Vampire Elite (15 page)

And, as always, his appearance made his aura come across even more dramatically. He looked like no one else she’d ever seen, with long, almost metallic platinum hair—usually worn pulled into a ponytail—and stormy, dark-grey eyes, today set off to perfection by grey linen pants and an ankle-length trench coat. Right behind Tor was Theores, the Grey Cardinal of the Council—the Confederation’s governing body—and one of the King’s his most trusted advisors. She was also the closest thing Simone had had to a mother, though she was more like a young, cool aunt. Theores locked eyes with Simone and smiled, the first encouraging sight Simone had seen since before the incident with the tourist.

Tor, in contrast, had never so much as glanced at Simone as he disembarked from the helicopter, and he still didn’t do so, turning away from her to exchange warm greetings with the Alphas and then spending several minutes exchanging news, and casually chatting. It was only after he and Theores were invited to proceed to the main celebration near the bonfire at the center of the village that he addressed her.

“I understand we have a lot to talk about.”

With her heart in her stomach, Simone silently nodded.
 

The King turned to his bodyguards. “Odji, please escort this young lady to the helicopter.”

For five hours Simone sat alone in the helicopter. While the King and his pride enjoyed the winged demons’ hospitality, she experienced it from a distance, inhaling the aroma of an obviously delicious dinner and hearing the faint strains of dinner background music increase in volume and tempo as the revelers switched from eating to dancing.
 

Finally the celebration died down, the pride members boarded, and the helicopters lifted off. In Manaus they transferred from the helicopter to the pride’s private jet, heading back to France.

On the white leather chair next to Simone’s, Theores leaned back luxuriously, preparing to relax and enjoy her Pink Sunset. She looked like she’d just stepped out of her dressing room, not like she’d spent the past five hours at an outdoor party in the tropics: form-fitting white slacks completely unmarred, silk blouse unwrinkled, and every lock of her artfully tousled black hair exactly where it should be. Damn, Theores was cool—in the hip sense and the unflusterable sense.
 

Theores’s eyes met hers. “You surprised me, Sim.” She sipped her drink. “When you have an urge to kill, at least learn to do it without witnesses. We all have sins, but we don’t advertise them. I understand it was bloodlust. I’ve been in your shoes. But Sim, there was a whole tribe of winged demons and a substantial portion of the Legacy leadership within sensing range—and a half dozen of them within twenty feet of you. You disappointed me, you really did.”

And there it was: the disappointment. Simone was almost relieved that she didn’t have to wait any longer. Although this was Theores; she still had to face Tor.
 

Theores summoned the flight attendant and handed her glass to the attractive female vampire who responded. “Please, Tameri, make it a Red Sunset, not a pink one. I guess it was my fault,” Theores continued. “I haven’t taught you to hunt humans. I thought as one of the Elite and as a princess you wouldn’t ever need to know how. But anything can happen, right?”

“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Simone muttered, not knowing what else to say in her defense. “I didn’t know that human blood was so weak.” That human
life
was so weak.

Tameri appeared with a fresh drink—red this time, almost undiluted by champagne. “Perfect; thank you,” said Theores as she accepted the glass. She took a slow sip and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

“That’s why we keep Amiti.” There was appreciation in her voice, but it was the appreciation of a farmer praising livestock.

Simone thought of Arianna and wanted to object, but suddenly her stomach swirled with hunger. No, now was not the time to philosophize.

“Tameri, please, bring me a Red Sunset, too—just like Theores’s.”

“Of course, Princess.” In a few seconds she was handing Simone a glass of highly concentrated Red Sunset. Great Sekhmet, it was delicious. Savoring the heavenly ambrosia, Simone realized how much she had missed it. Even diluted, even when it came to her from a catheter and not straight from the vein like what Arianna had given her, Amiti blood was incomparable.
 

Damn, why should Simone care where the blood came from? Honestly, why should she?

Chapter 18

Arianna was lying on her side on a hard bed, with a splitting headache and a deep, wrenching pain in her stomach. She was covered with a light grey blanket, in a small room with pale cement walls. There were no windows, just a closed door and a ceiling vent, which apparently was working: the temperature was fine and the air fresh. The bed was against the wall, the only other furniture a small table and a chair. In the opposite corner an opaque plastic compartment extended from floor to ceiling. Through its open door she could see that it held a shower, washbasin, and toilet.

Totally confused, Arianna moved the blanket aside and sat up, her efforts met with a massive headrush. Once her head stopped spinning, she found that she was wearing something like grey pajamas, or hospital scrubs, made out of thin cotton, with drawstring pants and a short-sleeved v-neck shirt.
 

Her wrists were bandaged. She lifted a bandage to check underneath and gasped: she had horrible red gashes on both wrists, like she’d tried to commit suicide. But she had no memory of trying to kill herself. What the hell was going on? And where was she?

She got to her feet and was hit by another wave of dizziness. Leaning against the bed, she waited a few moments to regain her balance, then walked across the room to the door. It was locked.

Being locked in a room with no exit was more than she could take. If the door didn’t open within the next few seconds, she’d have a panic attack. Frantically, she banged on the door with her fist. To her astonishment, it opened immediately, as though someone had been standing on the other side of it just waiting for her knock, and as Arianna stood there, gaping, that someone came in holding a tray of food.
 

During the next second, two things happened at once. One was that the door closed behind the person who’d come in, a harsh metal click announcing that it was locked again. The other was that Arianna registered that the female holding the tray was Elora—and Arianna’s memories rushed back. She’d been kidnapped, abused, and drained of her blood, and then Elora had pushed her outside to a circle of vampires, and they had made her drink something.
 

And that was it. No memories of what had happened next; nothing until just a minute ago when she’d been lying in the bed.

“Where am I? What did you do to me? Let me out of here!” Her voice sounded desperate. No surprise there, but she’d been hoping for something more authoritative.

Ignoring her, Elora set the tray down on the table. “Eat.”

“Let. Me. Out of here.” Arianna repeated, this time more firmly.

“This is your new home, dear. There is no way out of here.” There was superiority in Elora’s voice, in her smile. “Remember I told you that we would treat you well? The room is clean and the air is fresh. You will also be fed well. Eat.”

Arianna strode to the table, ignoring her shaking legs, and grabbing the tray, threw it to the floor. “I’m not going to eat your rotten food.
Let. Me. Out of here!!
”

Elora slapped her so hard that Arianna flew across the room and hit the opposite wall. She slid to the floor, her head spinning from the blow. She felt blood begin running from her nose. Elora walked over to her, placed her hands on her hips and looked down at her.

“You have to learn, you little piece of shit, you will be hurt every time you are disrespectful to any of us. You are bloodstock. No name, no identity, no rights.
None.
Period. Got it?” As if to underscore her statement, Elora bent over and removed the bandages from Arianna’s wrists, exposing the deep red gashes along both wrists. “Do you know what this is?”

Arianna was silent.

“You got these scars during the Ritual of Fate which sealed your destiny as a bloodstock and bound you to our pride. You slashed your wrists for us
voluntarily
. It indicates that you have surrendered to your fate and have gratefully accepted it. These scars will never go away; we took care of that. We used a sacred oil that prevents the scars from healing. They’ll always be there, visibly red. And they’ve been infused with a unique scent in the air so we can track you if you ever try to escape.”

Arianna stared at the scars, horror-stricken. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Was it possible that she was only dreaming? Could this just be a nightmare?

“Well, dear, I need to go now.” Elora picked the dishes up off the floor, put them back on the tray and moved to the door. She knocked twice, with her elbow. The door opened to let Elora out and then closed again behind her with that terrible, final click.

This had to be a nightmare. Arianna crawled to the door and shoved it with all her might, first pushing, then pulling. But it was locked and heavy, solid; it wasn’t going anywhere. Listlessly, she leaned her back against it, trying to comprehend everything that had happened to her.
 

So, to review: she was drained, and powerless, and this was to be her jail from now on.

The Sekhmi had taken everything from her, leaving her only the very barest essentials she needed to survive. They’d taken her freedom, her whole world, restricting it to the size of this cell. They even refused to call her by her name. Why? To dehumanize her, to detach themselves from her, to treat her like a thing, not like a living being.

Arianna felt herself starting to freak out. She sat there on the floor, trying to slow her breathing and heartbeat, Losing her mind wouldn’t help her get out of here; she needed to be able to think, to plan, and in order to do that she needed to stay calm.
Breathe in. Breathe out.

It wasn’t working. What good would thinking do, anyway? She was trapped, totally trapped. She’d never heard of anyone escaping a bloodstock cell; who was she to think she might find a way out?

The panic attack hit her like a tsunami, pulling her deep beneath the water, the turbulence trying to tear her arms and legs from her body. She rose and threw herself violently against the door, limbs flailing. And did it again and again, over and over.

“Help! Help! Let me out of here! Let me out!” she was screaming. She felt the popping wrench of her shoulder dislocating, but the sensation meant nothing to her and she kept going.
 

The impact against the door was knocking the wind out of her, but that didn’t matter because soon she wouldn’t be able to breathe anyway: she knew without even having to look that the walls behind her were closing in like in a horror movie, taking the air with them. Exhaustion was setting in, but she kept punching and kicking the door, and she couldn’t scream anymore, so she switched to calling out with her mind—
Help! Help! Let me out of here! Let me out!
—as she desperately prayed that the door would open and save her from this living hell.
 

But it was too late; the walls were right at her back now, and there was no air left. She sucked in one last breath and then lost consciousness just as she felt the walls crush her, expelling the life from her body.

Chapter 19

The King’s jet landed at the Royal pride’s private airport in the suburbs of Nice, France. Looking out the porthole, Simone saw two black Mercedes and a helicopter, with bodyguard types standing stoically beside each vehicle. Simone recognized all of the bodyguards except the two broad-shouldered ones next to the helicopter.
 

As she disembarked the aircraft, the helicopter guys approached her, displaying upward arrow tattoos on their right hands. Damn, they were from the Legacy; the Confederation’s cops had come for her. Not good.

“Princess,” the one on the right addressed her. She sensed he was some sort of a were-animal, maybe a wolf or hyena. “You are in the custody of the Legacy until the Court assembly. Please come with us.”

She knew how this worked; now she would be kept locked up like a common criminal. Why wasn’t there some flexibility around the fact that she was Royalty and didn’t fall into the same category as commoners? She hated this law of the Confederation that treated everybody equally—and she hated these nitpickers who followed the Code to the letter. They probably thought that her father would try to get special treatment for her—or even hide her somewhere beyond their reach.
 

In fact, the King probably
could
just make all of this go away, but he wasn’t doing a damned thing. “
I understand we have a lot to talk about
,” he’d said in Aldeia Alada.
Yeah, right.
He hadn’t said shit to her since then. In fact, he hadn’t said anything to anyone. He’d ignored her completely, like she wasn’t even there. And she hadn’t even dared to make eye contact with him.

She turned to Theores, who was following her down the steps. “Theores, what am I going to do?” Theores was on the Council; she could get Simone out of this. “Can’t I just go to the villa and be under house arrest there?”

“I’m afraid not.” Theores shrugged. “I really am sorry, Sim. You have to go with the Legacy for a while.” Then she bent down and whispered into Simone’s ear, “I anticipate that you’ll actually have some fun there.”

Simone sighed helplessly and followed the Legacy warriors to the helicopter. Tor, Theores, and the rest of the King’s party proceeded to the waiting vehicles.

Simone watched her father get into the car, hoping he’d at least glance her way, but he didn’t. She kept watching as Odji closed the door and got into the driver’s seat. She couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but she knew he was looking anywhere except at her.

Why was she so hurt by his behavior? It wasn’t like it was a surprise. He’d always been distant and withdrawn, never affectionate. She felt cheated; she couldn’t remember a single warm embrace from him, not a single hug or even the tender touch of his hand. What it would take for her to win his love? Was she doomed to fight for the love of every man she cared about in her life? What a depressing thought. Maybe before the Confederation killed her she’d write Tor a letter telling him how much she loved him. Maybe then she’d finally get a little attention from him and he’d spend a couple of minutes grieving her death. She called up an image in her mind: Tor at his desk, an unfolded letter in his hand, face grief-stricken.