Blood Enchanted (Blood Enchanted, Book 1): A Vampire Hunter Paranormal Romance Series (12 page)

I slipped my cellphone out of its pocket and swiped at the screen with unseeing eyes. My gaze was for our surroundings. The call connected and went to voicemail. Travis always picked up, no matter what time.

I stopped in the middle of several derelict buildings, a creepy chill slowly climbing up my spine. With my head tilted I listened to the night. Everything sounded ominous but normal, yet something wasn’t right.

The ribbons within twisted abruptly, snapping and knotting like arthritic fingers inside. Bile coated my tongue. I swallowed and glanced towards Alain. His eyes glowed a soft cyan, crimson edging the lighter colour. His gaze met mine; he flashed fang. His vampire-within smiled.

“Fey,” he said softly.

“
Ljósálfar
,” I whispered back and received a raised eyebrow. There was no smell of ozone mixed with peaches. And if my father suspected the Light Fey of having broken the chains that bound them, he had not confided in the head of his spies.

“There was one at the Guts & Glory,” I murmured, my eyes back on our surroundings, my words only loud enough for Alain to hear. “And Hakan’s.”

“Hakan’s,” Alain repeated.

I did meet his gaze then; his look was more disgruntled than alarmed.

“It distracted me,” I said, holding his challenging gaze. “That’s how Hakan got the drop on me.” It was as good an excuse as any.

“Hakan?” Alain repeated, this time probing, ignoring my explanation and homing in on my familiar use of the vampire’s name instead.

I smirked, offered a shoulder shrug, and started walking. Whatever was out there hadn’t attacked. Yet.

“Please tell me you aren’t getting attached,” Alain demanded, his voice laced with unbridled anger.

I huffed out a breath. “Really? That’s what you’ve got to say right now?”

“You
are
easily impressed,
Bébé,
” he drawled, somehow managing to make me both relax with the familiar use of his nickname for me, and become riled.

“Says the vampire who does my father’s bidding. No questions asked.”

“I ask questions,” he argued. “I ask a lot.”

“Like, how high?” I pressed.

He smiled; it was shockingly beautiful.

“Like,” he said, eyes sweeping down my body, “how soon?”

I turned away and ducked beneath a broken arch, coming out in the courtyard that led to Travis’. And knew immediately that something was terribly,
terribly
wrong.

My Svante was in my hand before the breath escaped me. Regardless of what it showed anyone who cared to watch. My heart flipped. Those ribbons tangled beyond comprehension. Light thrumming all around us, as Alain’s
Sanguis Vitam
attempted to soothe.

“No,” I whispered.

“Éliane,” Alain said urgently, reaching for my arm, but I’d already moved.

I should have known better. I should have recognised the trap for what it was.

Travis’ building a crumbled mess, no longer habitable at all, matching the decaying disarray of the wharves. The lack of sound, the eery quiet, the missing whir of electronically controlled guns. The smell of smoke, charred wood, melted metal. The gaping hole in the middle of the courtyard, that led down to Travis’ garage and whatever precious things he hid underground there.

I’d managed half a dozen steps, leaping toward what remained of my friend’s home, before the trap snapped closed around me.

Alain shouted a warning, and then followed it up with a series of swearwords in French, English and I was thinking perhaps Latin. Then my body lurched one way, and then another, as pain shot through my arm, directly into my
Sigillum
.

And the ribbons danced, twirling in a synchronised rhythm, winding tighter and tighter, twisting and turning, and finally snapping apart.

A scream tore from my lips, but no sound emerged. Red glowing eyes met mine across an invisible chasm, rage so pure it made me smile.

I’d never seen Alain so frantic before.

And then he was gone. And so was the courtyard. And Travis’ destroyed home. And the wharves.

Replaced with the sickly sweet smell of burned peaches.

S
omething tugged inside me
, something strong and determined and
real
. I made a sound, even to my ears it was pathetic. And then the pull ramped up, the tug intensified, and a scream was torn from my throat.

It felt raw. This wasn’t the first time I’d screamed, but I had no recollection of any others. In fact, I had no idea where I was, how long I had been here. Why I was being slowly pulled apart.

I tried to move. I couldn’t. For the first time since consciousness had returned I recognised the terror I was feeling.

I tried to swallow. My throat was dry, the action hurt. But not as much as the tug that kept on pulling, drawing, sucking something from me. I didn’t know what, but I knew once it was gone, it would be gone forever.

Terror mixed with desolation mixed with confusion and then I wondered just what colours my
Sigillum
was making. The question had me opening my eyes.

For a moment, I thought I was floating in darkness, but I could feel the hardness of something pressing into my back, and the soft breeze that carried the sweet scent of flowers, and the warmth of a sun that trickled in from outside, slowly making the room coalesce around me.

Relief that I was alone was the first thing that registered. Then horror at my predicament.

I was lying on stone, from the angle of shadows that were becoming more and more distinct, it was above the level of the floor. An altar? The walls were rough, not smooth, the ceiling rounded. The room a cavern of some description, inside a cave. The entrance led into a tunnel, I couldn’t see outside, but I knew the tunnel led towards the sunlight I could feel. The flowers I could scent.

It led to possible escape.

I tried to move. My body remained immobile, and I realised the only thing I’d shifted in the past few minutes had been my head, my eyes. I stretched my neck, trying to look down the length of me, trying to discover what had me trapped, what was stopping me from jumping up and running as far and as fast as I could from this nightmare.

A sharp inhalation of breath was all the sound I made, as I watched the colours on my
Sigillum
bleed into the air above my arm. Sage, mint green and lime, intertwined with ribbons of blue, magenta and violet. They twirled above my skin, dancing on the still air in the cave, twisting like the sensations I feel deep down inside my stomach.

Bile rushed into my mouth, I swallowed it down before I choked on it. My
Sigillum
is part of me. I’ve had it since I was born. A gift from my mother and father, a mark to say I belong to them. I am theirs to protect, to love. As I watched, it faded before my eyes. The colours becoming washed out and indistinct.

It burned. Magic pulsing through it. Beating in time to my frantic heart. With each beat more colour drained out of it. With each drop of my heart into my stomach it faded away until I knew it would eventually be no more.

“No,” I whispered. How was this possible? My
Sigillum
never dimmed, never quietened. Never disappeared from my arm.

But as I strained to see more of what was happening, the colours faded to black and white.

Above my body hovered a ball of twisted ribbons in the brightest colours my
Sigillum
had ever displayed. The most predominate was crimson. The colour of blood. The colour of
Sanguis Vitam
. The colour of my fury.

I let out a rage-filled roar into the cave, struggling to free myself, although my body didn’t shift an inch on its cold plinth of stone. I screamed my anger to the mountain of rock above me. I hurled my wrath at an invisible enemy. I vowed vengeance.

No one answered.

I eventually ran out of energy, unable to do little more than whisper. My empty threats and dire promises barely more than a murmur on parched lips. I wasn’t sure if it was the loss of my
Sigillum
, the power it represents, or the fact I’d been screaming for hours that had weakened me. But finally I fell into a kind of stupor, a stasis similar to a vampire healing trance.

No one came.

I woke to the tugging sensation again. The pull that sent tendrils of ice cold fear into the pit of my stomach. I blinked open swollen eyes, realising I’d been crying in my slumber. I sucked in air, my nose blocked, my throat aching, my chest a hollow cavity of loss.

And remembered where I was.

My head came up, my eyes widened, and dancing above my arm were the colours of a rainbow. My
Sigillum
swirled, bright again, and changing. Gold threaded through the blue, my relief and confusion bringing back to me what was happening.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I growled, struggling futilely to release myself from whatever held me. The colours bled. My shouts were ignored. I reached for my Light and felt only agony.

Scarlet blocked out all other colours for a suspended moment. In my
Sigillum
and over my vision.

Agony.

And then the blackness of nothing.

The third time I awoke, I just lay there. Silent. Panting. Nauseated. The tug on my soul continued. I closed my eyes, feeling lost and alone. Feeling desperate and as though I was dying.

The small amount of sunlight faded, the shadows grew deeper within the cave. Darkness encroached. Around me. Inside me. The colours of my
Sigillum
faded.

I could barely breathe. The ceiling felt weighted, pressed against my chest, covering my mouth and nose, making it impossible to draw enough breath. Sweat coated my skin, the chill of night invading my bones. Or that could have been the loss of power.

Vampires are only as strong as their
Sanguis Vitam
. Nosferatin as strong as their Light. Luc and I relied on our Light and our
Sigillums
. But it wasn’t until right at that moment that I realised how closely our power was associated with the tattoo-like design that graced our arms.

“Luc,” I mumbled, my words thick, my throat beyond dry now. I wondered where Hakan had placed him. I wondered if this was what the vampire was doing to my brother right now.

Like me, Luc wouldn’t be able to reach his
Sigillum
. To touch two fingers to the centre of his mark and call. Did Papa even know I was gone? Was Alain trying to reach me?

Where was I?

Something nagged at the corner of my mind, but the draw on my soul prevented reason. I was a black hole of nothing. A dense mass of infinite emptiness. My
Sigillum
danced in the dark until there was nothing.

And still no one came.

I dreamed. There was light and laughter. Sunbeams and a paddock. The gentle rustle of wind through grass. The trickle of water. I felt at peace. Sunshine yellow edged my vision. I reached for it and heard my father.

“We are coming. Stay strong,
ma chérie
. We are coming.”

Papa hadn’t called me that since I was a young child. The dream faded, just like my
Sigillum
was fading, but I simply smiled.

A soft brush of fingers against my collarbone woke me. The cavern was limned in pale light. Shadows danced. Colours twirled. Ribbons twisted.

I drew a breath for what felt like the very first time.

“
Hayatim
, wake up.”

I rolled over and made a disgruntled sound of annoyance.

“Wake up.” More persistent. Aggravating.

No
, I mumbled, or maybe that was just a thought.

Warmth encased my shoulder, ran down my spine. It felt like the heated palm of a lover. I made a noise, a low purring sound of contentment. Snuggling farther into my pillow, under the covers. I hoped it was raining. Staying in bed on a rainy day and making love was just what the doctor ordered.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” a velvety voice said over my shoulder. “But right now, you need to wake up.”

My eyes opened. For the first time in what felt days I didn’t feel trapped, or tugged at, or that my soul was being pulled out from deep down inside. I sat bolt upright, reaching for my
Sigillum
, and staring at the pale hue of honey. Hope. It quickly became a paler version of lime. Worry.

I rubbed at it and then lifted my head to look at my surroundings.

Hakan Bahar stood off to the side and for a moment all I could think was that he’d done this. He’d trapped me on a stone altar, placed me in a barren cave, and left me alone as some Mhachkay magic drained me dry.

“You did this!” I hissed, disbelief, rage, confusion, heartache rampaging inside. My
Sigillum
remained pitifully colourless. I struggled to think clearly. Fury blinded me, but the thought of Luc brought me back to earth. “Where is my brother?” Dear Goddess, don’t let it be too late for him.

It had almost been too late for myself.

“Where do you think you are?” Hakan asked reasonably.

I wanted to hurl a stake at his ice-blue and silver eyes. My hands found only bare skin at my sides.

I glanced down and realised I was naked. Completely and utterly nude, standing before a vampire who had made his intentions very clear and had just attempted to steal my soul.

He was not having my body as well.

I hurled myself at him. Covering the distance in one single move. My fingers clenched as claws, my teeth bared, my heart damn near bursting out of my chest and a scream of pure rage resounding throughout the room.

He caught me as my legs crumbled. One hand around my waist, the other cupping my head and pressing it into his shoulder.

“Where do you think you are?” he whispered, his lips in amongst my hair, his hot breath and hotter body sending uninvited tendrils of anticipation right through me. I realised the ribbons were back, twirling, twisting, dancing.

I glanced down at my arm, the colours still so dim I could barely see the outline of my parents’ mark, and struggled - albeit futilely - to extricate myself from the vampire’s grasp.

I knew it was futile, he was holding me upright. My legs were as good as useless. As unwieldily as my Light.

“
Hayatim
,” he said. “Where do you think you are?”

The cave closed in around me, but not before I smelled the scent of roses and sunshine. Not before I felt the heady weight of the air. Not before I remembered what had happened.

Travis. The trap.
Ljósálfar.

“Oh Goddess,” I murmured. “
Álfheimr
.” Faerie. A million miles away from Auckland. A different world. With different rules. And different dangers.

“Can you walk?” Hakan asked.

“I..I don’t know.” He pushed me upright, his eyes flashing silver and blue as he looked down the length of my body. His hands gripped my shoulders tightly, his nostrils flared, his chest puffed out, stretching the fine fabric of his shirt. I stared down at his shoes.

“Did you think to bring any clothes?” I asked. A thumb sweeping over my collarbone was all the answer I received.

My knees buckled. For no other reason than my fucking legs wouldn’t work. Hakan let a slow breath of air out and carried me back to the stone altar, making me struggle ridiculously for a few seconds, before realising it was either that or the stone floor. He propped me against the plinth, the shocking cold from the stone seeping into my frame and making my teeth rattle. I wondered why I hadn’t felt it before, and then I wondered why I was up and about, no longer trapped in a nightmare.

I may have thought that last a little too soon.

Hakan began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing unblemished dusky skin, stretched smoothly over hard muscles and a flat stomach. A smattering of hair laid a narrow trail down his abdomen, then slipped out of sight. A taunt. I stared at it for way too long.

He handed me his shirt without a single word. I had the feeling he might have been having trouble thinking in full sentences. I clutched it to my chest, oddly feeling the residue warmth of his body, smelling the enticing scent of his cologne and signature scent. I refused to identify it. My hands shook as I did up each button, but thankfully Hakan didn’t move to help.

I was flustered enough as it was. Lack of food and water, loss of power and Goddess knows what. No other reason but that.

Yeah.

“What now?” I said, my voice scratchy. I cleared my throat.

“The wards are too strong in the cavern, we have to leave before I can take you back.”

“How did you get here?”

He frowned down at me, but I realised it wasn’t the question that had made him scowl when he slipped an arm around my back and hauled me into his side. My hand automatically came to rest on his chest, right above his heart, and he stilled. Rock solid. As hard as the stone that made up the cavern. But nowhere near as cold.

“You’ve dined,” I said, for want of something to say.

“I needed power to get here,” he murmured, starting to pull me out of the cave.

“Who was the lucky human?”

“Your brother.”

And OK, that could have been the punchline to a really bad joke, but I was getting the uncomfortable feeling that he might have been telling the truth.

“No, really,” I said, because the idea of this very virile and very masculine vampire feeding from my brother - battle-lust induced or not - just didn’t seem right. And the idea of Luc allowing him to do so - outside of being forced - was simply ludicrous. Lucien was a Durand, need I say more?

“Trust me,” Hakan said. “We were both most uncomfortable about it.”

OK. Still didn’t answer the battle/forced question. Just why was he holding my brother captive?

“Why him?” I asked, as the light began to get brighter.

“You ask too many questions.”

“I have a right to know.”

“No. You don’t.”

“Yes. I do.”

“For the love of Nut, be quiet!”

I sniggered, realising belatedly that I was obviously punch-drunk. There was nothing remotely safe or humorous about any of this.

“Where’s the fairy?” I said, sobering.

“Otherwise occupied.”

“What does that…?”

“Your father’s spy master is acting as a decoy.”

There was just too much wrong with that statement to know where to begin pulling it apart.

“Alain,” I said, my mind reeling. My head felt like it had been dragged through a meat grinder, then pushed through a sieve afterwards.