Blood Sin (11 page)

“God, I hate self-pity,” she said bitterly, and saw his lips curve into a smile, just as the French door moved with a creak, releasing a surge of talk and music from the drawing room, and Nicola Devon stepped out onto the terrace.

“Darling,” she said at once, going right up to Saloman and taking his arm to reach up and kiss him briefly on the mouth. “We’re about to play some poker. Are you in?”

Nicola’s attention was all on him, but Saloman must have seen what her simple act did to Elizabeth. It seemed to be a day for those cartoon lightbulbs, for the belated discovery of things that should have been obvious from the start. Nicola was here as Saloman’s partner, as Elizabeth was here as Josh’s. But that familiarity, that kiss, told her everything else. He didn’t even look surprised, just accepted it as his due. Because they were lovers.

It felt like a knife in her heart, twisting and twisting.

Chapter Five

S
he’d already fled the unbearable scene, and was back inside the house before she realized that what she wanted to do was run to the hills, away from everyone. Smiling, making some inane comment to the revelers and poker players who caught her eye as she passed through the drawing room, she escaped from there too. Only halfway up the staircase did she freeze in midstep, remembering that she should protect Nicola, not run away like a betrayed teenager.

Only, how the hell did she do that?
Oh, Nicola, you really should dump this guy—he’s a vampire.

Perhaps she knew and didn’t care. Shit, perhaps she was one too.
I’d have felt that, sensed it. . . . Wouldn’t I? Or am I too busy wallowing in my own stupid emotions to see what’s under my nose? Again?

More slowly, Elizabeth continued upstairs. No, Nicola wasn’t a vampire, and if Saloman wanted to drink from her, there was nothing Elizabeth could do to prevent it. She doubted he would kill anyone here and risk the Adam Simon identity he’d taken such trouble to build.

The hunters had to be told about Simon. If nothing else, it would make it easier to track him. And yet if she told them now, if local hunters arrived here to eliminate him. . . . They would probably fail, as the Hungarian hunters already had, but in any case she didn’t think she could bear being the one to betray him.

Voices broke into her chaotic thoughts. With relief, she recognized Josh’s among them, coming from behind a door on the first-floor landing, and remembered the antiques evaluations. She’d promised to be there, to see Josh’s sword. Aside from her very real curiosity, it was probably also just what she needed, something else to think about for an hour. Maybe then she’d know what to do about Nicola and Saloman and Dante. And the sword itself, if it was truly Saloman’s.

When she knocked lightly, the voices stopped immediately. Poking her head around the door, she saw six male heads all turned toward her. Although Josh grinned and at once stood up to welcome her, she could have sworn some of the other faces had expressed annoyance or even . . . anxiety.

Senator Dante’s, however, was not one of those.

“Just in time!” he said jovially. “Come in and see my goblet. What do you think?”

They were seated at a round table—which would probably have been better for poker than the small occasional tables they were setting up downstairs in the big drawing room—in the center of which stood a gold goblet encrusted with gleaming stones and jewels.

“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said with awe. “It looks Anglo-Saxon.”

“It is,” Dante said modestly. “I bought it from a private collector. Apparently it was used in medieval times as a communion chalice, and really did turn wine into the blood of Christ.”

In front of Dante, Josh’s eyebrows flew up in comical disparagement.

Dante clapped him on the shoulder as the others made way for Elizabeth to join the proceedings. “Josh here doesn’t believe a word of it,” he said tolerantly.

“Well, I’d quite like to know how one identifies Christ’s blood from anyone else’s,” Elizabeth remarked.

“I suspect that part of the story was assumption,” Dante allowed. “At Holy Communion, Christ’s blood would be expected.”

Elizabeth looked closely at the cup. “But you believe the rest of the story?”

“I don’t disbelieve it.” He smiled as she cast a quick glance at him. “You find that odd?”

“Forgive me, it’s none of my business,” Elizabeth said lightly. Perhaps she was suffering from too many shocks this evening, but she decided to speak bluntly to her host. “I just find it strange that so distinguished a man as yourself—famous, I would add, for your Christian principles—is so interested in, and so open to, magical superstitions.”

“It’s not strange at all,” Dante argued, although he didn’t appear to be remotely upset. “I’m a spiritual man.” Reaching out, he picked up the goblet and placed it in a box one of the antiquarians lifted from the floor onto the table. “Okay, Josh, bring on the sword!”

Josh shrugged and sauntered across the room toward the wall, where an untidy bundle lay. He picked it up as though it were a lot heavier than it looked and, as everyone made space, he dumped his burden on the table and began to unwrap it.

The wrapping was an old and musty woolen coat, an incongruous setting for the treasure that lay within. As Josh opened up the garment, careful not to touch the gleaming object thus revealed, Elizabeth gasped.

The sword was big, far larger and longer than the modern rapier she used in fencing lessons. Its ornate hilt was carved from shining gold and silver intertwined, forming an intricate pattern that looked like interlocking letter “S”s. A large, bloodred ruby embellished the very top of the hilt. The blade was clean, almost new-looking. Certainly there was nothing to show that the weapon had ever been used in anger. Or if it had, it had been very well cleaned and cared for afterward.

Like Elizabeth, every occupant in the room gazed at the object in stunned silence. Even Dante seemed overwhelmed by it. Josh, more inured to the sight, gave a lopsided smile as he scanned his companions.

“Yeah, it still gets me that way too,” he remarked. “And I was brought up with it in the house.”

“May I?” Dante asked reverently.

Josh waved one hand in permission, though he made no effort to touch the sword himself, even to push it nearer the senator.

“This,” Dante said, gripping the hilt in both hands and raising it with obvious effort, “is the most beautiful piece I’ve ever seen.”

Without taking his gaze from the sword, he held it up in front of his face, then let the sword fall back a little until the flat of the blade just touched his forehead. Elizabeth could understand that—she often got the urge to touch old objects, as if they could somehow bring her closer to the past, but Dante made it look almost religious. Then he passed the sword to Bill, who also stood to receive it.

“So what do you think?” Josh asked. “How old is it? Do you know where or who it came from originally? What’s it worth?” He cast a quick grin at Dante. “Though I’m not selling.”

Beyond him, Bill touched the upright sword to his forehead, just as Dante had done. To Elizabeth, it looked uncomfortably like worship. In fact, as Bill passed the weapon to the man beside him, it struck her that they were performing some bizarre ritual, and a tingle of unease passed down her spine.

“Old,” Bill said vaguely. “Impossible to date accurately. This work on the hilt looks almost Byzantine, and yet not quite. I would say it’s even older than that, and yet the carving is so fine. . . .”

“And the value?” Dante asked.

Bill shrugged. “Priceless.” Then, presumably since Dante looked slightly annoyed, he added more carefully, “If Josh agrees to sell, he could ask any reasonable price. Its value is simply whatever it’s worth to the individuals concerned.”

Josh, watching it progress around the table, said dryly, “So basically, you know no more about it than I do?”

“It’s definitely the one in the book,” said the man who held it now.

“What book?” Elizabeth and Josh asked together.

The man touched it reverently to his forehead while Dante said, “One we saw in a private library. Your turn, Josh.” His voice was clipped, as if not quite pleased.

“I’ll pass,” Josh said quickly, pushing his chair back.

“Do you want to hold it, Elizabeth?” Dante asked.

“Sure.” Elizabeth stood up, reaching across Josh, who made a quick movement as if to prevent her, then shrugged with a half-embarrassed smile.

“It’s heavy,” warned the man who offered it to her.

Elizabeth nodded and wrapped both hands around the beautiful hilt, heaving it upright. Instantly, a thrill shot up her arm, excitement she could never suppress at actually touching something so old and so incredibly beautiful.

And yet the tingling didn’t fade as it should. Instead, it galloped through her whole body like an electric shock. The force of it jerked her backward and she fell, knocking over her chair. Her hands around the hilt seemed to burn and yet she couldn’t open her fingers. Josh’s anxious face swam in front of hers, flanked by Dante’s and Bill’s. The noise of their questions grew momentarily louder, as if they were yelling in her ear.

“Elizabeth, what is it?”

“Are you hurt?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you ill?”

And then they blended and faded into a different noise, the cry of a thousand voices, scraping metal, and screaming horses. A blur of motion filled her eyes. There was only blood and a hand she knew all too well, wielding the sword in front of her. Another face swam before her, dark and beautiful and terrifying in its familiarity.

I am Saloman. Give me my sword.

Elizabeth cried out. The sword seemed to be wrenched from her fingers, and Josh was saying her name over and over.

He held both her hands, anxiety and guilt almost splitting his pale, handsome face. Behind him, Dante held the sword, but was looking at her with a bright, piercing gaze that went far beyond inquisitive or even speculative. In her shock, she imagined he wanted to consume her.

Josh was opening her tightly closed fist, and at his indrawn breath she glanced down at her red, blistering palm. No wonder it hurt like hell, she thought vaguely.

“Too far, Dante,” Josh said, and she’d never heard him speak like that before—icy, harsh, full of barely suppressed rage. “Much too fucking far.” He put his arm around her waist, urging her onto her trembling feet. “Out of my way,” he snarled at someone, and then as they made their stumbling way across the room: “Open the door.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he ground out as they began to climb the stairs. “I never thought he would do that, not to you.”

Neither did I. Ungrateful bastard. I awakened him, too. . . .

Elizabeth shook herself, shooting a quick glance at Josh to make sure she hadn’t spoken aloud. Too late, it came to her that they were blaming different people.

“Come on, I’ll dress your hands, and then I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Elizabeth frowned. “I have to talk to you, Josh.”

“In here,” he said, opening her bedroom door, and not releasing her until she sat on the bed. “I’ll get some water.”

“No, wait.” She grabbed his hands to stop him from rising. “Josh, you have to listen to me.” She closed her eyes to shut out his anxiety and her own.
I’ve come to take back what is mine.
“That sword, your sword, belongs to Saloman, the vampire I told you about in Edinburgh.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, this is no time for—”

“Josh, you saw what it did to me!”

“I saw what Dante did to you,” he said grimly. “He did the same thing to me the night I first showed him the damned sword. I thought at the time I was just drunk and imagining things, because in the morning there was no sign of any burn marks. But now I know it was Dante. He wants the sword and he’ll go to any lengths to get it, even doing this to you.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes to stare at him. “You think it was some conjuring trick? Even though the same thing happened to you?”

“Dante was present on both occasions,” Josh said dryly. “And trust me, I’ve held that sword many times, and only when Dante was present has anything like this ever occurred!”

“Because he’s awake,” Elizabeth whispered.

“Who’s awake?” Josh asked helplessly.

“Saloman. I wakened him. Before that, the sword didn’t care where it was. Now he’s awake and he wants it back. . . .” She focused on him. “When it burned you, when was that?”

Josh dragged his fingers through his hair. “Last year. Autumn, maybe.”

“And before that, when was the last time you’d touched it?”

“God, I don’t know, years ago, possibly.”

Elizabeth nodded. “And between last autumn and now, how often did you touch it?”

Josh’s gaze fell away. “Actually touch it with my bare hands?” When Elizabeth nodded again, he sighed. “Never. To be honest, my experience with Dante left me with a dislike of touching it. I carry it, wrap it, and unwrap it in the coat without ever laying hands directly on it.”

“There you are, then,” Elizabeth said flatly. “Don’t you ask yourself why all those other people can touch it, yet you and I can’t?”