Blood Wars (The Bloodborn Series Book 2)

by Iris Walker

  Weak. Naïve. Stupid.

  “You’re wrong,” she yelled, arms pulling at the leather straps.

  “No,” Charlemagne said with a wicked grin, coming closer, planting both hands on either side of the chair and moving towards her until she could smell his breath. “I’m right, and you know I’m right. The only reason these words anger you so much is that you know they’re true. Because you’re young, and you’re weak, and you will never be as strong as you wish to be. We managed to make the only human that didn’t have a desire to destroy things into a weapon that doesn’t even work. I mean, you’re too paralyzed by fear to even damage any of the vampires. You won’t let yourself.”

  “I won’t become what you want me to be,” she hissed.

  His breath oozed over her face, making her nauseous. “You can’t become anything but what you’ve always been. A scared little girl, running away from the monsters.”

  Robin shook with rage, feeling it well up inside of her despite the magical restraints that were now flickering, fading with every bout of flame that grew in her mind. Sweat poured down her temples, snaking past her neck and down her back, heating up with that red-hot anger.

  “You don’t scare me,” Robin said sharply, spitting the words in his face.

  “Really?” Charlemagne scoffed. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like you’re barely hanging on by a thread. You’re scared of losing control, scared of hurting someone, and scared of being anything remotely important, which is why you will never, ever be able to break free from the monsters that are now fighting over you. You just don’t have it in you, you scared, pathetic waste of magic.”

  A scream ripped out of her, and Charlemagne’s eyes flickered with intensity, with exhilaration. The fire surged inside of her and she let it loose, obliterating the magical restraints and sending sparks of magic bouncing into the corners of the room. She gasped for breath, the roar of heat and power thumping underneath her skin and sending her mind into circles of dizziness.

  Charlemagne’s hands clapped together once, twice, and then faster.

  Applause? Robin thought in a daze. He’s making fun of you…

  Another fire had begun consuming her, born out of the wound in her arm, and spreading through her shoulder, over her spine, into every fiber of her being. It became worse and worse with every second that passed like a hammer.

  “Another outburst,” Charlemagne chastised, clicking his tongue. “Thank you, Robin, I truly appreciate your lack of mental fortitude. Just a few words from me was enough to get you to initiate the link and get in touch with Calliope. We can always rely on you to lose control, it seems,” he chuckled, moving forward and touching his fingers to her temple. The fire swirled in her mind, fueled by the pain in her arm, and the fear for what came next in Charlemagne’s plan, just as her sight faded to another vision of Calliope.

  Lucidia

  They pulled over on the side of the road somewhere in the middle of the desert, which, coincidentally, was exactly where House Nero was; a hundred miles of nothing in every direction. The human servants were a breed in and of themselves; the nearest town was two hours west of the stronghold, and most of that was on dirt roads.

  Lucidia had met the vampire Valerius Nero once and seen him many times at various conferences or events.

  He was certainly a more old-fashioned vampire.

  Tall. Very, very tall, with long black hair and a large, aquiline nose. He opted for robes in his traditional gold and black house colors, and never went anywhere without them. At events, conferences, or ceremonies, members from all the houses came to one secure location to conduct business. Call it a family reunion. During lag times and shift changes, strongbloods get a chance to mingle with those of other Houses. It was always a pleasure talking to those from House Nero.

  And by pleasure, Lucidia meant extremely entertaining.

  Born sometime during the late Persian empire, Nero was brought up in the breadbasket of proto-Europe, if there was no bread and the basket was just an ocean of sand broken up by the occasional lagoon.

  No wonder he gravitated towards Nevada.

  His stronghold, though Lucidia had never visited, was rumored to be one of the most traditionally constructed castles of the new world vampire families. Most immortal beings preferred to alter design as technology progressed, but some of them hung back in the good old days; you know, before ventilation and safety railings. Based on the stories she’d heard, OSHA would have had a heyday with them.

  Lucidia glanced around at the blinding orange, rusty wasteland, dust slipping past the car and curling in the air. “When was the last time you were here?”

  “Oh, maybe a few decades…” Darian said with a pause. “No, actually it was closer to a century ago, now that I think about it. But Valerius isn’t the type to alter his design, so I believe my memories will do.”

  Lucidia’s lips pressed into a thin line and she nodded, gripping the gearshift. “Alright. Lay it on me.”

  “Very well,” Darian hummed.

  Lucidia closed her eyes, and felt icy fingertips on her temples, a moment before a tempest of electricity consumed her mind. Pain ignited in her skull, obliterating all her thoughts, a blue storm of chaos surging behind her eyes. She felt her hand gripping the gearshift hard enough to break her fingers, and then even the feeling of the car was consumed by the storm, by the confusion, and she was lost in it, whipped around and pulled into another scene.

  The storm of light and stinging pain faded to the edges, and she found herself viewing through eyes that weren’t hers, walking with a gait that was unfamiliar and too smooth, gliding through the halls of an ancient castle. The halls were wide, and shorter than other vampires like Darian preferred them. Torches (real ones) burned, pouring hot and greasy smoke into the air and sending flickering pools of light across the corridors.

  During the memory, they went down, further and further, until the passageways narrowed and the air became cold, stale. Dust coated the ground, scraping along the edge of the cloak that Lucidia could now feel lapping at her heels. Every step, every particle of dust moving around them, had a hum that she could hear and a vibrancy that was always shocking to human (or half-human) onlookers. Vampiric senses were really something.

  They moved further into the castle, deeper, and the air grew frigid. No torches were posted in these corridors that twisted and turned in a labyrinth of corners, but Darian’s vision compensated by feeling the hum off the sides of the wall, like a bat using echolocation. Of all the vampiric talents, Lucidia wouldn’t have minded that one.

  After what seemed like ages of walking, they came up to a small octagonal chamber with doors spread throughout the room, and sepulchers set into the walls between them.

  Darian and Nero strode forward, into the second door on their right, and entered a cramped passageway that only led a few feet in, stopped by a large maroon door. Magic crackled off it, an even stronger feeling for Darian than it was for Lucidia.

  A small spike protruded from the middle of the door, and Nero placed his hand on it. Even in the darkness, Lucidia could see rivers of red blood snaking through coils in the design work of the vault, until something clicked, and the door swung open, ancient air escaping with a soft hiss.

  The storm of electricity crept back to the edges of her vision, yanking her out of the memory and slamming her back into her own body. Lucidia groaned and released the gearshift, fingers aching from the death grip. Every muscle in her body was still on fire and she rolled her shoulders back, listening to the chorus of pops that released the tension.

  Darian pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his own eyes shut.

  At least I’m not the only one, she thought with private satisfaction, massaging the spot on her temple where it was still tender. As painful as thought transference was, it had worked. She ventured towards the memories that still felt foreign inside of her mind, that had been transplanted, and ran over the layout of the entire castle. She could see it from
a bird’s eye view now, manipulating the architecture in her mind and running over weak points in their defenses.

  The bad news was that there weren’t many.

  But then again, Lucidia loved a good challenge.

  The castle was built like a giant square, with four main towers and a larger section on the front wall, where the grand hall and the administrative buildings were held. In the middle sat a large courtyard and a substantial garden oasis, though how he was able to get anything to grow in the center of Nevada, Lucidia wasn’t sure.

  She was more interested in the strategic blind spots.

  For instance, the human’s quarters.

  Lucidia had been asked to do many a risk-assessment in her own time and had traveled to several vampire strongholds as part of a team in charge of ‘breaking and entering’ to assess for security weaknesses. Which is why she knew that humans being forced to live in medieval vampire castles would always, always, always find ways to make their lives easier.

  First off, ventilation. There would most likely be a window in the basement, intentional or otherwise. Either that, or somebody would leave a door propped open, especially in the kitchen. But the kitchen would be a populated area, so it may not be the best course of action for their aim. They needed somewhere that vampires wouldn’t want to be anywhere near, that humans would find a way to ventilate for.

  Bingo.

  A small smile crept onto Lucidia’s face.

  “Got it,” she said, flipping the car into drive.

  “What are you thinking?” Darian muttered, his hand still over his eyes.

  “We’ll find the bathrooms, or something like that around the human quarters, and enter there. You’ve still got your ring, right?”

  Darian nodded.

  “Okay. From there, we’ll slip through the shadows until we can get to the passageway. If we run into anybody, we’ll just take care of it quietly.”

  “I’m impressed,” he said with a light laugh.

  “You do enough of these, you start to learn where the chinks are. Any time vampires keep humans, there’s bound to be a loophole.”

  “They don’t like being uncomfortable, that is for sure.”

  Lucidia chuckled and focused her eyes on the horizon, scanning for any enemy agents. “I ran into Anna Lucia Monette in Seattle,” she murmured.

  “Did you?” Darian asked. “Where?”

  “She and Paxton made it to Seattle. She’s safe, somewhere in Landon Prior’s ‘utopia’. But it was strange finding her in a back alley of the city.”

  “I can’t imagine what was going through her mind,” Darian said with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t believe she’s ever been outside of our castle walls, except for the transport.”

  “She looked like a scared puppy,” Lucidia said with a sad smile.

  “We have many people living in strange places, afraid for their lives. These are uncertain times to say the least.”

  “Is there a long-term plan?” Lucidia asked. “For relocating our people to a safe place?”

  “It depends on the outcome of this mission, whether we can discern the direction in which events will move. Anywhere we go will become an immediate target.”

  She nodded, considering their limited options.

  “What’s in the vault?” she asked after a few moments.

  “Something that will help us determine the direction of events to come. I will caution you, though. It is not without its own perils.”

  “You act like we’re going to find a dragon,” she joked, shooting him a side glance. His face was a stone slab, his expression grave. Her eyebrows crept together. “It’s not a dragon, is it?”

  “No,” Darian said quietly. “Though in honesty, I’d rather face a dragon.”

  “Goody,” Lucidia muttered, tension wrapping around her lungs. She felt the first hints of adrenaline creeping into her fingers and toes, anticipating the thrill of a fight. Even if hell waited for them on the other side of that door, at least she’d get to throw a few good punches beforehand.

  Reykon

  Mama Katya’s eyes lit up as she pulled the circular bowl of water towards them. Light shimmered off the grooves of the bright metal, swirling in a beautiful show. Well, it would have been beautiful, if Reykon hadn’t been wary of both magic and the strange caster conjuring it. The amulet around her neck burned, brighter and brighter as she mumbled a stream of words under her breath. Reykon couldn’t understand any of them, even though he’d been trained to pick out phrases from the conventional language of spell work.

  Magic crackled in the air, sharp and stinging, and waves of goosebumps rolled over him. He ignored it and focused on the water in the bowl. It glowed bright white, like an overachieving flashlight. He expected the light to be warm, but found nothing but an ice cold, chilling fog in its presence.

  “What are we… looking for…” Reykon trailed off, distracted by the swirling white glow.

  Shapes began emerging, clearer and clearer with each thudding heartbeat that he felt between his ears. The world around him faded, darkness encroaching the edges of his vision as he was sucked into the picture shimmering on the surface of the water.

  Three figures emerged, all in a dark space that seemed to be something like an abandoned warehouse, or an old industrial park. The air was hot and stuffy, and smelled like motor oil. The first figure was a shorter, squatter man with glasses and hair that seemed a bit too thick and wavy to be natural. He had a short cut beard, neat, and brown trousers with a simple green button up. Reykon’s heartbeat surged as he saw the second figure: Robin.

  She was stunning, truly, even in the dark light. Her birthmarks had deepened since he’d last seen her, coming in all the way and presenting a mesmerizing pattern across her body, like the most ravishing rubies but even more breathtaking. Power rolled off her, and the glow of pure magical energy clung to the air around her like a perfume. Her glacier blue eyes blazed with anger and fear and an intensity he’d last seen on the boat as they’d approached Magnus’s ships. Robin’s fingers gripped her forearm, and Reykon’s chest ignited as he saw a festering wound, spreading like wildfire across her arm.

  His eyes flicked to the third figure, a bedraggled, weakened Calliope. Her true form now shone out, likely because she didn’t have the strength required to put up an appearance. Silver shimmered on her skin, cold and unnatural, showing black veins that led to coal black eyes, no whites visible at all, like pools of sparkling onyx.

  The older a caster gets, the more of a toll magic takes on their appearance. What was once skin turns into silver, bound together by magic and elemental juju. As old as Calliope was, she’d just gotten a dusting of it; making her too unnatural to walk through the human world without a disguise, but not so old that the creepy skin became beautiful and ethereal enough to convince people you weren’t just a magic-addled zombie.

  As much as Reykon hated to admit it, Robin had gotten quite a bit from her true mother. Calliope Dragomir’s intensity and determination raged on Robin’s own face, hints of similar characteristics visible at certain angles and shades of lighting.

  “Robin,” Reykon called, reaching forward. In his plane of vision, he saw no movement from his own hand, but felt an iron grip around his wrist.

  Noomi’s voice rose out of the darkness. “You can’t touch them. It’s a vision.”

  Despair kicked him in the gut, hard enough to ache. “Where are they?” he growled, every muscle in his body tense at the suffering on Robin’s face. Wherever she was, she wasn’t there of her own volition, and she was injured, in pain. Scared. Each realization hit him full force, like bullets, colliding into him.

  “They are not together,” Mama Katya’s voice rumbled, filling every corner of Reykon’s mind. Amplified by magic, it sounded strange and disjointed. He ignored the feeling of discomfort at the intrusion and focused his eyes on Robin. “If they’re not together, then how are they talking?” Reykon asked sharply.

  “The link…” Noomi said in conce
rn. “Charlemagne must have triggered it, if he’s participating in their vision.”

  “We’re looking at a vision… of a vision?” Reykon clarified, his mind spinning.

  “Yes,” Mama Katya hummed.

  “It will kill her,” Noomi growled, her own voice hardening at the realization. “It’ll rip Robin apart. Charlemagne’s not that stupid.”

  Panic welled up inside Reykon’s chest and he leaned forward. “How do we break it?”

  “We can’t,” Noomi whispered harshly.

  Mama Katya made a noise in the back of her throat, and it rumbled inside of Reykon’s mind. The image faltered, and then returned, just as Reykon felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle in alarm.

  Charlemagne’s brow ticked upward, and he turned, in slow motion, like the apex of a horror movie. His eyes searched in the darkness and fell on them. All of them, piercing Reykon and holding him there in an unbreakable gaze, until Charlemagne’s eyes narrowed, and he made a wave with his hand. Just as if someone threw a rock onto a glassy lake, the image in his mind warped, rippling out and disintegrating until he was thrown back into the dark, red room where they’d been with Mama Katya.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Noomi let out a cry of frustration, standing abruptly and kicking an empty crate into the wall.

  So, not good…

  Mama Katya’s ragged expression only deepened his concern. “The caster… he is powerful, indeed.”

  “Do you know where they are?” Reykon seethed.

  Mama Katya’s dark eyes were a mixture of trepidation and true sorrow. “Yes. But you must hurry. You are not the only one in pursuit of that place.”

  Robin

  Robin’s arm was screaming at her, begging for the pain to stop, but it surged, burning underneath her skin. What had Charlemagne said? Something about unraveling. Unease curled in her belly, twisting and knotting within her. Her eyes adjusted to the vision, though this time, instead of a moving vehicle or a dusty cellar, she now found herself in an old warehouse, abandoned for years (at least). The only light came from a lantern, strewn on a dilapidated crate. “Calliope!” Robin gasped, looking at the caster.