Bloodcraft (24 page)

“We have to find her,” Aliya said. “Whoever has her has to be someone she trusted. She would have put up a fierce fight otherwise.”

“She must have been caught unawares,” Christian agreed. “Aliya, say nothing of this to anyone. We don’t know who to trust. I will check back in with you in one hour. Please contact me at once if you hear anything.”

He placed the phone back into its cradle, resisting the urge to break it into tiny unrecognizable fragments. Victoria was in danger. Somehow, she’d been taken. His hands fisted at his sides. It didn’t matter that they weren’t together—Christian would move heaven and earth to find her. But first, he would start with his brother.

†††

At the House of Devereux, Lucian flung the human host away from him and wiped his red-rimmed lips with the back of his sleeve, his gaze falling to Lena lounging at the entrance to the foyer. The other vampires in the salon twittered, watching the interaction between them with unveiled interest. Lena’s eyes slid to the prone body of the young boy slipping in slow motion from the lounge he’d just vacated. The boy moaned, barely conscious, and Lena’s mouth tightened in obvious disapproval. Lucian shrugged. He was beyond reproach, hers even. The boy was lucky he’d let him live—he’d wanted to drain every last drop from his body.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Sarcasm dripped from his words, and the twittering increased. Lucian smirked—he enjoyed having an audience.

“They are convening the Council,” she said, approaching him and ignoring his baiting. “To decide whether or not to go to war against the Witch Clans.”

He poured himself a brandy and studied the amber colored liquid swirling in the glass. “So?”

“
So
, they will need you. They will need every able-bodied vampire to make a stand against the witches. This is your chance, Lucian, to redeem yourself in their eyes.”

“If you believe that you are a more of a fool than I thought.”

She eyed the other house vampires listening intently to their conversation. “Is it true that you were consorting with the warlocks?”

“Word travels fast,” he said dryly. “I’m hedging my bets, sweet.”

“With Freyja?”

“Jealous?” he taunted. “I assure you I only have the usual interests in Freyja and, while a dalliance would be interesting, I’m more concerned with my survival.”

“She is not to be trusted.”

“You sound like my brother,” he flung back.

“More vampires have been killed and we are suffering losses on both sides, Lucian,” Lena said fiercely. “Pretend to be oblivious if you must, but people are dying. If we go to war with the Clans, the cost will be too great to consider. No one wants that, not even me.”

“Now you really sound like Christian.” He waved a careless hand. “If the vampires go to war with the witches, it will only be to my benefit, and yours, if you so desire. That is the deal I have worked out with Freyja—my inheritance.”

Lena froze, her mouth parted in surprise. “What did you offer in return?”

“The witch from the prophecy, of course.”

“Lucian, are you mad?” she whispered. “She is a weapon that they won’t hesitate to use against us!”

He smiled slowly. “I know.”

“What about your brother? The rest of the vampire houses? Are you willing to let them all die?”

“Every single house celebrated the idea of my execution,” he said. “And my brother? Why the sudden concern? Changing your mind again about which brother will bring better odds?” She flinched against his words, but he didn’t stop, relishing the shocked look on that perfect alabaster face.

He crossed the distance between them until she was backed up against the far wall. She stood her ground as his body pressed mercilessly into hers. Her gaze flitted to the others in the room, but their eyes remained averted. Lucian’s grin was lazy. They wouldn’t help her if she screamed for mercy—they’d relish the show. “Is that it? You want to leave me, too?”

“No, I’ve made my choice.”

“Have you?” he whispered, lowering his head to brush her long neck with his lips. The hot scent of her filled him and he opened his mouth upon her skin, dragging his tongue across the expanse of creamy flesh. His palm slid down past her waist to curve around her hip as he drew her against him. He nipped his way up her throat to her jaw and set his mouth to hers. He could feel her reticence and it made a swell of rage rise within him. He tore his mouth away and braced his hands on either side of her head, resting his forehead against hers. “If that is the case, why do you tremble so?”

“I am afraid for you.”

“Afraid for
me
? Why, pray tell?”

Her hands slid up his shirtfront in a placating gesture. “Lucian, this is madness, what you are doing. Everyone will die if Le Sang Noir is unleashed. It will be a repeat of the bloodbath with the Duchess of Lancaster, and no one will be spared.”

Fear glittered in those transparent eyes of hers. For as much as she was a brutal killer, Lucian had always been able to read her. She was lying now, and the way she was looking at him as if he was beyond reach was the final insult. If she didn’t want to join him, she would die with the others. “I already told you—I have a plan.”

“Freyja will betray you the first chance she gets. Why can’t you see that?”

His voice turned honeyed. “And you think trusting my brother offers a better chance?”

“I do.”

His fingers dropped viselike to her throat. “Then die with him.”

Lena’s eyes bulged, but she was no match for his superior strength. Her legs kicked out and Lucian pressed his body into hers, restricting the movement, while his fist tightened inexorably. Lucian imagined how he would end her life in exhilarating detail. He would crack each bone until he felt satiated, then he would drain her body of every last drop of life, and finally, he would cut off her deceitful, treacherous head. His eyes dilated with pleasure as her struggles intensified. Damn but she was strong.

Her knee rose to catch him in the groin, dislodging his tight hold for one moment. She fought him like a hound from hell, scratching, biting, kicking to get away from him. He threw himself on top of her and they went rolling across the floor, their captive audience darting out of their way. Lucian settled his weight on hers, still gripping her throat and watching the fight fade from her eyes.

His free hands slid down to the clasp of his trousers. “Once more for old times’ sake?”

She spat at him and turned her face away. Lucian couldn’t help himself. Readjusting his grasp, he bent down and sank his fangs into the flesh at the base of her neck. Her blood flowed past his lips into his mouth as he pulled deeply, sapping her strength with each swallow. After several long moments, he pulled away.

“Such a pity,” he told her. “A waste, really.” He gripped her chin, his thumb sliding along the flawless skin there. “He said his maker was Reii. If that were true, you would be such an asset. I understand only too well the bond between a maker and his progeny. I see the answer in your eyes—you will always choose him over me.”

“Your jealousy has made you blind,” she whispered, a bubble of blood frothing at her mouth. “I gave everything to you.”

“You
will
give everything to me, sweet.”

He bent his head just as the door to the apartment crashed in on its hinges and a hammering force drove into him. Lena’s body rolled to the floor as Christian’s fists pounded into his sides, making him gasp.

“Get out,” Christian snarled to the vampires in the room, and they scurried like rats toward the doors. “What are you doing, Lucian?”

“Tying up loose ends?”

“You have lost your mind,” Christian said, slipping his arms beneath Lena’s shoulders and knees and placing her on the bed. He bit his wrist and let his blood flow into her mouth, waiting as she pulled it to her lips and sucked on it. Color bloomed in her wan cheeks, and he gently drew his hand away, returning his focus to his brother.

“What were you thinking? Lena has been nothing but loyal to you, and you punish her to within an inch of her life?”

“Punish?” Lucian drawled, cracking his knuckles and hooking one leg over the other in the chair. “Dear brother, if you hadn’t interrupted us, your precious progeny would be dead.”

Anger sparked in Christian’s eyes. “You dare too much.”

“It is my right—she belongs to me. She swore fealty to me. If she breaks those oaths, her sacrifice is her death. Just like in the old days when loyalty meant more than life.”

“I was always loyal to you, Lucian.” The weak voice came from the bed as Lena drew herself into a sitting position. Lucian blinked at her swift recovery, his gaze sliding to his brother’s. He had drained her nearly dry. His stare flicked down to his brother’s wrist that was now healed but still stained with blood.

“I may have been too hasty in my reaction.” Lucian stood with deliberate slowness and walked toward the mantel, where he poured himself a stiff drink. He lifted an inquiring eyebrow in Christian’s direction, but didn’t wait for an answer before filling a second glass. He offered it to him. Christian took the glass but did not drink. “You are right, dear brother, after all.”

“About what?”

“About us being bound by more than blood. Truce?” He could see Christian wavering, considering his peace offering for truth. But his shoulders relaxed a smidge and Lucian knew that he had won. He placed his drink down and pulled his brother into an embrace, his eyes flicking to Lena. “I am sorry.”

Lena moved fast, her hand outstretched as she emptied the syringe into Christian’s neck. Christian stumbled backward, bucking against him, but Lucian held fast. A cold smile blossomed on his face as the liquid silver sank into his brother’s bloodstream, incapacitating him like nothing else could. Christian’s eyes rolled back in his head and he hung like a dead weight.

“Are you all right?” Lucian asked Lena, his fingers caressing her face. “I am sorry I was rough on you, but your performance was spectacular.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes were shadowed as she stared at the limp body of her maker. “What are the warlocks going to do to him?”

“Use him to get the witch.”

“How do you know they won’t kill him once they get what they want?”

Lucian eyed his longtime accomplice. “I don’t. Do you care?”

Her eyes hardened. “No.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said with a smile. “If what everyone says is true, soon my late brother’s gifts will manifest, and you will be one of the most powerful vampires left. We will forge our own history together.”

SIXTEEN

Keep Your Friends Close

Victoria lay cocooned in a wide heavenly soft bed, silk sheets pressing against her legs. She could see blue skies and hear the sounds of the ocean, the waves breaking in the distance. Warm sea breezes swept through the open hut, making the silk wick against her skin.

Her body felt deliciously, deliriously alive as she stretched, turning to face the man sleeping on his stomach beside her. Her eyes traced the lines of his bare torso, the white sheet hanging low on his trim hips, just above the rise of his buttocks. The material left nothing to the imagination as it draped across his body—outlining his well-muscled thighs and legs. Her eyes drifted to the curves of his back and the shining silver tattoo that inked the length of his spine.

“Christian,” she said, her fingers tickling his rib cage. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he said dazedly, tucking an elbow beneath his cheek. His silver eyes met hers, traces of sleep still in them. “You look beautiful in the morning.”

She felt a flush consume her body from her hairline to her toes at the look in those eyes of his. “So do you.”

He reached for her, scooting her body beneath him and turning his at the same time so that he lifted up on one elbow to look down at her. The sheet slid lower, baring her upper half to his greedy gaze. Fire pooled deep, spreading its hot fingers wide until her entire body felt as if it were burning.

“Christian, wait,” she murmured. “I feel so hot.”

“Yes,” he said, a fingertip stroking down the valley between her breasts and stopping at her navel. Her stomach muscles clenched at the featherlight touch, sweeping back and forth beneath it in a teasing motion. “I know. I want you to burn for me.”

His fingers slid lower, brushing against the heart of her, and something ignited. She grasped his shoulders, her back arching as the flames took hold. “No,” she gasped. “Wait. Something’s wrong.”

He reached up to hold her face between his palms, his eyes mesmerizing. “Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered. “We’re in paradise. Can’t you see that?”

“Yes,” she agreed, but something didn’t feel right. Her gaze shifted to him. He looked like Christian, but he didn’t
smell
right. Something felt off. The breeze was too perfect, the scent of the ocean too briny. Her blood burned hot in her veins, scorching the inside of her skin as if forcing her to feel the pain and leave the fantasy. Instead, she shied away from it.

“It’s too hot,” she muttered. Christian smiled, his teeth perfect and white. Her eyes narrowed at the conspicuous lack of fangs. His fingers were cool against her cheek.