“So that’s why you think it’s evil,” she said. “It would compel you to kill yourself?”
Gwendolyn nodded slowly. “I don’t know how religious you are. I can’t believe that hasn’t come up,” she said. “Suicides are in the realm of Hell. And Hell is how I measure evil. Anything that tells you that you should kill yourself is evil. Maybe that’s why it has a pact with the other great evil in this world…Lucia.” She said her name on a sigh. “The island itself, in its long submersion, allowed the Eye of Worlds to attune itself to her. It waits, dormant, for her to return and command it. And while it slumbers, no other may cross the veil between worlds, so very engrained is this thing with the rest of fae magic.”
She slapped the base with her cane, trembling with fists clenched.
“So what do we do?” Violet asked in a small voice. She imagined the island sinking at any moment from Lucia’s command, waves closing in on them as the world shook at the elder Sorceress’s whims.
“We train, you and I,” Gwendolyn said, a dime-sized portal glimmering as she opened her fist. It sized bigger and then smaller at her whims. “Midsummer day, between the two of us pulling and our fae allies pushing, we will get the Eye of Worlds to budge for our collective wills.”
“And if Lucia comes back to foil us?” Alex asked, dubious that it would work.
Through the portal fell a pouch, which sagged in her palm. She waved away a puff of cobalt dust from its drawstring top. “I have more tricks up my sleeve, Alexander. Behold from a safe distance—languor dust. A breath of this will render complete body paralysis. The same that grips you in your sleep.” She tweezed its drawstring between her fingertips, offering it to him.
“Thanks…I think,” he said, eyeing the pouch as he held it away from himself gingerly. “Do you have the cure?”
“No, but my fae friends do. Lucia should pray they make it over here if she takes a face-full of it,” she said, taking it back from him and hooking it into her belt. Standing, she offered her palm to Violet. “Come. We have work to do.”
Chapter 34
Julian
HE RUBBED AT his eyes in the passenger’s seat, glad that Armando was driving. His partner and nephew’s seemingly endless chatter filled the night air between them, his words blurring together. At least, that’s what Julian heard. But he hadn’t slept well in several nights, haunted by nightmares that left an oily feeling at the back of his throat come the kiss of the night sky and the dawn of another duty day.
All of Coven Rehnquist was on high alert, expecting danger big and small. The enforcers under Julian’s command were patrolling their territory for any vampires who didn’t belong. They’d essentially closed the borders, especially to anyone swearing allegiance to Lucia and surrendering their territory to the Ancient Sorceress to form a new mega-coven.
Coven Deveaux hadn’t declared for Lucia yet, but they expected it any day. Cossette had hosted her since her arrival in New York City and thus had the most pressure at her throat to conform. But that wasn’t what was on Armando’s mind, and while they waited for the dam to break on the brewing inter-coven tension, he sought to fill the space with one of the only things he cared about.
He prattled on about women.
More specifically about their newcomer, Blood Prince Neala, the Wraith. “Man, you should’ve seen her,” he was saying. “Ugly as tree roots. You know that chewed-up look the ladies dig on their men? Just put that on a woman instead with a bodybuilder’s muscles.”
Julian roused himself long enough to scan their perimeter. They were between businesses now, the late-evening traffic breaking as mortals retired for the night. “Talking trash about an Ancient gets you hurt, Armando,” he said, muffling a yawn.
“I’m, like, prefacing. That’s not what she even looks like anymore,” he said, laying on the horn as another vehicle cut them off.
“Uh-huh.” Julian sighed.
“Petra got a hold of her, and she put on the strongest glamor I’ve ever seen. Now she’s got legs for days. Big red hair that you just want to put your face into—”
“Armando,” he put in.
“What? You don’t put your face into ladies’ hair? You gotta try it. Anyway, she’s a total bombshell now. I wish you could’ve met her too. Maybe she’s that woman you’ve been looking for.” He took his hands off the wheel to clasp them under his chin in a playful swoon. With enough practice in their nightly patrols, he easily steered with his knees as he batted his eyes at Julian, who rolled his.
“C’mon, you gotta smile sometime,” he said, transitioning to his easy charm with the smile that won over the ladies he loved so much.
Julian forced himself to look more cheerful for Armando’s sake. It wasn’t his fault that his head was full of worry for some unnamable something that sank its claws into his heart with cold disquiet. “I might smile more if you had more to talk about than women.”
“Like how our boss is off canoodling without us?” he asked.
“On an abandoned island, save for the strongest vampires in the world, who, apparently, don’t even get along.” He’d heard it all from Sam, who’d caught Alex on a quick trip to shower and shave for some form of decency in the middle of nowhere. “I don’t begrudge him any of that political sinkhole.”
“Whatever. He’s still probably having a bunch of—”
“Could you focus?” he put in before he could suggest anything compromising about one of Julian’s oldest friends.
“Whatever, man,” he laughed, turning onto an abandoned stretch of road with his knees as he spoke with his hands in full Italian verve. “I’m just saying, I wish I could do that. I’d take a sweetie and hide out where the Ancients couldn’t find us.”
Julian scanned the area while he spoke, spotting the silhouette of a man before Armando did. He lunged over to grab the wheel, turning at the last moment. Their rover clipped the stranger, who fell to the street. Both men cursed. Julian thought the poor soul might be dead from his nephew’s moment of distraction, and his dread spiked with a sick lurch.
He knew something bad was going to happen.
Bringing their car to an abrupt stop, they ran back to the prone body that lay where it’d fallen. Armando cursed, his olive skin paling. “He looks dead.” He leaned down and felt for a pulse at the man’s neck.
Julian watched his chest rise and fall shallowly—not dead then—and Armando breathed a soft sigh of relief. There was evidence of a broken arm from the awkward angle it’d been bent at, but if they rushed him to the hospital, there was a chance this would be no more than an expensive mistake.
The man’s undamaged arm shot out at vampire speed, grabbing Armando by the throat. His eyes shot open as he blew out a cloud of green-tinged gas. In only moments, Armando’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp, thrown to the side like a ragdoll.
Jumping to his feet, Julian palmed two daggers, his favored weapons when dealing with other vampires. No gunshot noise to draw mortal attention.
“Ah, my queen gives me all the unpleasant jobs,” bemoaned the other vampire as he drew himself up, rolling his shoulder. His arm popped back into place with preternatural healing. Julian frowned to himself because no one should be able to heal that fast.
He didn’t bother mincing words, lunging forward to stab him straight in the heart. The other vampire had said the right word. Queen.
And he caught Julian’s wrist without trouble, twisting viciously. “Put down the toys. Make it easier for both of us,” he said. The dagger fell from Julian’s fingers as he felt tendons snap.
With a grunt, he went for a stab with his other dagger, just to have it caught too. He butted foreheads with his adversary, seeing black spots as they disengaged. His wrist throbbed, hand hanging limply by his side. While his opponent had easily healed something far worse, this wound would take hours and a fresh transfusion of blood to fix for Julian.
“Give up, boy. You can’t win here,” he said, flexing his hand. In a burst of psychic influence, Julian�
�s discarded dagger flew to his palm.
Julian released his aura, a blast of frigid cold that dissuaded most vampires. Chuckling, his opponent did the same as he threw the dagger point-first with sheer brute force.
Two things hit him at once. One, this man was the eldest vampire he’d ever felt the aura of, feeling like it blew aside his cold shell to scorch his skin with violent heat. Second, the dagger embedded in his thigh up to the hilt before he could even twitch.
His teeth clenched down. He barely uttered even a grunt. Long ago, his father taught him that only weak men reacted to pain.
Still, he knew he was up against someone far older and more experienced than himself, someone who grabbed his jaw, forced their eyes to meet, and began a different battle. Set within sunken sockets were maroon eyes, the same he’d heard marked a Blood Prince. He mustered all his concentration on avoiding the older mind trying to turn him into a puppet to command.
Vampires put mortals under thrall all the time, but it was a brief affair. To remain a secret in the night, it was a necessity to make mortals forget they’d been bitten by another person. But between vampires, putting another under thrall required either a willing participant or a massive power gap of age between aggressor and victim.
Julian felt himself losing this battle as the power of a thousand-year-old mind bore down upon him. His thoughts and struggles faded as the other man commanded obedience. His expression simmered from a pained grimace to a blank. Fury evaporated to…nothing. His worries for Armando became ash.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” the other man said, clapping his hands twice in a signal Julian’s enthralled mind knew meant pay attention. He stood straighter despite the blade still embedded in his leg. “You are permitted to agree with me.”
Julian dipped his head mechanically.
“We’re leaving. You will be in command of the… vehicle.” His maroon eyes flashed toward the car, brows drawn in discomfort. “Take the weapon from your leg and go.”
He pulled the dagger out, feeling the blade scrape tender bone. His master had not permitted him to make a noise, so he didn’t. But his body started healing this wound, closing the worst of it before he could hemorrhage to death.
Julian took limping steps toward the driver’s side, stepping over Armando. Glancing down at the momentary distraction, his nephew’s face brought on a moment of realization. Armando! He couldn’t leave him behind, yet they were doing just that. The Blood Prince didn’t even spare a glance back at the man he’d dropped with a dirty trick.
“Do you know where Rockefeller manor is?” the Blood Prince asked as they got into the car. Julian’s fingers turned the ignition as his mind screamed in denial.
He didn’t answer until the other man clapped his hands twice. He went on the alert like a trained dog. “Answer my question.”
“Yes. I know where it is,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Take us there. And play music. I require modern music.”
“Yes, master.” It was the only task he’d been given so far that he was completely willing to fulfill. He turned the dial to Armando’s favorite heavy metal station and upped the volume until his ears rang.
“What is this trash?” the Blood Prince asked.
“I can’t hear you, master,” he said blandly.
“I said… what is this trash?”
“Modern music, master. Just like you requested.”
His cold blue eyes showed nothing of the emotions brewing within. Thralls weren’t supposed to have emotions or thoughts. But all he could think about was Armando, left behind in the street like a sack of garbage. He clung to that image and burned it into the back of his mind. He could be ordered and pushed around, but he’d been around long enough to know one thing that could save him.
No master could control an unwilling thrall perfectly. He would only need to wait for his new “master” to grow complacent and take advantage of a poorly worded command, just like he interpreted the definition of modern music.
Chapter 35
Julian
NO ONE AT Coven Rockefeller’s mansion headquarters batted an eye to see a Blood Prince leading a Master vampire from a rival coven into their midst. They passed dozens of vampires, both ranking members and servants. The coven master, Ada Rockefeller, was stuck many years in the past, requiring her people to dress their station.
Julian, in his combat uniform, pant leg ripped and soaked with drying blood, stood out amongst them like a modern man at a cosplay exposition. When he got his first good look at the Blood Prince, staring at his back as he followed obediently, he realized the Ancient fit in as a relic himself.
He hadn’t dressed for combat and hadn’t gotten a drop of Julian’s blood on himself in the process of apprehending him. His shirt was ruffled at the sleeves and hem, crisp and white against dark pants and a slim leather belt. His dark hair went to the shoulders and was slicked back by a generous application of gel. A cynical side of him thought he looked like he was dressing for the part of a vampire prince.
Too bad his fall had scuffed gray dirt into his back and sides, and a hint of red on one sleeve showed where his stunt had initially broken his arm. From behind, he wasn’t nearly so immaculate.
They walked into a private bedroom, where the Blood Prince gestured that he should sit. “The queen will be here shortly. Put on your most pleasant face.”
Julian’s face twisted into a forced smile which aged to a grimace as the minutes ticked by. A bead of sweat dribbled down his forehead, the only outward sign of the dread threatening to rend himself in two. He knew something bad was coming, and here it was.
Gliding into the room on silent feet was the queen herself. His master had not bidden him to turn and look when the door creaked open, but he felt the air shift. Her voice followed, smooth as silk. “Ah, at last, we meet in person.”
He knew that voice from deep in his nightmares. He was my lifemate, you wretch!
Night after night, he knew the clothes of silver and white she preferred, but when she stopped before him, one thing was different. Her head was completely shrouded by a veil. But it was still Lucia, and to see her in person woke memories of long nights of dodging her and her accusing stare. She’d threatened retribution. But he’d forgotten, his waking mind shaking off her nightmares like the bad dreams they’d felt like.
He should’ve remembered. He should’ve taken her threats as promises because there was no waking up from the reality of this situation as she loomed over him. “You have done well, Elandros. Barely a scratch on him.”
“Thank you, my queen,” the Blood Prince said behind him.
“And the other one?”
“I gave him a special brew, just like you requested. The disease met your every qualification.” He spoke with pride while Julian recoiled inwardly. Disease! So that was what he’d blown in Armando’s face.
But qualifications? Lucia had wanted this to happen in a tactical manner. If Armando was found and taken to the hospital on their coven grounds with an unknown disease in him…he could unwittingly spread it to their friends and allies.
He had to get a message out to someone before it could happen. Yet here he was, glued to the chair by an order from Elandros, waiting for them to turn their attention back to him once they were done patting themselves on the back.
“Truly outstanding,” Lucia breathed. “I knew I made the right decision in taking you first. Our victory is soon at hand.” Elandros’s clothes rustled as if he bowed.
“Now, for you.” He felt Lucia’s attention turn to him. An odd magical orb circled over her shoulders at the same time before gliding right into her palm. “Even your face oozes of deceit. You are the spitting image of my lost love. What a lie.”
She gestured, creating a rip in midair. A portal, he thought, his gaze fixed on her uneasily as she fished within it. What torture implement would she pull from nothingness?
Lucia withdrew her hand, holding the handle of a briefcase. She tossed it b
efore him with a contemptuous sniff. And then her hand flexed on the orb, creating crushing pressure within his skull. “You will go to Nyixa and give this to Prince Qin, the Ascended. He is expecting you. Tell him his information is past due, and collect what he has to say. You will remember every word.”
He had a new master, her orders adding to the ones already in his head. It wasn’t that Elandros lost control of Julian but that Lucia somehow added herself. He’d never heard of a thrall with two masters—but most vampires didn’t exploit one another in such a way without dire consequences. Gritting his teeth, he struggled against the words. But he had an order to follow. “Yes…mistress.”
Lucia’s voice returned to a silky purr, sounding pleased. “You will learn your place, Julian Marcuson. You serve me now. Go, do as you’re told, and return as quickly as possible. Do not be seen. You are weak enough a vampire that no one should notice you.”
She beckoned to him as she opened another portal, this one big as a doorway. He picked up the briefcase, hearing something rattle within. It was heavier than he’d expected. And then he passed through the portal, into the gloom of a place shrouded in full night. Where was this person he was supposed to meet anyway? She’d dropped him in the rubble of an ancient house, under a surviving archway that’d once been two walls and a section of roof.
The sky was pitch-black, the stone beginning to glow as the only thing white for miles around him.
“You there,” came a quiet voice. Out of the shadows slunk a man dressed in fine, dark clothes from an older time. His silhouette flipped a white coin, and his slanted eyes burned maroon.
“Prince Qin?” He must’ve been expecting company to have been so close.
The Blood Prince nodded, grimacing below a pencil-thin mustache. The words spilled from Julian, compelled from his tongue. “Queen Lucia says your information is past due.”
“So is her payment. I presume this is it here?” He gestured to the briefcase, which Julian handed over. His eyebrows rose as the Ancient man opened it up flat, revealing bars and jingling coins of silver and gold. A king’s ransom lay within, and he had no idea how Lucia had gotten it except for exploiting her new covens or theft.
Dream Walker: Blood Legacy Series Book 1 Page 21
