“Aye.” His brow furrowed. Why was Oscar acting so strange around him?
***
Alastor trudged back up the porch steps entering the town lair. The stench of death—old and new blood—made his gums throb and his fangs lengthen while his stomach heaved. He followed this foul mixture of scents until he came across a large metal door. A bookshelf was shoved to the side. Pushing his way inside, the scene that met him was like something out of one of those horror movies Ava made him sit through. Even though half the time she never ended up watching it, her face was buried in his chest throughout most of the movie. He shook his head and muttered, “Jaysus-Mary-feckin’-Christ.”
Brown blood stains lined the walls of the empty room. Hanging from the ceilings were some sort of bindings also caked in dried blood. What the feck where they doing in here?
If the human police saw this, then they’d be asking a lot of questions. Now that he was an agent of The Council, this was something they needed to avoid. They’d been doing a good job of keeping the local police away from the actions of the Forest Clan.
But what was he to do with this mess?
If he were with Morgana, she would know what to do.
“But she ain’t here, ye feckin’ eejit.”
Shuddering, he decided to hightail it out of there quickly and go report this to the others.
Chapter Twenty
Every now and then, Morgana would grit her teeth, mustering the little strength that wasn’t draining from her body and tried to shift forward.
She never moved.
Then she tried to send feelings through the bond, but it felt like trying to push jelly through a sieve.
She gazed down at her body. Blood oozed out of the bullet wounds from her stomach and shoulder, dripping down her body into a child’s shallow plastic pool, gathering around her feet like the autumn leaves had. To add more insult, they’d slashed her wrists along the veins and vampires were approaching with plastic cups as if she were some goddamn fountain of youth.
Every now and then a vampire would be even cruder and lap up her fallen blood directly from the kiddie pool like an animal.
She gritted her teeth and tried to struggle against the chains whenever they did this, the worst of them being Ragnorok.
The first time he grabbed her wrist, Morgana struggled to wrench her limb free, and he cut into her skin with a silver knife. That wound would remain open until she ingested vampire blood from someone who loved her. It was a strange vampire lore—no one knew from whence it came—but it was the only way to heal silver poisoning.
Ragnorok pressing his fingers into the cut, drew her from her thoughts and a hiss from her lips. The blood oozed out more rapidly than her other wounds. He snapped his fingers, and a gangly looking vampire hurried up with a silver goblet in hand. Ragnorok held the cup underneath this new cut and collected the blood flowing from it.
He brought the goblet to his lips, never breaking eye contact with Morgana who grunted and struggled against the chains, slurping up her blood rather noisily.
“Ah, simply divine.” He smacked his lips and raised the goblet as if to toast her. “Your blood is indeed special, isn’t it? The human blood enriched with vampire blood. Delicious and satisfying, giving vampires extra strength. Simply marvelous. Exactly what I need for my people.”
“I’m not a fucking living blood bag, you bastard.”
“Who said anything about keeping you alive?”
“Once all your blood is gone, you will starve like a normal vampire. It’s going to be quite painful.” He gave her a wicked smile.
Morgana had never heard of a Primus starving to death, but then again, they’d never wanted for blood. Thinking of her family steeled her spine. “My family will come and get me.”
“Oh, I’m banking on that.” He turned to face her. “You see, I’m going to destroy you and your whole fucking family. And that will trigger a war with The Council.”
“You won’t be able to kill them.”
“Ah, but I will. Because you will tell me the secret to killing the Primus Vampyr.”
“Like hell, I will.”
“Then I’ll just have to make you tell me.” He pushed one of the bullets in her arm further into her flesh, causing her to cry out, her screams ringing in the air.
“Fuck you!”
Ragnorok threw his head back and laughed. “No thank you, my dear, contrary to belief, we’re not animals. Why would anyone want to fuck a cow?”
“A cow?”
“You are being ‘milked’ for your blood, are you not?”
“Once I get out of these chains, your ass is as good as ash.” She gritted.
“We shall see, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Where was she?
The question echoed in Gareth’s mind. He held his head in his hands. How strange it was to be alone with his emotions. He was so used to feeling what Morgana felt wrapped around his own. There was a sense of comfort knowing where Morgana was at all times—all gone now, vanished in one moment. His still, un-beating heart twisted with emotion at the thought of not seeing his mate again, of not being able to hold her, feel her, and taste her lips again. The only other time he felt pain this immense was the night he’d been turned and left to rot as he starved to death. But this pain was born from the heart and his mind—a far more powerful pain.
The smell of blood wafted toward his nose as a glass of blood was being held near his face. He shook his head.
“Gareth, dear, you need to eat,” Vivienne coaxed.
“I’m not hungry.” He shoved the glass away from his face, not caring if any blood spilled on the rug.
A firm grip lifted his chin, and he met the icy-blue eyes—not of the doting motherly figure he and Alastor affectionately dubbed Mrs. V, but the hardened stare of the drill sergeant who whooped their asses in training. “Eat, Gareth. You will not do her any good once we find her if you’re half-starved and weakened by this ordeal,” she snarled.
Gareth snatched the glass of blood out of her hands, never breaking eye contact with her as he drained the contents. “Did you learn that look from Oscar?” he muttered, passing the tumbler back to her, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Vivienne’s lips twitched. “I’ll get you more.”
Gareth nodded and dropped his head. A firm hand on his shoulder made him look up at Vivienne once more, this time she was looking at him with care and empathy. “We’ll find her. I want her home safe as much as you do.”
Gosh, he was a bastard. Here he was wallowing in his own grief when Vivienne was probably sick with worry herself but was forcing him to eat. He couldn’t fathom how a parent would feel about their missing child. “I’m sorry, Mrs. V, about before.”
She smiled at him. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m tough.”
Oscar chose that moment to stride in through the front door. Brutus was wagging his tail at his master’s return as he ran up to him. Oscar absentmindedly bent down and scratched him behind the ears with his left hand. His right hand curled tightly into a fist. Oscar walked over to them and opened his hand to reveal bullet casings, confirming what Gareth instinctively knew.
“I found these outside. Silver bullets.”
The sound of wood splintering reached their ears. Gareth turned to see Vivienne’s hands had crushed the armrests. “He shot her with silver bullets?” Her fingers dug deeper into the chair, which happened to be Oscar’s favorite armchair.
“Yes, my dear. Could you please refrain from breaking my chair?”
Vivienne stood, her icy-blue eyes blazing. “I don’t care about your armchair. Our daughter is out there weakened from the silver.”
“And we’ll find her,” Oscar bellowed. Brutus barked along with him. “We’ll use every weapon, every resource, every tracking skill we possess. We must find her.”
Vivienne withdrew her hands, glancing down at the splinters embedded in her skin. “Oscar Van Wilden, don’t you yell at me
. We’re all upset. But right now, we need to band together not fall apart.” She closed her eyes and opened them, calmer. “We all need to strategize with a clear mind.”
“I’m not just upset. I am furious. That monster has my daughter.”
“And we’ll get her back. I know this is difficult for you when it’s only been a couple of weeks since the other one’s passing.”
Oscar’s eyebrows furrowed. “The other one.” He paused. “Oh yes, Mariza.” He pulled at his collar.
Vivienne crossed her arms over chest, her face wincing. Oscar strode over to her and kneeled, pulling her arms away from her chest and looked down at her hands. “These need to come out, dear.” He began plucking the splinters out with his fingernails, eliciting hisses from Vivienne’s lips.
Her eyes looked stormy as she looked up at her husband, her tone bitter, “She’s not really dead, is she?”
Gareth looked up, his head swiveling between the two of them. “Who’s not really dead?”
“Mariza.” Vivienne hissed through clenched teeth.
“What?” Gareth leaped to his feet.
Oscar sighed, looking toward the ceiling. “No, she’s not.”
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. She stood. “I knew you were hiding something.”
Oscar’s eyes widened.
“You didn’t know that I know about your ability to hide things within our bond, did you?”
Oscar rubbed the back of his neck. “How long have you known?”
“Since the first time you did it.”
“Where is she, then?” Gareth asked, not believing what he was hearing.
“She’s been imprisoned,” Oscar replied.
“For how long?” Vivienne asked.
“One hundred years.”
“A hundred years,” Vivienne screeched.
“Think about it, dear, you’ll be five hundred by then. Your strength will be quite superior.”
“I don’t care about her coming after me again. It’s the fact you lied to me, Oscar Van Wilden.”
“Jesus, what is with you Van Wildens and keeping secrets,” Gareth muttered.
Oscar looked over at Gareth, his brown eyes boring into his. “I’ll choose to ignore that comment for now as you’re upset over Morgana.”
Gareth grimaced. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Oscar nodded. “Very well. But it’s the nature of the beast. If you’ve lived your whole life keeping your true existence a secret, then, of course, you harbor other secrets as well.”
“And what of my question?” Vivienne asked.
“What question is that, my dear?”
“Why did you lie to us about keeping Mariza alive?”
“I told you before I’ll not see any of my children die. So, we need to move past this and go rescue my other daughter.” He turned to Vivienne. “Our daughter.”
“Very well.” Vivienne sat back down, her lips thinning as she straightened her skirt over her thighs. “We’ll put this issue aside to rescue Morgana. For now. But do not think I’ll forget about this.”
“You wouldn’t be the woman I married if you did.”
“All this tension. Morgana’s capture. It’s all my fault.” Gareth held his head in his hands.
“No, son.” Oscar placed his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “If we’re playing the blame game, then I’d also have to shoulder that as well. I wasn’t fast enough despite my age. I couldn’t get to her in time. I felt them coming. I should have gone around the front of the house first.”
“No dear, you were arming yourself. If anyone is to blame, it is Ragnorok.” Vivienne’s eyes took on a deathly look. “We all know Morgana was capable of going out there on her own.”
“But not when Ragnorok knew about her silver poisoning,” Gareth protested. “I should have been out there with her.”
“You know Morgana would have rolled her eyes at you and still insisted she go out on her own.”
“I know, but—”
Oscar grabbed Gareth’s shoulders. “Look at me,” he demanded.
Gareth grunted and forced himself to look into Oscar’s eyes. Something he didn’t want to do because they reminded him so much of Morgana’s. “But what if he has killed her already?”
“You would have felt it.”
Gareth narrowed his eyes.
“The bond can only be broken in death,” Oscar explained.
“But I can’t feel her now.”
“Then I can only assume she’s been weakened quite severely or she’s unconscious. Trust me, you would have felt like half of your soul and heart had been ripped right out of your body.” Oscar’s face fell. It was the first time Gareth had heard of him talking about his first wife’s death.
“Is that what you felt?”
“Yes,” Oscar replied, looking down at his empty hands. Gareth found it odd he wasn’t holding a tumbler full of whiskey. “I’ll tell you what it was like.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Four Thousand Years Ago…
Octavius stood in the trench that had been dug around the outskirts of their hometown. What the Primus had affectionately dubbed the village because none of the Elders could come up with a name they all agreed upon. All had been happy in the village until war had reached their streets only a fortnight ago. Octavius was arguing with Batheras, their unofficial leader, about the latest battle strategy to take place.
A group was to head around the back of the oncoming horde of human-turned vampires who were lusting for blood. Whether it be their blood or the few remaining humans the Primus were trying to protect, Octavius wasn’t sure.
His wife, Delizera, was to be among that group. Octavius didn’t like the idea of his wife fighting. Their daughter, Mariza, had volunteered to remain behind in the safehold of the village with the children and grandchildren of the other Primus. His two sons were fighting Dieter Dovkosky and his band of human-turned vampires in another sector.
He didn’t want to lose anyone, so he was trying to convince his wife to stay behind with Mariza. But Delizera was stubborn as the day was long. She would not hear any more talk of her staying behind. His wife stood tall at six feet, five inches. The extra height allowed her to tower over him, glowering at him. Her long blonde hair that usually fell loosely to her waist was now braided along the sides of her head and pulled back, tied by a leather strap. She’d also changed out of her long flowing dress into cowhide breeches and a vest. She looked quite the formidable warrior. His attire was a similar fashion. His long dark hair was swept back and tied at his nape to avoid flying in his face when fighting.
“Octavius, this is the future of our children we have to protect.”
Octavius sighed. He knew better than anyone not to argue with her. “Very well, but be careful, my love.”
Delizera smiled and pressed her lips to his. “Aren’t I always, dear husband?”
He chuckled before she turned, picking up her spear and joining the others in her group.
Oscar sent his love for her through their bond. Delizera paused and turned her head to the side, a smile on her olive face as she sent the same feeling back.
His wife was tough. She would be safe.
***
Octavius strode with Batheras through the trenches listening to the other Elder relay the latest news from the enemy camp.
“Truly, it has been a terrible mess, letting their family squabbles spill into war like this,” Batheras complained.
Octavius agreed. Ion Dovkosky was a proud man, this would no doubt be a blow to his pride.
As they marched along, a pain speared Octavius’ heart. He stopped, gripping Batheras’ arm, his other hand clutched at his stomach, then moved to his chest. Something was not right with his wife.
He’d felt her feelings of fear but had pushed them to the back of his mind as he discussed war tactics with Batheras. Now there was something like a wall had been slammed down on their bond, shutting him out.
An emptiness unlike anything he had felt befo
re, engulfed him. Like an endless black void had swallowed half his being, he felt soulless.
“What’s wrong, my friend?” Batheras reached out to steady him when he lost his step. The blood drained from his face as he turned to his friend. “Delizera. I don’t feel her.”
Agnor’s eldest son, Endre, came running, huffing, and panting, grasping his knees as he caught his breath. Blood had become scarce since the war started—many of the Primus, not having fed for days, were left weaker than usual.
“Elder Octavius, you must come quickly. It’s Delizera, she has fallen in battle.”
Octavius turned to Batheras. “Send word to my children.”
He followed the young vampire to the edge of the battlefield where the surviving Primus had dragged several of their fallen comrades’ bodies.
Endre led him to where Agnor and Ohana were kneeling over his wife’s body. She was laid out over the grass and fallen leaves. Her blue-green eyes were closed. He would never be able to look into those depths again. Pain ripped through his heart like someone had reached inside his chest, taken hold of it and was shredding it in their hands.
“No. No. It can’t be,” he cried.
Two twisted branches were protruding from her stomach and chest. The scent of hawthorn invaded his nostrils. He always knew something about the trees that grew in the neighboring forests wasn’t quite right. He’d always had an instinctual feeling to stay away from them. Now he knew why. From the way her body was not healing or reviving, hawthorn was lethal to the Primus.
Agnor withdrew each of the branches, passing one onto Ohana, holding the other one up. The ends were coated in his wife’s blood, but he was still able to see the crudely carved pointed ends. “Looks like they’ve found a way to kill us.”
Oscar wasn’t listening as he fell to his knees. “No. No, not my Delizera.” He scooped her body up, cradling her close, not caring if her blood coated him.
The Van Wilden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3 Page 47
