The Mark of the Vampire Queen (39 page)

The comment came from one of his people just behind him. He'd smartened up enough to give the man a sharp glance, make sure it was someone really covering his back instead of intending to spear him, but his mind was whirling. Jacob, dead? No, he'd
heard
him, loud and clear. But from Lyssa's face, he could tell she'd thought he was dead. Suddenly the ravages of pain he'd seen around her eyes, the ones he saw every time he forced himself to look into a mirror, made sense.

Gideon spun at the yell of warning. There was a wave of new shouts and curses and the clash of more weapons as a full legion of vampires swept down upon them.

They were dead, he thought.

Instead, the vamps swatted him and his hunters out of the way.

The faction that mowed over Gideon and his men was led by a slender woman in white with gold-blond hair. She looked like a blood-soaked version of Barbie, another disquieting image he didn't want imprinted in his head.

The Barbie's servant, sticking grimly at her side, roared at the vampire challengers and drew their attention, spinning them around. They snarled in return. Both sides accelerated into a lightning charge, coming together in a flash of gleaming fangs, snarls, weapons.

The overthrowing faction and the faction loyal to the Council, just as Lyssa said.

His people were smart enough to take advantage and shoot arrows into the mob. But Lyssa was right. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They needed to get going, because whatever side won, they'd obliterate his small army. The original plan needed to be followed. Strike swiftly, get out. Their fifteen minutes were up, for now.

He snatched out his radio, even as he began to shout out commands.

 

Jacob. Jacob.
It was in her head, a cry in the darkness. She reached out, looking for him. Felt something. A fog of clouds, confusion. A clip of a thought. There was so much energy and death around. She knocked vampires out of her way, tossed hunters out of her path, screamed a cry like an enraged eagle when she swooped down the corridor and saw the Council room doors on their hinges. Diving inside, she spun in a circle, but in a blink she knew Jacob wasn't in the chamber. There were hunters and vampires fighting here who had worked their way down from the main battle ensuing on the walkway. Brian had put Debra in the corner, and she was crouched down as he shielded her, fighting off one of Carnal's followers, his face a mask of protective fury. Lyssa picked up his opponent, dashed him against the wall, crushing his skull. Before Brian could digest her sudden appearance before him, Debra scrambled over and staked the disabled vampire with a chair leg.

“Lady Lyssa, we didn't abandon him…Jacob…”

His expression told her, lodging her heart farther up into her throat. She tucked in her wings and shot back out, circling over the area, eyes frantically moving over the battlefield. Blood everywhere, the flash of fangs. Weapons that had been in the hands of the humans were now in the hands of other vampires, being used against Carnal's followers. There were many servants in the mix, fighting capably as so many of them could. The communication link between Masters and Mistresses and servants was turning the tide. From her vantage point she could see them getting organized, mobilized. The loyalist servants were commanded to turn their attention to the retreat of the vampire hunters. Their Masters and Mistresses focused on Carnal and his group. She briefly saw Danny smeared with blood, her hair tied back hastily with a strip of the dress she'd torn off completely so she could fight in just corset and short slip. With her bare feet, she looked like some type of petite Roman warrior, her blond hair streaked with blood, her fangs gleaming, eyes hard.

A stray arrow whizzed past Lyssa. So busy seeking Jacob, she barely avoided it and it scored her shoulder.

Where are you?

 

Gideon plunged back down into the courtyard with a set of wooden knives and the rage of a berserker. He'd watched Lyssa charge into a room and return to swoop over the courtyard, taking dives over them with the frenetic speed of an erratic bat. Something had happened to Jacob. She was looking for him. Jacob might need him.

So while he'd ordered the retreat of his own people according to Lyssa's direction and they were managing it just as they were trained to do, one group falling back as the front line held their retreat, he'd surged forward, helping with the coverage. He'd be damned if he'd leave until he knew what was going on.

Lady Lyssa didn't need to know that he'd had one of his people pose as one of the masked servants and affix a tracking beacon to Jacob's cuff earlier in the evening. He had known where his brother was at all times. Jacob's call to the chambers had been fortuitous and saved him having to figure out a way to haul his ass out of the ballroom before it blew.

The tracking beacon said Jacob was still in the Council chambers, but when she emerged and launched herself again, he knew somehow Jacob had gotten separated from his jacket.

Gideon turned, looking. Reached out with his own senses. He'd always known how to find Jacob when they were on a vampire hunt together. It was a sense, like breathing. It wasn't words, a call. It just was. An instinct.

And there he was. He stepped out of the shadows at the opposite end of the walkway. God knows how he'd gotten past that snarl of vampires. He was pale and entirely savage looking, shirtless, bloody. But there was a wandering look to his eyes, suggesting some type of disorientation as if he'd been hit in the head. Then he was gone, another cluster of struggling vamps engulfing him. He was alive and apparently okay, though he wouldn't be for long, standing there dazed and unprotected. When he pulled his mind back together he wouldn't likely forgive Gideon anytime soon for this. As if Gideon gave a damn about forgiveness anymore.

There he was again. Now he was up on the railing. He turned, looking toward the sky. No question who—or rather what—he was looking for, though his timing was lousy.
Wake up, you stupid bastard.

Gideon broke into a run, yelling it. Carnal was bearing down on Jacob, materializing from one of the side hallways where he'd probably decided to take a coffee break while his lackeys did his blood work.

No one was taking his little brother down while Gideon lived. Even if the bastard had given his heart and loyalty to a vampire. Then Jacob leaped from the rail and was gone, retreating down another corridor into the castle, Carnal in pursuit.

Son of a bitch. He'd been drawing him, using himself as bait. Gideon cursed, took the stairs three at a time onto the landing. He stumbled over some rubble, regained his feet and charged after them.

When Gideon reached the corridor he found it was a tribute hall and practice room for different periods of ancient weaponry. Jacob had seized a nimcha blade as his first choice. Carnal unfortunately had chosen a mace.

Jesus, that third mark allowed his brother to move fast. Jacob was keeping pace with the vampire remarkably well, such that Gideon could barely follow their movements until the mace caught on the blade, wrapped it.

“Jacob!”

As the ball swung toward the guard, forcing Jacob to release the handle, Gideon ripped the closest available weapon from the wall, a flat-headed Danish battle ax. They were turned so he couldn't attack Carnal's back, and there was no time with that superhuman speed anyhow. Desperately, he tossed the heavy weapon with a grunt the few feet in Jacob's direction, hoping to give him something with which to shield himself. Gideon lunged for a sword, planning to spear Carnal from behind while Jacob held his attention.

In its heyday, the Danish battle ax was assigned only to the burliest fighters, for they were the only ones strong enough to wield it effectively. Jacob was likely to get gutted by the mace while his hands were occupied in lifting the thing for a swing.

Instead Jacob caught the ax one-handed and swung upward, faster than Gideon could follow. Carnal roared, shock coursing over his features, but it was a final act of defiance. The blade severed cleanly through his neck, his head rolling off his shoulders and thudding to the ground.

In real life, it had all the macabre look of a badly done special-effects movie. Gideon didn't like horror movies for just that reason.

Jacob drew in a shuddering breath, his blue eyes alight with a rage that made Gideon oddly hesitant to draw closer. Then Jacob's knees buckled, and it didn't matter. He was next to him, putting his brother's arm over his shoulders to help draw him to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

Jacob glanced at him, something unusually still and focused about his eyes. “That was
so
fucking satisfying. It was almost better than sex. Let's put his head back on so I can do it again.”

“You've lost your mind,” Gideon stated flatly, but he couldn't help the giddy relief at the humor in his brother's eyes. “Are you
hurt
, you idiot?”

Jacob chuckled, his head dropping forward as if he suddenly didn't have the strength to hold it up.

“I was dead, Gid. Absolutely dead. You know…what you said? About Mom being up there, saying, ‘Why'd you do a fool thing like that?' I think I heard Dad for a moment…felt Mom's hand on my head. You remember how good that felt…the answer to everything…I need to find my lady. She's unhappy.”

“You're seriously freaking me out. We've got to get you out of here.”

Jacob nodded. “I feel like shit. But I'm going to live, Gid. Even if you don't want me to.”

When he smiled this time, he revealed the pair of gleaming fangs that had split his lip open.

“Oh, bloody fucking hell.”

T
HE
private airfield was quiet in the hour before dawn. As the limo pulled in and Elijah Ingram put it in park, he focused on the small plane waiting there. He had the Beretta ready, but lately he'd realized it might as well be a BB gun. So his hand also moved over the small crossbow that Jacob had given him. Thoughtful one, that boy.

Jacob was first off the plane. Elijah's brow creased. He was moving slowly, his face down. And he needed assistance. His brother was with him, but he was on point, keeping a lookout, not helping him walk. That was being done by a tall, elegant man with copper hair whose perfect beauty, even impossible for a comfortably straight man to deny, screamed vampire. Gideon walked a few paces away, an ax hefted in one hand, a crossbow in another. He was fairly relaxed—for Gideon. It told Ingram he didn't think they were being pursued, but it was obvious from the torn clothing and the blood all over them, as well as the weary expressions, that they'd been in one hell of a fight.

Where was the lady? That boy didn't go anywhere she wasn't nearby. Almost as soon as he had the thought, a shadow passed over the windshield, a current of wind that had him touching the crossbow, craning his head to see what had just moved over the limo.

When the men were within thirty feet of the car, a creature landed behind them. Ingram jumped out of the car with the weapon before his brain registered that neither Gideon nor the pretty one appeared startled by its appearance. Her appearance, on closer examination.

Jacob dragged them to a halt, managed to straighten and turn to face her. Gideon's lips tightened in that expression that suggested he wasn't entirely happy about matters. More than usual.

The boy moved toward her unaided, the other two men standing back. When he went to his knees, it seemed a planned move, though it visibly cost him quite a bit of effort. But she was already there to catch him, her talons wrapping around the back of his vulnerable neck, drawing him into her, the wings balancing her at half-fold as she bent her smooth, hairless head over his.

“Holy Mother,” Ingram breathed softly, for he knew those haughty, elegant mannerisms.

Knowing about vampires, he had room in his mind now for other creatures not part of the human experience. While she was entirely frightening, there was a fascinating beauty to the lean, feminine muscle, the long pointed ears and intimidating fangs, the graceful way she tilted her head over Jacob and focused on him with large, almond-shaped, entirely dark eyes.

Jacob's body slumped into unconsciousness. Lyssa lifted him, carrying him to the grass running alongside the tarmac. The copper-haired vampire knelt on the other side of him, and Elijah came to join them as Gideon stood off to the side, still standing guard.

“He's just passed out again,” Lady Lyssa said quietly. “He shouldn't have tried to kneel. Honorable knight. Foolish man.” Her voice cracked.

When the tall man lifted his gaze to study Elijah, Elijah remembered a friend of his who had raised wolves from puppies. He'd assured him they were tame. But whenever Elijah went to see his friend, the wolves looked at him the way the vampire did now. The civilized veneer was just that, and he was tolerated only because it would upset his friend if they ate his company.

“Elijah Ingram,” the limo driver said at last.

A faintly ironic smile crossed the vampire's face and he inclined his head. “Mason.”

Bending his attention back to Jacob, Mason reached over him and gripped Lyssa's wrist. “We need to get him belowground and give the transition time to complete, build his strength,” he said in accented tones that whispered of deserts and trade caravans.

“How about we start by getting him into the limo? It's close to dawn.” This from Gideon. Sharp, tense. He looked at Ingram, not at the others.

“Gideon.” Lyssa drew his reluctant attention. “You need to stay with Mason awhile. Jacob will need your care and his connection to you as his brother. It helps, to keep a new vampire centered. After the first three days, newborn bloodlust will strike hard. The strongest reminder he has of his morality will be you.”

She had something tied around her neck on a ribbon, and now she bent so Mason could untie it. “It's a vial of my blood,” she explained at Gideon's narrow look. “The vial came from Brian's temporary lab and Debra helped me fill it. Because I'm his sire, Jacob will need a drop of it once a day for the first thirty days after the full moon to manage the pain of the transition. If he needs restraining, use a cell. Not wrist restraints.”

“I can't fucking believe this.” Gideon walked two paces away, turned in a circle, came back. “I can't…”

“You can't what?” She raised a brow, her eyes narrowing.

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can't believe he let you in on that trick.” He said it as if from a great distance. “How he gets out of wrist restraints.”

“I guessed. He didn't tell me.” She gazed up at him. “Gideon, do you remember the famous story of Gandhi telling a Hindu man how he could be forgiven for killing Muslims?”

“You're not seriously going to compare—”

“He told him to go find an orphaned Muslim child and raise him as his own. And that he must raise him as a Muslim. Hate isn't working for you, Gideon. Your brother is a vampire now, and he needs you. He loves you more than anything.”

“No,” Gideon said. The words came out thick, full of anguish. “Not more than anything.” He squatted then and laid his hand on Jacob's brow with a surprising gentleness.

At this moment, Lyssa could easily imagine Gideon many years ago, sitting on the edge of a bed, stroking the sleeping head of his eight-year-old brother, taking the place of their mother and father. She wished she could reach out to Jacob and touch his head, too, but the minute she raised her hand, saw the long claws, she remembered. Drawing back, she cleared her throat to continue, conscious of Ingram and Mason's regard.

“After that, he can drink moderately from another, but chain his throat, waist and legs when he does, standing guard so you can pull the donor away when he's reached a pint. He needs no more than that, but he won't be able to control his hunger. It takes three moon cycles before they gain that ability, but only if he has a drop of this every day. Mason knows all of this, of course.”

She shifted her gaze to the limo driver. “You won't see me again, Mr. Ingram. I need you to make that phone call for me as we planned, for I don't know what the Council will do about their vote. I suspect many of the lords who would have gone after my fugitives will have other priorities for a while. Mason will explain the details. Before I left Atlanta, I had Jacob make one last transfer to your account, enough to keep you comfortable a long while. I don't tell you that to obligate you. But if you would help Gideon with Jacob, I would be grateful.” Her voice broke a little as she brushed her knuckles along Jacob's brow again. “And don't tell him I carried him. You know how you men are about those things.”

Mr. Ingram hesitated a moment, then he extended his hand. When she indicated the status of her own, he shook his head, reached out and circled her wrist. She watched, nonplussed as he bent and kissed the top of her mutated hand.

“Ma'am, I don't know a man who hasn't been carried by a good woman at least once or twice in his life.” He paused, apparently thinking before he took something from his pocket. Folding it in his handkerchief, he handed it to her. “This is something that belonged to my wife. I gave it to her to keep her safe and blessed when we fell in love, short though that was. I know you can't wear or touch it, but—”

Lyssa felt the metal through the cloth. She took a corner and shook the contents free of the fabric into the cup of her clawed hand. When she saw the silver cross, despite herself her gaze strayed down Jacob's bare chest, down to the waistband of the torn and bloodstained slacks, under which she knew the same symbol rested.

It had a long chain fortunately, which made it easier to manage with the talons. Looping the chain around her neck, she let the talisman drop between her bare breasts.

“A final lesson for you,” she said at Elijah's surprised look, extending the kerchief back to him. “A vampire with faith may embrace relics as much as anyone. I've never lost my soul.”

She'd come close with Rex and the loss of Thomas, but Jacob had saved it. Carried it for her. Kept it safe. A good man was known to do that occasionally for a woman as well. In fact, he carried it now.

My heart, and my soul. Everything that matters.

“If you will all take care of him, I will owe you a debt I can never repay.” She gave an arch look to Mason. “And you perhaps will have absolved yourself of one or two of your many sins.”

Then her gaze lowered. Looking at her servant, the trace of humor fled. Bending, she pressed her lips to Jacob's brow.
I shall miss you, Irishman. Sir Vagabond. Sir Lancelot of the purest heart. My life will be empty without your laughter, so be happy. When the sun shines more brightly, I will know you are still out there, laughing and smiling for me.

She moved her mouth down to his, a featherlight touch. She couldn't bear more than that, because it reminded her too much of the size of her fangs. But suddenly, she didn't have a choice. A hand curved around her nape, his knowledgeable fingers teasing the sensitive skin there. His mouth was kissing her back, lips parting, tongue seeking hers, drawing her down more closely so her breasts pressed against his chest. The nipples drew up in aroused reaction, making her ravenous to lie upon him, press her sex to his, feel that searing connection, the affirmation that he was alive. Alive.

She couldn't do that. For several reasons. But she couldn't find it in herself to immediately draw back either. Her tears spilled over her lashes, baptizing his face, and he murmured softly into her mouth, caressing her face, the three tight folds of skin molded beneath each of her eyes. One hand slid down her shoulder to take a grip on the clawed elbow of one wing. Her tail curled around his calf, the barbed tip resting just inside the thigh.

When at last she did draw back, her mouth was soft and wet as the expression in his eyes.

Mason cleared his throat and rose. “We'll wait over there and give you a moment to say good-bye. Mr. Ingram, are there any spirits in your car?”

Ingram frowned. “Not certain. Haven't felt any.”

The vampire chuckled, and even Gideon's lips twitched. Both gestures went a long way to easing some of Elijah's tension about the odd band, their postbattle appearance. And the lady's unexpected metamorphosis. “You've been keeping too much paranormal company, my friend.”

“Booze, Ingram. He's wanting to know if you've got a drink.” Gideon grumbled it, shouldered the crossbow. “I could use a hit of the strongest thing you've got myself.”

Ingram nodded. When he saw Mason exchange a significant look with Gideon, he reluctantly joined them in the walk back to the car, giving the man on the ground and his Mistress their privacy.

Jacob watched Lyssa gracefully lower herself from her haunches to her knees next to him, the wings at half-spread to balance herself.
So, you want to explain how Lord Mason can read your mind so well, my lady?

The depths of her entirely dark eyes in this form were so deep he could lose himself in them.
I don't answer to you, Sir Vagabond. And you once told me if I knew all of your secrets, I would tire of you in no time…

Christ, his arms weighed a bloody ton. Regardless, he brought her down to him again and was even rougher this time, holding her fast, hands moving to her shoulders to grip. He could feel her struggling against the desire to curl her claws into him. When he growled at her she capitulated, biting into his skin, drawing blood. Her body was shaking. He splayed out his fingers, touching her throat, the ear. He wanted to hold her more tightly, but the moment felt fragile. As if their brush with death was still too close, and moving too quickly or wanting too much might shatter the fantasy and take them back to a horrible reality.

He let her ease back only because the grayness around his vision from the intensity of the embrace made him worry he'd pass out again.

“I thought I'd lost you,” she said.

“You very nearly did. I saw tunnels, white light. Relatives.”

Her face grew still. “Should I have let you go?”

He shook his head. “You weren't there. It isn't Heaven if you're not there. Plus, I think I saw my uncle Wilhelm, which means it must have been Purgatory at best. I can't imagine God wanting to put up with him on a daily basis.”

She closed her eyes and lowered her head farther. His touch slid to the back of the small skull, fingering the pointed tip of one ear.

There were no shields between their minds now, probably because of the emotion of the moment. Since she was cured of the virus to all appearances, he was sure she'd regained the ability to block him at will. However, he was too tired to focus on the whirl going through her mind. He could sense she'd compressed emotions so strong inside her they were ready to detonate.

“I've never seen you hold this form so long,” he said.

As soon as he had the thought, the answer flashed through her mind, despite a tightening of her lips that told him she tried to block it.

She wasn't choosing to not raise her shields. She
couldn't.

The significance of what Mason had said struck him then. Why did they need a moment now, when they could have all the moments they wanted somewhere protected—a hotel, her house in Atlanta, anywhere but in an open airfield?

Must say good-bye…

Though she tried to obscure it with other thoughts, she was too used to relying on her shields, and he had a whole new level of psychic clarity in addition to his own to defrost the window of her mind. Pushing his weariness aside, he concentrated and got it all dumped on him in one flood that hit him low in the gut.