Silken Rapture: Princes of the Underground, Book 2 (16 page)

Morshiel drank deeply from his goblet, turning his smirk blood-red. “And you find this hard to believe?”

“No, not in the way you’re imagining. I know intelligences from other places, other dimensions of reality, exist. I am a magician, after all. Magicians can channel demons and what some would call the lower orders of angels, creatures of wisdom who may tell us of other existences besides our own on this small, insignificant planet.” He nodded his head in the direction of Shirian, his eyes remaining on Morshiel. “If a ghost exists, why not beings from other realities…from other worlds?”

Morshiel latched a hungry gaze on Aubrey as he leaned his elbows on the table. “You can channel these spirits? Commune with them?”

Aubrey gave a negligent nod.

“That must make you very powerful,” Morshiel admitted after a pause, his expression sullenly respectful.

“It makes me very humble. We cannot begin to imagine the vastness of the universe. But whatever power I have, I am offering for your service. Tell me, have you ever met Usan?”

“Twice, but that was centuries ago. He was in my early memories, but he has neglected me since. He gave me my heartluster and told me that Blaise would never rest until he vanquished me,” Morshiel said. His face looked hard and cold as he touched his outer thigh, stroking the sheathed weapon like a lover. His gaze leapt to Aubrey’s. “Do you see that senile fool frequently with Blaise, then?”

“I have never seen him, but from the hints Blaise has dropped over the years, I believe he visits Blaise every dozen years or so,” Aubrey admitted.

Morshiel made a disgusted noise and lifted his goblet. “I have no doubt Usan watches over Blaise’s every move, worships his every footstep. He has made Blaise master of Sanctuary and barred me from its treasures.”

“Usan may have warded Sanctuary against you and the revenants, but I made Sanctuary an unrivaled treasure,” Aubrey said, holding Morshiel’s eyes. “
I
did, along with all of its grandeur and miracles…never Usan. Never Blaise.”

“He thinks a great deal of himself,” the air around them hissed in Shirian’s mocking, sultry voice.

“It’s not a crime for the great to think well of themselves,” Morshiel replied, his gaze never wavering from Aubrey’s. “All right. Let’s say I agree not to take off your head this second. Let’s say I agree to work with you. What do you have in mind? What do we do next?”

Aubrey smiled to hide the flash of fear that went through him. “We kidnap an Iniskium warrior from Chicago. A man named Isi.”

“One of Saint’s followers?” Morshiel asked, leaning forward in interest. “But how will we ever accomplish that?”

“I told you that change is on the horizon. Saint somehow knew about the crystal. He is the one who warned Blaise about its presence in the British Museum tunnel. Now that Saint has vanquished Teslar—”

“There has been no definitive proof of that,” Morshiel interrupted him.

Fear spiked through Aubrey, seemingly of its own accord at the mere hint of Morshiel’s ice-cold aggression. He nodded calmly, understanding that the rumors of Teslar’s demise must not have sat well with Morshiel. Teslar was Morshiel’s equal, after all.

“Nevertheless, some change has occurred. How else could Isi travel outside the Magian-sanctioned territory where he’s always been confined? I can’t be sure, but I believe Saint wants to communicate something to Blaise, but has been forbidden to do so by his Magian overlord, Kavya. Perhaps Saint is sending Isi to Blaise as an envoy. I believe Isi carries knowledge—secrets that are relevant to Teslar’s destruction and the appearance of the crystal.”

Morshiel regarded him hungrily. “If this Isi possesses that knowledge, then he’ll know how to prevent what happened to Teslar from happening to me. You’re right. We must obtain him so that we can learn Saint’s secrets. We must do it before Blaise does.”

“I will hand Isi to you this very night. If you agree to my terms, that is.”

“It is I who will set the terms of this agreement,” Morshiel said in a hard tone before he took a drink. He grimaced suddenly and glanced own at his cup in annoyance. “If I agree to accept you as an ally, why shouldn’t our first move be for you to get me inside of Sanctuary?”

“I have thought of that,” Aubrey said honestly. “But as you know, Usan wards it against you with his magic.”

“You claim to be a great magician, though,” Morshiel said with a narrowed gaze.

“It is not a claim. It is the truth. And you are right to ask me about the wards and Sanctuary. I do believe—given time—I can weaken the boundaries sufficiently to get you inside. However, this matter with Isi is something we can—and should—move on immediately.”

Morshiel scowled, deep in thought, and lifted his goblet.

“This blood is stale. All the vitessence has faded.
Bring me blood in living flesh
.”

Aubrey started at the abrupt bellow. Apparently Morshiel’s revenants were not far from the tapestry-draped walls of the underground residence. A foul-looking male creature with sallow, greasy-looking skin, filmy eyes and bared fangs shoved a mortal woman in front of him. She fell to the floor at his rough treatment, whimpering as she raised her upper body with her hands. She glanced around the room, her wild eyes partially covered by mussed, auburn hair. The woman was beyond frightened, she had entered the stage of shock where all she could do was shake and stare at the horrors around her in an uncomprehending fog.

“You brought me this mortal as a sacrifice. You said she was an offering to show me that you came in peace when you entered my private tunnels. You—my enemy’s greatest ally,” Morshiel drawled.

“I’m offering to become
your
greatest ally,” Aubrey said, slouching back in his chair. “She is prime flesh—a prostitute for which I paid the equivalent of an average Londoner’s annual salary for one night. Her name is Margarite. I hope you enjoy her.”

“You will be the one to enjoy her…here, in front of me and my revenants.” Aubrey watched, unmoving, as five more revenants tramped into the room. He recognized four of them by name and had fought innumerable battles against all of them, over the centuries. Several of them bore scars from his ravening claws and teeth.

He’d once been the lover of one of the monsters.

Rosetta Vanderpool leered at him. Though she was one of the walking dead, her skin was as white and her breasts as plump as the day he’d feasted on them with mortal lips. Only her fangs and the film over her once brilliant sapphire eyes betrayed her status as a revenant. He knew from experience that she shifted into one of the most vicious forms a revenant could take—a prowler.

“I wish to see your skills at pleasure,” Morshiel instructed in a bored tone. “Then I want you to drain the whore. But leave the last drop for me, won’t you?”

Terror broke through Margarite’s shock. She shrieked and scurried on hands and knees toward the exit. Rosetta Vanderpool walked in front of her and gave a negligent but brutal kick with a pointed-toe boot. Margarite fell to the carpet again, clutching her cheek and whimpering in pain.

Aubrey’s bored posture as he watched the cruel treatment belied the ice-cold tingles of panic spiking through his flesh. Morshiel and the six other revenants in the room would tear off all his limbs and leave him in a helpless state for days, weeks—who knew how long?—before they finally took off his head and ended his misery. Despite his betrayal here today, Aubrey had always admired Blaise’s fortitude in refusing to take life, and had followed his dictates without fail.

“A test, is it?” Aubrey asked.

“Yes,” Morshiel said warmly, as though pleased by Aubrey’s perceptiveness. “I know that my clone forbids murder among the Literati, a practice I’ve always considered heathen…a blatant betrayal of our kind. Show me firsthand where your loyalties lie.
Show me
.”

Candlelight gleamed in the depths of his agate-like eyes.

Aubrey shrugged, stood and approached the woman cowering on the carpeted floor. Compassion swept through him when he saw the absolute terror reflected in her eyes. He must calm her, first and foremost. Only Blaise’s ability for ascendancy—the power to influence and control a mortal—was stronger than Aubrey’s among the Literati.

“Shhhh, do not be afraid,” he crooned. He pressed with his ascendancy, reached into the woman’s mind, taking her back just hours before to the moment when he met her in the Angelus Salon and whispered hotly in her ear, causing her to swoon in his arms. He knelt and put his hands on her forearms. “Do not let nightmares overcome you, Margarite.” He gently helped the woman to her feet, glad to feel the trembling in her flesh cease. “You are safe here with me, within Sanctuary. Look around you. Is not all well?”

Margarite tore her now worshipful gaze off his face. Her stare ran over Morshiel, who looked like an amused spectator at the theater, and swept across the half-dozen nightmare creatures who watched her with manic-like, ravenous stares. Aubrey made it so that all she saw was the luxurious, fire-lit interior of the Angelus Salon—and him, of course. She smiled and went up on her toes. She kissed him, not like a seasoned prostitute, but like a child who thanks a protective parent for awakening them from a bad dream.

Aubrey put his hands on her waist and deepened the kiss until she was fully his slave. She plastered her body against his and writhed. Behind him, Aubrey heard Morshiel chuckle appreciatively.

“Impressive,” Morshiel said.

“Enough,” Rosetta Vanderpool said loudly. “Make him show us blood. Make him eviscerate the whore.”

“Now, now, Rosetta, where are your manners? You’re as bad as a drudge in need of a fix,” Morshiel remonstrated. “You are witnessing prodigious skill. Watch and learn.”

Aubrey had to use all of his focus to maintain his ascendancy when he himself was frightened. One thing he knew for certain—it was either him or the woman. The least he could do was make her death as pleasant as possible.

He whispered to her as he slid the robe off her body, baring naked flesh. He praised her beauty, her vibrancy, her warm, vitessence-rich flesh.

He meant every word.

She went to the worn velvet couch obediently enough when he requested it. He came down over her, worshipping her with his mouth, losing himself in fragrant, blood-rich skin, trying to force himself to ignore Morshiel, the walking corpses and the vaporous demon who surrounded the couch in a circle and watched his display with hungry gazes.

He tried to ignore them, but it was difficult.

He parted the woman’s firm thighs and tasted her nectar on his tongue. His eyes closed of their own accord as her taste permeated his senses.
This
…yes, this always made him forget. Aubrey adored the taste of pussy, loved to play in it with his sensitive tongue, relished drowning his consciousness in the rich, musky cream of womanhood. He tickled the woman’s delicate folds with the tip of his tongue and agitated her with firm lips and a gentle suck until she squirmed and moaned and he had to restrain her with his hands at her hips. She shuddered and the energy of her climax poured into him.

He once again recalled his situation as he raised his head, but sluggishly, as if through the haze of a dream. Before he sank his teeth into one of Margarite’s firm breasts, he glanced up at Rosetta Vanderpool and snarled a taunt. Rosetta was nothing more than a breathing, eating corpse, while he—Aubrey—would continue to feast on ripe, succulent flesh and feel the vibrancy of life for an eternity.

He blessed Blaise for the incomparable gift he’d given him. The pain of betraying his first and only love was like a squirming, living sliver beneath his skin.

He could withstand the pain of it, however.

Margarite mewled with pleasure as she experienced yet another climax, her body writhing beneath him. He heard a sound behind him—a growl of arousal deep in Morshiel’s throat. Despite Aubrey’s fear, his cock throbbed in desire.

Before he sank his fangs into Margarite’s carotid artery, he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. He hesitated, but then he felt Morshiel’s hand on his shoulder, stroking him in a reassuring gesture, the caress of a lover. He clamped his jaw and pierced warm, juicy flesh. For the first time in his immortal life, Aubrey drank his fill. For the first time in his life—either mortal or immortal—he understood what he was.

The woman beneath him ceased to struggle. She lay still, her eyes staring at the top of the tunnel, unseeing. His head spun, drunk as he was with vitessence and power. He felt hands on his shoulders, urging him to stand. He stumbled like a drunkard, and then stood eye to eye with Morshiel. Morshiel kissed him on the mouth, wetting his lips with the blood of his prey.

“Now you are my brother,” Morshiel whispered.

He licked his lips before he kissed Aubrey again.

Chapter Ten

Blaise headed toward his quarters after visiting the crystal room and absorbing its vitessence, calming himself. Aubrey had volunteered last night to pick up Isi at the airport, and Blaise wanted to be ready to greet the Iniskium warrior when he arrived. He was eager to learn whatever it was Saint wanted him to hear.

He paused in the torch-lit corridor before he reached the doors to his quarters, sensing there was only a single occupant in his study—and that occupant was agitated.

“Where’ve you been?” Aubrey asked, springing up from the sofa when Blaise barged into the room.

“Why? What’s wrong?” he demanded, taking in Aubrey’s disheveled clothing and anxious expression.

“Morshiel and six of his revenants ambushed Isi and me as we were leaving the airport terminal. They took Isi.”

“Do you mean they took him on purpose? How could they know about him arriving in London?”

“I don’t know,” Aubrey said, looking bewildered. “We both fought—Isi is a fine warrior—but there were too many of them, and Morshiel besides.” A look of profound frustration entered Aubrey’s face and he struck his fist on the mahogany table. “Unless it had nothing to do with Isi, and they were just attacking me…us. Perhaps they merely took Isi to try and blackmail us.”

“No,” Blaise said, his thoughts racing. “Morshiel has never behaved this way before. He rarely ventures above ground. Both his and the revenants’ powers are decreased considerably the farther they are from the underground regions and the earth’s soul. This wasn’t a random attack. They went specifically to kidnap Isi before he reached Sanctuary’s protected boundaries. But how could Morshiel have known Saint sent Isi to me? Never mind,” Blaise said distractedly when he noticed Aubrey’s bemused expression. “We’ll put together a patrol and go into the tunnels. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and pick up Morshiel’s scent.”