The Vampire's Seduction (46 page)

The thought was downright stimulating, and I found myself rising to the occasion. A knock on my office door interrupted my contemplation of one good reason to stay alive.

It was Deylaud. I’d asked him to come down in human form to do some research and organizational work. In order to set about making alliances, I needed to know who stood on what side.

“Sit,” I said, and he did.

“I’m making a list of potential allies. Do you remember the book you read—Olivia’s book?”

He nodded.

“Tell me the names.”

For a human, this request would have been impossible. But I knew Deylaud’s first master had stored his entire library in Deylaud’s mind. The only catch was that you had to know the title or the owner of the book to bring out the information.

“Miss Olivia’s book—”

“Yes. The one you hid under the rug.”

“The names. Living or dead?”

“Living.”

His face pinkened but he entwined his fingers and began to recite.

“Lillith, Mesopotamia, 3000
B.C.
; Aronica, Babylonia, 2800
B.C.
; Boudicca, 1500
B.C.
; Lisbet, 100
A.D.
—”

“Move on to the later ones—after 1500.” The old ones were less likely than the new to join Olivia’s group.

Deylaud nodded, then continued, “Diana, England, 1528; Sarita, Andalusia, 1575—”

“What did you say?”

“Sarita, Andalusia, 15—”

“Before that—” I held my breath.

“Diana, England, 1528.”

Deylaud watched me, politely waiting for my permission to continue. But I looked past him, unable to speak for a moment.

“Go back to the beginning. What’s written on the first page of the book?”

Deylaud shut his eyes as though he had to turn pages in his mind.

“It says, Bloodline: A Lineage of the Female Vampire.”

The old wound Reedrek had inflicted in my chest throbbed like a painful heartbeat. Could it be possible that my darling Diana, rather than resting in peace, had been alive all these years?

A vampire?

Raven Hart’s

thrilling series

Letter from William, a Vampire

My name is William Cuyler Thorne, most recently of Savannah. Once, a very, very long time ago, I was a husband . . . a father. A mortal who lived and loved without thought of the evil creatures in the world.

Now I am one of those evil beings. A blood drinker.

A vampire.

Recently, after these many centuries, I’ve had to make good on my life’s promise of revenge. Circumstances forced me to put up or shut up, as my offspring Jack would say. Presented with the chance to kill Reedrek, my villainous sire—and thus perhaps end my immortal existence in the bargain—I embraced it. But in our world, just as in the mortal one, things don’t always go as planned. In my dash toward annihilation, I approached the finish line only to be pulled back to the unliving by Jack’s inscrutable logic.

He needed me.

Now I have discovered a name in an ancient book. A name etched into my crowded memory like a ragged scar. A name that will forever raise the deepest love in my unbeating heart, drawing it up beside the hatred I feel for the monster whom I thought had stolen that love from me.

The book is a genealogy of Strigori—of vampires.

The entry is
Diana, England, 1528.

My wife’s image—Diana’s lovely face—fills my thoughts, and for a moment I feel the tiniest hope that I might find her again. I’ve set Olivia to the task of tracking this undead
Diana.
Yet it twists my gut to think that Reedrek might have made my guiltless love into a bereft creature like me. To complete the transformation, he would have had to mate with her, and the very possibility brings a surge of nausea. I would tear her tormentor limb from limb before allowing him to ravage her soul. It was unbearable enough to watch him kill her.

I cannot bear to think of it. By God, Reedrek couldn’t have so complete a victory over me and mine.

Of course, if it is true, God had nothing whatsoever to do with it.

Letter from Jack, a Vampire

My name is Jack McShane and I’m a master mechanic, a ladies’ man, a NASCAR fan, and a vampire—not necessarily in that order. Show me a car and I can fix it. Show me a woman, and I can seduce her. Show me a creature, human or not, that threatens my existence or the safety of my loved ones, and I will make sure it never leaves Savannah in one piece, at least not without that piece being chewed up and spit out. Literally.

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but this dog’s been kicking since the War Between the States and I’ve learned more about myself and my kind in the last few weeks than since I was made immortal. Turns out not all vampires are peace-loving types like me and my sire, William Thorne. Mind you, I’ve seen—and killed—my share of roving rogue vampires here and there, just to keep the peace. But I had no idea there were whole packs of evil ones in Europe—or that some of them would one day be coming for us.

But it all came out in the wash, as they say, and my sire no longer tries to keep me in the dark about such matters to protect me. He can’t afford to. He needs me armed with the truth and ready to fight at his side if need be.

Now it turns out that William wants me to get all supercharged. See, I just got transfused with the blood of a powerful voodoo
mambo,
and William says I might now have powers I never dreamed of. Melaphia gave me some prayers and a whole laundry list of offerings for some voodoo deity so that he’ll make me all the vampire I can be. She says I should be careful, though, because the voodoo gods are powerful, easily pissed off, and prone to retribution. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Voodoo shmoodoo. I’ll light the candles and incense, say my spiel, and see what happens.

What could possibly go wrong?

William

Eleanor pounded on the lid of the coffin like a wild thing. Between guttural curses and terrified screams she frantically called my name as if something was eating her alive from the inside out.

I was helpless.

I could only sit and wait. Answering her did no good. She was writhing in some dark place, where neither my voice nor my mind could penetrate. There would be no comfort, no familiarity until it was over.

I’d reached out and banished Eleanor’s mortal soul. Had I made a terrible mistake? Did having her permission make it any less heinous?

I shoved my hands through my hair and covered my ears. The screams led my long memory back through time like a broken record. Diana, Diana, Diana . . . I paced the room, doing my damnedest to leave the past behind. There had to be some way to soothe Eleanor, some way to ease her terror.

Then I heard the ocean, the calming call of the shells. It could have been a result of my distress, but more likely it was the new dose I’d taken of Lalee’s ancient blood. The shells seemed to be summoning me of their own accord. As fast as my mind registered the need, the bone box appeared, floating before me. The shells could transport my waking mind through time and space much like a dream. But could they take me to the dark places where Eleanor lay trapped? And could I do anything once I got there? There was only one way to find out.

I retrieved the long, braided lock of hair Melaphia had cut from Eleanor and tied it around my wrist. Then I plucked the box from the air and cast the shells.

Eleanor . . .
Closing my eyes I touched the soft strands, remnants of her mortal life, and waited for the sight of her.

I was transported to unnatural darkness.

As a night creature, my element is darkness. I can discern shapes in the deepest caves of the earth—even on the ocean floor if need be. But this darkness wasn’t earthly. This was a suffocating, unnatural shadowness, the total absence of light or even its memory.

Yet there were sounds. The slither of scales on rock, the slow, sliding footsteps of bereft wandering creatures. With a low pitiful whine, something shivering cold brushed by me. Then in the distance came a guttural growl, followed by a shriek.

Was this some in-between dimension or had I been delivered to the dark side of hell? How would I find Eleanor here without sight?

“Eleanor?” I called, in case she was near and could hear my voice.

The sound echoed and set off a cacophony of noisy reactions. The beings inhabiting this damned place closed in around me, speaking, entreating, threatening all at once. The din was beyond alarming.

Even a vampire knows when to step back. Yet somewhere in the chaos I heard Eleanor’s desperate whisper.

“William, I’m here. Don’t leave me—”

For the first time in my overlong existence, I needed light.

“Stand back,” I ordered to those clustered around me as I drew myself into a killing posture, calling on any power the shells could provide. If these creatures could hear my voice then they could be warned off. Let them come for me rather than Eleanor.

Let there be light . . .

I felt the spirit of Lalee rise through me, toes to ears, like oil through a lantern wick. As my being expanded, a brilliant wash of illumination lit the area. It took me several seconds to realize that the luminescence was emanating from my own skin. It took half that long to regret my request for vision. Some things are better left to the dark.

Here there be dragons.

There have been poems written to the velvet sky, but this place was of total, inky darkness. There were no stars—no light could penetrate the utter blackness above.

And there were many creatures around me. As far as my borrowed power could penetrate the gloom, there were beings: moving, searching, squirming in their dank bucket like mindless worms. Their howls and moans set my teeth on edge. Gerard, ever the scientist, would have had a field day with this supernatural evolution run amok.

I saw amorphous slugs leaving trails of slime. I saw zombielike humans, wild-eyed and witless, a primal forest of teeth, blood, lolling tongues, and blank, horrified eyes. I was trapped in a den of demons.

In the distance, Eleanor, or her essence, called to me, though ten thousand trapped souls stood between us. The demon closest to me drew back, driven by the unfamiliar light. But one of the larger ones growled and leaped toward me like an overgrown rabid dog. I braced myself for the attack, but as with Reedrek on the
Alabaster,
the snarling beast sailed through my insubstantial form without result, leaving behind an essence that smelled of ripe dead meat. As he continued past me, he crashed into more demons, who roared and proceeded to bite and tear at his body until all that remained was blood and gore . . . and teeth. Bon appétit.

Then they all fell silent, whether from shock or fury I could not say. Frankly, I didn’t care. For this one moment, I had become the Lord of Light instead of darkness, and I intended to use it to my advantage. As I waded into the demons, they fell back before me, covering their eyes like pilgrims in the desert who’d found a flaming angel in their midst.

Hallelujah!

Finally I reached Eleanor, a press of demons silently at my heels. “William!” Eleanor flung herself at me with little more than a ripple. As our spirits joined, she smelled alternately of magnolia and fear. I tried to comfort her, but without touch it would be difficult. Our connection was rooted in the physical, in sex.

“I won’t let them harm you.” I moved toward her until our spirit forms overlapped and she stood inside the circle of light. She crossed her arms and hugged herself, perhaps imagining my not-so-human comfort.

“Why am I here? This isn’t how you said it would be.” Her voice shook with growing horror. “Am I dead?”

She wanted to know if she’d been sent to hell. I couldn’t set her at ease, not without lying; there had always been the chance that she might be lost.

I raised a hand in her direction and pushed glowing fingers along her cheek. She closed her eyes and sighed as if she could feel the touch. “Help me.”

“I won’t leave you. I’ll see you through it.” And as easily as that I’d made another promise. One that might be an end for both of us and a bitter beginning for me. If Eleanor did not survive her making, then both of us would be trapped in the dark.

A buzz and hiss traveled through the throng pressing around us. There was movement, a shifting on one side.
William . . .
I heard my name again and glanced down toward Eleanor. She, however, was gazing at the crowd. There was a disturbance in the distance. A small glow seemed to be moving in our direction, the light pinkish white. The crowd parted and another angel stood before us.

No, not an angel.

Shari.

She looked very different than last I’d seen her. Her honey blond hair had turned silvery white, her warm amber eyes were a glimmering gray. She was fey as the fabled Sidhe. Her burial clothes were torn at the sleeve and shredded at the hem; her bare feet were bloody.

“William?” This time she posed my name as a question, as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. “You’ve come to save me?”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her otherwise. “I’ll do my best.”

Then her gaze passed from me to Eleanor. She moved forward and put out her hand as though we’d just arrived at a party and needed introductions. “I’m Shari,” she said.

Without releasing contact with me, Eleanor made an effort to take Shari’s insubstantial hand. “I’m Eleanor.”

They both looked at me as if I should know what came next. Where was Jack when I truly needed him? “Are you all right?” I asked, ridiculous as it might seem.

Shari seemed to shrink inside her pale glow, then nervously glanced around the circle of hideous onlookers. “They don’t bother me much, now that I have protection. The lady—Melaphia—told me what to do when they try to scare me.”

“And what is that?”

Obediently, Shari bowed her head and began a low chant.

Jack

“Here are the printouts you wanted,” Werm said. He had a sheaf of papers in one hand and a bunch of some kind of sticks in the other. “And the incense you asked for, from Spencer’s at the mall.”