Taken by Moonlight (51 page)

Feeling
self-conscious, Vivienne offered a little smile, and found Conall’s eyes. An
empty chair was next to Raoul, and she watched as Raoul scooted over to it,
making the chair next to Conall free.

She took a
seat, and immediately Eli asked her what she wanted to drink. Passing the
excited teenager—okay, so what he was thirty-something, he still acted like a
teenager—a grin, she told him sweet tea.

“What’s
going on?” she whispered to Conall when the conversation had resumed.

“The
preparation for your blood rite,” he replied blandly, indicating the people
around the table, and the large portions of food in the middle. She saw
scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, strips of bacon, ham, sausages. “What would you
like for breakfast?”

Vivienne
didn’t answer. She simply stared at the people around the table in confusion.
Conall grabbed a plate and passed it to Raoul, who spooned a serving of eggs
onto it, and passed it to Sloan. He added a generous helping of sausages and
passed it along. Everyone placed something onto her plate before it was handed
back to Raoul, who then laid it out in front of her. She glanced down, her
mouth slightly open as she tried to understand what was happening.

“Is it not
enough,
alainn
?”

She looked
up to find Conall’s eyes teasing her. A little smirk was on his lips. How could
he tease at a time like this?

Eli chose
that moment to deposit a mug filled with tea next to her plate.

“Anything
else, Viv?” he asked eagerly, and Conall turned to glare up at his nephew. Eli
only smiled and walked back to his seat.

Vivienne
leaned closer to Conall, her hand on his thigh beneath the table. She squeezed
lightly, needing his explanation of what was happening.

They’re
showing you their support,
alainn
.
Zahira arrived with Verity about half an hour ago, and Latriel showed up after.

She turned
her gaze to the Elders, who, as if expecting her to have done so, smiled at her
and dipped their heads. Acceptance. She smiled, looking to the familiar faces
of Sloan, Raoul, and Eli. Raoul and Eli grinned at her, and Sloan stared at her
in a type of reverent way that told her if he were one given to smiling, he
would have smiled as well. She smiled and nodded to each of them.

There was a
long silence, until Raoul cleared his throat and looked around the table.

“Well, what
are we waiting for? Vivienne’s here. Let’s eat.”

Evelyn
could only blink as Cassie finished reciting her trip down memory lane with
Alexander. Her father, still confused at finding out he was the only human in a
family of immortal beings, had long since left. He’d gone to Maryland once
more. It was unsafe for him to be with them until the problem that was
Maximilian Cronin was permanently resolved.

“And he
showed you his memories?” Evelyn asked, as if doubtful of the fact. They were
sitting on the bed in her bedroom, and her mother looked as if she was torn
between believing her daughter and not believing Alexander Petraeus.

Cassandre
nodded.

Evelyn
shook her head. “I have always heard the stories, ma puce. My mother mentioned
him to me once before her death, and even she seemed a bit terrified of him.”

“Where did
you hear about him?”

She focused
on her daughter, and Cassie saw the pain in her eyes as she spoke.

“My mother
sent me away when I was sixteen. She knew Cronin was tracking her. She had a
friend, a Mademoiselle Decroix, who took me in. Mademoiselle Decroix lived the
life of a human—she ran a bordello—but she was a witch, cast out of her
covenant. She told me much of what I know of Alexander Petraeus.”

Cassandre
nodded, and replied, “But don’t you see, Mom? The witches fear him, and the
druids embrace him. It was a war, and they tricked him, tried to kill him, and
banished his people.”

Her
mother’s stare was so intense that Cassie blinked and briefly looked away.

“It seems
that you’ve already convinced yourself of Alexander’s innocence, ma chère.”

“It’s not
about guilt or innocence.” She paused and licked her hips, breathing out
deeply. Her mother didn’t understand. “No one was innocent in that war. He
admits to the murder of twelve grand wizards, but they blooded him, Mom. I saw
it. They slit his neck, drained him dry, and used his blood to open the
portal.”

Nodding,
Evelyn stood. “And you’ve decided to resurrect the druids?”

Cassie
nodded and then shook her head. “If it is as Alexander said then they were
banished unfairly. Should an entire race be punished for the crimes of a few?”

Instead of
answering, Evelyn stated, “
If
it is as Alexander says, ma chère.”

“I don’t
think he was lying.”

Evelyn
sighed. “No, ma chère. You wouldn’t.”

Kyros,
Max called silently, listening for
any sound of acknowledgement on the part of the warlock.

I am
here.
The man
sounded tired. Max found that strange. It was close to noon.

I can’t
locate you. I’ve been trying for almost an hour.

Try again.
You’re near.
Every
syllable seemed to take great effort from the warlock, and Max contemplated
asking him what was wrong.

He
concentrated hard, closing his eyes and allowing the warlock’s essence to guide
him forward. His father had left recently with a large group of his trackers,
so Max took this as the perfect opportunity to find Kyros, and find out who he
was.

I can
feel you. You’re getting closer.

Max’s
concentration led him to what looked like a steel door behind a trap door on
the first floor. There was no keyhole. He touched his palm to it, and was
immediately blasted back.

“Fuck,” he
muttered, and then decided that “fuck” had to be a swear word. During his time
practicing with the trackers, “shit” and “damn” had emerged from some part of his
memory as well.

He shook
his hand, hoping the stinging ended soon.

Close
your eyes, Max. You’ll have to project yourself to me.

Project
myself?
I don’t know how to do that.

Just
close your eyes, and see the cell through me. Think it, Max. You’re strong
enough to do it.

Max
blinked. This could =be a well-orchestrated trap, but he had to know who he
was. It was beginning to grate on him, knowing only those select things his
father shared. He closed his eyes and found himself staring at a dark cell. Huddled
in the corner was a man. Max looked around, and then felt himself drifting back
to his own body.

Drawing in
a deep breath, he thought hard and long about being in that cell.

“I knew you
were strong.”

At first,
he though he was hearing the voice in his head, and was about to reply mentally
that he wasn’t, when he opened his eyes. He was in the cell, physically inside
it. The bundle against the wall had shifted, and he could see pale white hair
streaming over the man’s face.

“What’s
wrong with you?” he asked immediately, moving over to Kyros.

“Hunger,”
he supplied immediately, lifting his head to Max. His face was sunken, his eyes
dull. “It deteriorates not only the body, but the mind as well.”

“Why are
you chained?” Max asked, recognizing the silver shackles that bound his feet to
the wall.

“Because I
am your father’s prisoner.”

“Why?”

“Only a
madman would understand Maximilian’s reasons.” Kyros began to hack, a grating
cough that spoke clearly of a lack of water.

“You said
you’d tell me who I am.”

Kyros
lifted his gaze to him, and the silver-blue swirled knowingly before he
replied, “I said I’d tell you what you need to know. I only know you are your
father’s son.”

“Then why
am I here?”

“Because
you’ve been imprisoned as well,” Kyros retorted, and Max considered his own
reply. Imprisoned? Yes, he’d been imprisoned, by the witches.

“You were
in the cell across from mine,” Kyros continued weakly. “I went to sleep and
awoke to your screams.” He swallowed. “I didn’t know you were his son at the time.”

Max shook
his head. He remembered…silver. Someone cutting him with silver, and burning
pain.

“You’re
lying.”

Kyros’s
chuckle was hollow. “I have no need to lie, Max. I’ll soon die, and your father
will win. One less warlock to kill.”

“Why would
my own father torture me?”

“I could
not answer that. I’ve long since wondered why it is he keeps me half-dead.”

Kyros’s
head slumped back against the wall, and Max took pity.

What do
you need?

I doubt
you will be willing to give it.

“What do
you need?” he repeated, and this time he spoke aloud.

“Your
wrist,” he finally said, and Max drew back, horrified.

What?

I gave
you my blood, Max, so that you would live. If you will not give me your vein,
will you do me one better and take my soul?

Take his
soul? Even as the thought sounded strange to Max, he felt an answering hunger
in the pit of his belly. Souls. Blood. Food.

Kneeling
beside the man, he took his head into his hands and stared into his eyes. Eyes
similar to his own.

Do it.
End my misery.

He placed
his wrist against Kyros’s lips, and saw surprise enter the warlock’s eyes
moments before razor-sharp teeth completely punctured his skin and vein.

Fucking
hell! That hurt. He continued to repeat that curse over and over in his head,
feeling gratification as he did so, until finally, after what seemed like hours
but was barely a minute, Kyros pulled away. He felt another sting at his wrist,
and looked down. It was chewed raw, but before his eyes, the pale blue skin was
meshing back together, healing over the wound.

Max
stumbled back, catching himself against the wall, and shook his head. He felt
light-headed.

“It will
pass,” Kyros chimed in, and then added, “Thank you, Max.”

The
dizziness had passed and Max was about to launch into another round of questions
when he heard a pitiful sound. He spun around, eyes searching the darkness for
a small, wounded animal.

“It is not
here. The cell over. Maximilian has captured a human.”

Max turned
back to Kyros. “Why?”

“Because he
is an evil man, Max. He is your father, but he is also capable of atrocities
beyond your understanding.” He shook his leg and stood, pacing the short
distance he was allowed by the silver chain.

“Can’t you
break it?”

Kyros shook
his head. “It’s silver. Our very own Achilles’ heel, thanks to an unfortunate
gene passed down from vampire ancestors.”

“Where is
the key?”

“I don’t
know.”

The sound
came again, and Max turned in the direction of it.

“Please. I
don’t want to die.”

It was a
hoarse whisper, and Max wondered why his father would need to torture a human?
He heard crying, soft crying as if the tortured woman understood it was
useless.

“How long
has she been here?”

“A few
days. She won’t last much longer. Humans never do.”

Max was
saddened to hear that. Who the hell was his father, really? Torturing human
females? Even without a memory to fall back on, Max knew that was wrong.

He looked
back down to Kyros’s foot. “I’m going to find the key.”

“It’s too
risky.”

“Please
help me,” the voice came again, and Max turned to the wall, as if he could see
through it to the woman on the other side. The voice was much softer when she
whispered, “Oh, God, please help me.”

He’d closed
his eyes before he knew what he was doing, and briefly heard Kyros say, “No,
Max. You can’t project yourself into a place you haven’t seen. It’s dangerous.”

When he
opened his eyes, he was standing directly over her. She was shackled to a
wooden table, her arms and legs spread eagled from her body. Only a thin, white
sheet covered her, as if it had been draped there as an afterthought. Lines of
dark red decorated it, pointing to the numerous cuts she’d received while bound
to the table.

Her eyes
were closed and she cried silently. Her head was turned to one side, and her
long and matted black hair obscured her face from view. Max reached out and
gently pulled her hair back with tentative fingers.

“Please, no
more. I don’t know anything—please.”