deep breath and then exhaled, blowing out all of the candles. Goddess, please give me the strength to follow my path and to become the real Queen of my people. Please free me from my doubts.
Chapter 47
An hour later, having reduced the soufflé to smears of chocolate on the platter, they all took an elevator down to the garage and soon were on the marina where an elegant white yacht waited to take them out on the water.
It was wonderful being out in the fresh air and watching the black waters of the sea and the lights of Nice on the horizon. There was music and champagne and casual chatting, and it felt as though the real world and its troubles were as distant as those twinkling lights
Arianna was amazed by the luxury surrounding her—but it wasn’t her world; she felt awkward here, out of place.
As if sensing her mood, Tor kept her on his lap, occasionally reaching up to stroke her hair. He seemed happy to let her sit back and listen to the conversation around her; he wasn’t trying to draw her out or even participating much himself.
After a little while, a petite blond woman, the only member of the group Arianna hadn’t met yet, got up from her seat and approached Arianna and Tor, stopping to lean against the railing just a few steps away from them. She was Amiti; Arianna could feel it. But—an Amiti? Here? Of course Arianna had heard stories of vampires and Amiti coexisting, and she had her own relationship with Simone to show her that it was theoretically possible, but still, it was shocking to see this female here, acting as if she belonged.
Arianna’s eyes stayed glued to her for several minutes. The woman inhaled deeply, chin tilted upward as through she was trying to drink in the fantastic night sky, and then exhaled contently.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked Arianna, a warm smile on her lips.
Arianna left Tor’s lap and walked over to her. “You’re Amiti; how—”
“My name is Ismen. I’m Leon and Rune’s blood-bond and mate.”
“Both of them?” Arianna blurted out, aghast.
“Why not? What’s wrong with it?” Ismen smiled coquettishly. “There’s a shortage of Amiti. I’m more than happy to help out by being a partner of two gorgeous males. So why shouldn’t I?”
“Well, I don’t know ... I guess you can ... I never thought about it.”
“Of course she can.” Theores joined the conversation, startling Arianna, who for a moment had forgotten that the others could hear her talking with Ismen. “It’s also very convenient for all of them. One of them is always available to watch over Ismen.”
“Why would you need to watch her? I thought you had a rule about not touching other vampires’ blood-bonds.”
“Yes, we have a rule. But it’s not vampires we’re protecting her from,” Leon said softly. “It’s Amiti.”
“Amiti? What? Why?”
“The Order has condemned all Amiti in real blood-bonds to death. For centuries they’ve been hunting us down and executing us,” explained Ismen. It occurred to Arianna that Ismen was addressing her as she might a child whose mistaken beliefs were appalling, but needed to be corrected patiently and kindly.
“Why would the Order kill their own people? That’s crazy; they’re all about protecting them. Protecting us—” But then she remembered Khay telling her that his blood-bond had been killed by Amiti. She’d taken his claim as the raving of a maniac, which he obviously was, but maybe he’d been te
lling the truth. But Serena was in the Order, and she hadn’t said anything about executing Amiti blood-bonds.
“And—and what the hell are real blood-bonds? Are there blood-bonds that aren’t real?”
“Real blood-bonds are relationships between Amiti and Sekhmi that are based on love and trust, ones where the Amiti partner would never use their power to kill the Sekhmi partner,” Ismen continued. “As far as the Order’s concerned, blood-bonds are only acceptable if they’re used as a means to an end, as a weapon to kill Sekhmi.”
Oh.
Of course there were blood-bonds that weren’t real. That was the whole point of Serena’s plan, what Serena wanted her to create with Tor. What Arianna had agreed to do to Tor.
Her heart fluttered in panic—no, no, you can’t do that; take it back!—and she mentally slapped herself, ordering herself to get a grip. Hadn’t she wished not two hours ago for freedom from doubt, for the strength to follow her path as Queen?
“Amiti who refuse to adhere to that ideology are considered traitors,” Ismen was saying. “They actually issue death warrants against us. And, since Amiti can’t shield themselves from other Amiti, they can find us anywhere. And that’s why either Leon or Rune is always by my side.”
Arianna was silent. So much for being freed from her doubts; she’d never felt so conflicted in her life. On the one hand, the Order was right; these Amiti did betray their people. The idea of establishing blood-bonds with vampires while the practice of keeping bloodstock existed—of living among vampires in the very buildings where bloodstock were imprisoned in the basements—was abhorrent to her, even as she’d been wrestling with it herself. It was a betrayal.
On the other hand, weren’t vampire–Amiti blood-bonds the ultimate expression of loyalty to Hathor’s initial vision? Hadn’t the Goddess created the Amiti for the purpose of binding vampires in love; weren’t they supposed, to form unions, to balance each other? From that perspective, what the Order was doing was totally wrong. As the Queen, could she stop them? Who exactly sanctioned death warrants?
Oh, no. Dread descended upon her.
She turned to Tor. “Ismen says that the Order’s been hunting blood-bonds for centuries. I just can’t believe it. My father was the Order’s leader. He would never allow that to happen. He was a kind and compassionate person.”
“Kind to you,” Ismen shot back, stepping forward aggressively. “Your father sanctioned every Amiti death sentence while he was alive. He’s responsible for the deaths of hundreds and hundreds of innocent people. He was a monster. He even sanctioned your own mother’s murder. And he was one of her executioners.”
“No.” Arianna jabbed an accusing finger at Ismen, her voice insistent, commanding, like someone scolding a bad dog. “You can’t say that. You’re wrong. You didn’t know him and I did. He was a good man. You’re lying. Tell me that you’re lying.” Arianna had kept jabbing her finger as she spoke, her posture assertive, but then she felt her butt hit the rail and realized that she’d been backing up the whole time.
“I’m sorry, Arianna, but I’m not lying. You need to know the truth. Your father was one of three adult Keepers of the Key at the time, and they issued a death warrant on your mother. They got her to leave Tor and produce an heir—with your father Marcus, though we don’t know why or how—and then they executed her three months after you were born.
“Istara was my dearest friend for a thousand years. If she hadn’t resisted them, the Keepers would have destroyed us all: vampires, Amiti, humans, the whole planet. She also protected Amiti in real blood-bonds, helping us hide from the Order.
“But the Order still managed to reach many of us. Even her. I’m sorry, Arianna. I know it hurts, but you have to know the truth.”
As soon as Ismen finished, Arianna looked around frantically, half hoping one of the others would step in to disprove what Ismen had said. But of course no one did. They just stood there looking back at her, utterly still and silent.
It was that silence, and the compassion in their gazes, that made her realize that what Ismen said was true. For one second she was struck by the thought that in all of their long lives, they must have heard terrible, terrible news, too—but then her whole world collapsed, her stomach heaved, her vision blurred, and strong arms were holding her up and half-carrying her away from the group.
She came back into her body to find her face pressed into Tor’s chest, his lips against the top of her head, kissing her and whispering “hush, hush, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Choking on tears and quaking, she hugged him back, fiercely, until the shuddering stopped and her breathing was under control.
“Is it true?” she finally asked into his chest.
She felt Tor nod. “Yes, and I am so sorry that you had to hear this news, especially this way and especially on your birthday. I wish you’d found out about it under different circumstances.”
Arianna raised her eyes to his. “If we’re going to be doing this truth-telling, I want to know all of it.” She paused. This would be one of the hardest questions she’d ever asked. Did she even want to know?
Yes, she had to. “Did you kill my father to avenge his murder of Istara?” Please, Hathor, don’t let it be true. Don’t take him away from me. I know he’s my enemy and I’m not supposed to love him. I know I’m losing my mind. But ... I’ve already lost so much. Please.
Tor stopped breathing, leaving Arianna’s question hanging in the air for unbearable seconds. Finally he sighed and pulled her away from him, holding her by the shoulders and locking eyes with hers. Whatever he was about to say, he was trying to show her that he meant it.
“No.”
A wave of relief rolled through Arianna’s body so powerful that she felt her body sag. She let herself relax back in his arms and hug him, pressing her cheek to his chest.
“Who then?” She could barely hear her own voice, but she knew he heard her.
“I think you’ve had enough surprises for one day.”
“I want to know,” she insisted. “Tell me.”
“You can’t do anything about it. The person who killed him is dead. That’s all I can tell you for now. Please trust me on this.” His tone told her that she wouldn’t be getting any more information from him on the topic.
Maybe he was right; maybe it was enough for one day. She was exhausted, drained, her whole sense of balance out of whack. She couldn’t process anything else now. Maybe later. All she wanted to do now was go home and go to bed, where she could forget everything but Tor’s strong arms encircling her.
She let him hold her for another moment.
Actually, truth be told, what she wanted was a lot more than him holding her. In fact, wasn’t that what she’d wanted all along? She’d held herself back, telling herself that her personal feelings weren’t important compared to her responsibilities as Queen. But it was an almost unbearable burden, and she couldn’t help but resent having to clean up this mess—especially now, knowing that Amiti were killing Amiti and hearing that terrible revelation about her father.
Obviously she and Tor couldn’t be together forever, but couldn’t she throw caution to the wind just this once and be with him? And—and really, when she thought about it, the whole reason she was here was to blood-bond with him, and wouldn’t he be more likely to take her vein if they made love? So it wouldn’t be irresponsible to follow her heart down this path, just for a little while.
And besides, he smelled really, really good.
She realized that the mood of their embrace had shifted, that she was pressing her body against his in a way that wasn’t about comfort anymore, and that he was drawing the deep, steady breaths of someone trying to keep their emotions in check.
She pulled back to look into his face. The grey of his eyes looked like dark clouds seething in a furious thunderstorm. “Can we go home?”
“Of course. Whatever you want.”
Chapter 48
They returned to the
villa in total silence, and was it Tor’s imagination or was Arianna setting a faster pace than usual?
Oh, no, it hadn’t been his imagination. She was in a rush, he confirmed as soon as the door to his suite closed behind them. She threw herself into his arms, her open mouth finding his and kissing him fiercely. Lust roared through him, and he clutched her hard against him, feeling all of the pent-up sexual energy of the past months flowing through his kiss. One of her hands gripped the back of his neck while the other shoved at the shoulder of his jacket, trying to pull it off. He let go of her for a second to help her out. The jacket fell to the floor, and then she was starting on the buttons of his shirt while he reached around to unzip the back of her gown, their mouths never leaving each other’s.
Then the gown was on the floor and her bare skin was blazing its heat into his. She was trying to reach his belt, but just for a moment he wasn’t willing to give her room: he had to press her body tight against his, absorbing her heat, holding still so he could feel the blood pulsing under the surface of her skin.
That was when the bloodlust surged again with such intensity that it almost bowled Tor over.
A tiny voice cried out its objection in the back of his mind, warning him that the bloodlust and arousal were joining forces, that his inner beast was starving and would do whatever it took to satisfy its hunger. It would take over Tor’s rational mind, and if he gave in to it now there’d be no turning back.
“I need to go,” he whispered, half to himself, releasing his grip on her.
“No, you don’t,” she replied, stepping back. “You want to run away from me, but I won’t let you.” Fluid as a dancer, she reached up and took the broach out of her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders and back like a waterfall.
Tor’s eyes followed the waterfall down, then kept going, transfixed by the curves of her body and the lacy black lingerie that covered them. “We can’t do this, Arianna.” His voice sounded hoarse, as though he couldn’t decide whether to demand or beg. Which wasn’t far from accurate, he realized.
