Bloodcraft (31 page)

“I’ll take the risk.” He stood, but her glare stalled him in his tracks.

“And have the vampires start a war because we killed their prince? No. We will figure this out. It’s a witch problem.”

Christian raked a frustrated hand through his hair, rage written all over his face. “Don’t you get it? It’s no longer a witch problem. We need her alive.
I
need her alive. She would have been safe if she had remained with me, but I agreed to let her go with you because we both thought it would be best for her. And look at what nearly happened—a psychotic power-hungry witch and her boy-prodigy would have unleashed the Cruentus Curse upon the world.” He jabbed a finger at Victoria, who was feeling more drained by the minute, the buzzing in her head starting to become cacophonous. “Even now, you cannot help her. She is
dying
.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “How do you know?”

“Because I can feel it.” His voice was measured. “We are connected. We have been since last year, but I could never sense her the way I can now. I can feel her waning heartbeat, trace the venom tracking its way through her system, the tail end of it meant to consume.”

Blanching at his words, Aliya stood and spoke to the men at her door. Within seconds, the chamber was crowded with witches. Victoria grasped Christian’s hands in hers as they stared at her with varying looks of pity and compassion. She tried to speak and could not. It felt good to close her eyes.

“No, no, Tori, you have to stay awake. Don’t go to sleep.” That same urgent voice was tugging against her senses. She protested weakly, but pushed open her eyes at his insistent commands. Somehow she’d moved from the chair to the table in the middle of the room. Christian stood beside her. The witches gave him a wide berth too, she noticed faintly. It was because he should not be here … in the sanctified temple. He was an outcast, an outsider. Then again, so was she.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know, love, but you cannot go to sleep.”

She saw the witches bending over her body, chanting over her. Their fingers brushed her temples, her arms, the soles of her feet as the soft sounds of their voices echoed in the room. A burst of light filled her, pushing against the hot rush of Pan’s poisoned dust, but it held fast like a parasite.

“It’s not responding to the spells,” one of the witches said.

“Magic and science,” Victoria murmured, and Christian bent to catch what she’d said before her head lolled to the side and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“We don’t have much time left.” She heard Christian shout. A flurry of movement filled her vision as his desperate growl scattered the remaining witches. “Either bring me the boy and I’ll tear this place apart to find him.”

But as the blood roiled beneath her veins, Victoria knew that it was already too late. Too late for all of them.

TWENTY

The Courage of One

Lounging in an armchair, Lucian stared at the defiant dark haired girl before him, holding his brother’s ducal ring in one hand and a small crossbow in the other. He didn’t know whether to kill her himself or let Lena kill her. His gaze slid to where Lena sat, watching the ludicrous situation unfold without a glimmer of expression on that icy face. He knew that what had happened in the warlock’s quarter would have affected her, but at least now he knew where her loyalties lay. When it had counted most, she had chosen him over Christian. He frowned—he didn’t understand why she had allowed the girl entrance, however.

Lucian’s attention turned back to the girl and his eyes narrowed. Recognition was swift as he studied her face. “You’re the sister of that warlock. Gabriel.”

She nodded, her fingers tightening on the weapon at her side. “Angie.”

It wouldn’t help her cause if he chose to put an end to whatever game his brother was playing, but he let her keep it. The illusion of security went a long way in getting to the bottom of why she would risk entering a house full of vampires and claim to be here on Christian’s behalf. In truth, Lucian was surprised that she even made it past the foyer. It was Lena who had seen her and prevented her untimely execution by one of his overzealous followers.

Lucian inhaled her scent. It was rich, but not remarkable in any way. “You are not a witch.”

“No.”

He smiled. “Considering that, you are either very brave or very stupid. How did you know I would not kill you on sight?”

She stared at him, lifting a cool eyebrow. “I didn’t.”

“So why did you come here? What do you owe my brother that you would risk blood, breath, and bone to deliver his message?”

“I owe him nothing. I came because I wanted to. I trust him.”

Lucian made a derisive sound. “Really? You trust him? A
vampire
?”

To his surprise, Angie smiled at him. “I would trust your brother with my life, Lord Devereux. Just as you do.”

He laughed, but the way she was looking at him unnerved him more than her stupid comment. What this poor little human didn’t know was that he would kill his brother if he had to. “You seem to know a lot about me, even if you are misinformed.”

“If you say so.”

His lips curled back from his teeth. “I do. My brother and I are estranged, you see. So I, unlike you, owe him nothing whatsoever.”

“I only see what I see,” she replied as if that explained everything.

Her lack of fear was beginning to grate on him along with her cryptic responses. Lucian’s eyes slipped to the ring in her grasp and he held out his hand, beckoning her forward. She did so without hesitation, although her grip on the crossbow did not relax, and dropped the piece of jewelry into his palm.

The heirloom was indeed Christian’s. He glanced at the near identical one on the ring finger of his left hand. Although Christian’s gem was a sapphire and his was a ruby, the family ducal crest stamping the setting on both was the same. Their parents had given the rings to them on their thirteenth birthday and Lucian would have recognized it anywhere. A part of him didn’t believe that his brother had sent this girl with it, especially given what had happened between them. But the ring was genuine, of that he was sure. He palmed it and closed his eyes.

Lucian’s heart clenched as he remembered the promise they had made to each other when they were thirteen, after the rings had been bequeathed in a special Devereux coming of age ceremony.

“If you are ever in trouble,” the young Christian had said to him. “Find a way to send me your ring. And I will do the same. I will come to you no matter what.”

“Agreed,” Lucian had responded. “Blood promise?”

He remembered the sting of the knife cutting into his palm like it was yesterday and the feeling of slippery hot blood between Christian’s palm and his. They had never used the rings.

Until now.

As much as he wanted to kill the girl and be done with it, something—a residual sense of honor perhaps—tugged within him. He sighed. Pocketing the ring, he pulled himself to his feet then and closed the distance between them. She raised the crossbow and pointed it at his chest. “You think your arrows can hurt me?” he scoffed.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to hurt you. I came here with a message, but I assure you these arrows aren’t meant to hurt, they’re meant to kill. I designed them specially after what happened in New York.” Her eyes slid to the shiny pointed head of the dart sitting in the crossbow’s sights. “Pure silver with a core of UV light. It’s a hollow point so it explodes on contact. Auto reload. And I’m a crack shot. At this range, I won’t miss no matter how fast you think you are.”

He grinned at her boast. Despite himself, he was unwillingly impressed. Narrowing his eyes, he shifted, using all of his vampire speed to move toward the fireplace. To his surprise, the crossbow followed him with unerring precision. He frowned—it had to have been a lucky guess.

“Lucian,” Lena warned, her voice low. She, too, now stood, her body tensed for attack.

He shot her a quelling look. “I want to test our new friend’s theory.” He turned his attention back to Angie. “I’m intrigued. What are the odds you could shoot me before I reach you? I give you my word I won’t kill you.” He paused, baring his teeth. “Yet.”

“Your word?” Laughter threaded her voice. His glance moved to Lena, who was watching them will ill-concealed agitation. “One on one? I think my odds are better than good.”

“Just me,” he agreed, nodding for Lena to resume her seated position. She wasn’t happy about it, but she obeyed.

He watched as she pressed a button on the side of the crossbow and a whirring noise filled its chamber. She met his eyes. “Non-lethal wooden darts. I don’t want to kill you, after all. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I want to see how good you are.”

Angie shrugged. “I’ll tell you what. If I get a strike, you agree to get Freyja and go to Christian.”

“That’s two things.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then there’ll be two strikes. Now are we doing this? I don’t have all day to play your silly games.”

His amusement waned at her arrogant words, and he crouched into position. “Very well.”

Angie cocked the weapon. “Your move.”

He charged, blindingly fast, heading directly toward her, but she sidestepped to the right at the last moment before he reached her. He heard the click of the crossbow and the soft swish of its reload, his body bending backward as the dart lodged into the wall behind him. It had passed inches from his shoulder. He scowled and lunged again. She wasn’t fast, but she seemed to anticipate his every movement, only moving when he was a hair’s breadth from knocking her over. Growling savagely, he dove forward, his arm darting out to catch her in the stomach. She flew back and crashed into the bookcase.

Lucian grinned in satisfaction, watching as she stood, crossbow still in hand, and wiped a smear of blood from her mouth. His senses fired at the sight—and scent—of the bright crimson trail. Snarling with savage rage, his fangs lengthened to their full length, and the beast in him begged for its reward. But before he could grant it, to his surprise, Angie smiled at him, her eyes falling meaningfully to his chest. He looked down. There, lodged directly above his heart was a small wooden dart. He’d barely felt it.

“Got you,” she said, panting slightly. “And might I remind you that if I’d used my other darts, you’d be dead. Now honor our agreement, summon Freyja.”

He plucked the projectile out and flung it to the floor, nodding to Lena. With a disgusted look, she walked to the door and passed on the instruction. “You still have one shot to get me to go see my dear brother,” Lucian said as Lena resumed her position. Her face remained expressionless, although her eyes conveyed her opinion of his continued interaction with the girl.

Angie shook her head, looking mildly embarrassed. “Actually I got you the first time you came at me. I just didn’t want to make you feel too badly.” She pointed at his thigh, and to his infinite disgust, he could see the tip of a brown arrow protruding from his pants. Lucian glared at her. There was no possible way any human could do what she’d just done. Not without super senses or super speed. He scented her again, his nostrils flaring. She wasn’t a witch or a warlock—their blood was like nectar to vampires. No, she was pure, untainted human.

“I suppose that that was fairly won,” he capitulated without an ounce of grace. “Despite not knowing what tricks you had up your sleeve.”

“Coming from a vampire, that’s rich,” she shot back. He noticed that the cut on her lip where she’d smashed into the bookcase was starting to bruise. He could still smell her blood, rushing beneath the surface. He smiled inwardly. As he’d agreed, he’d hear her out once Freyja arrived, and then he’d drain her to the bone. She may be able to take one vampire on, but she would not be so lucky with a handful. The thought gave him great satisfaction. He did not like being humiliated, and certainly not at the hands of a teenage girl. But for the moment, he’d be civil.

“Drink?” he asked her, pointing to the bottle of cognac.

“I’m underage,” she said. “So no thanks.”

“You’re in Paris. The drinking age, I believe, is eighteen.”

She shook her head. “It dulls my wits.”

“I should have offered you some earlier.” It was the closest he’d go to giving her a compliment, but she took his meaning. A true smile graced that resolute face of hers.

“You remind me of him a little,” she said.

Lucian vaulted his brow. “My brother?”

“Why do you hate him?”

His glance slid to Lena. For a moment, he considered ignoring the probing question, but then resumed his place in his armchair. He raised a palm toward the empty sofa across from Lena, but Angie declined, as he knew she would. Although she seemed calm, he could see her tension in the rigid slope of her shoulders and the thinned line of her mouth.

“He came first.”

She laughed and the sound was hollow. “That’s not a reason to hate your twin. So what, he came first. Big deal. One of you has to be the older one—and it just turned out that fate decided it would be him and not you. Let’s talk about hate when you have a brother who murdered your parents, who punished you daily because you weren’t like him. We can have a drink and commiserate when your brother decides he’s going to kill you because he can’t stand the sight of you.” She laughed to herself, a spasm of pain flashing across her features. She met Lucian’s eyes. “Get over it. He’s a duke and you’re the second in line brother. Stop wallowing in your misguided sense of injustice. Grow the fuck up.”