Blood Ecstasy (Blood Curse Series Book 8) (26 page)

Julien nodded.
 

So be it.

And that was when he felt, more than heard, Rebecca step onto the porch.

He spun around to face her. “Baby, you should never come outside on your own, not without the all-clear first.”

Rebecca frowned and rubbed her eyes. She had obviously just woken up. “Yeah,” she murmured, “duly noted.” There was nothing hostile in her voice, just a sort of complacent surrender, and to his surprise, it tugged at his heartstrings. “What were you doing?” she asked.

Julien snorted in dismissal. “Nothing. Just…closing some loose ends.”

Rebecca nodded. She glanced around the porch, out into the yard, and down the driveway, and then she absently nodded her head. “You’re tracking, aren’t you? Hunting Ian?”

Julien nodded. “Yeah. Just gathering some information.”

Her soft, topaz eyes lit with just a hint of curiosity, and she hesitated before clearing her throat. “Would you show me? Like…what you’re seeing, recording?”

Julien almost said no as an instant knee-jerk reaction. They honestly did not have the time, and the situation was way too dangerous. Now that she was awake, Rebecca needed to get to Napolean’s manse, post haste. But something brought him up short. Maybe it was the lost look in her expression; maybe it was the pallor of the recent conversion still dusting her complexion; or maybe it was just the fact that she had asked; but he took a few curious steps toward her, extended his hand, and waited to see if she would take it.

She did, albeit cautiously.

He led her to the edge of the porch and pointed at the distant pines. “Do you see those blue spruces, the ones that are slightly taller than the rest?”
 

She nodded.

“Close your eyes,
ș
oarec micu
ț
, and try to focus your sense of smell on the pine needles.”

She did.

“What do you detect?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, just pine, and maybe some wood from the cones.”

Julien sidled behind her, and she stiffened just a bit, but he pretended not to notice as he wrapped his large muscular arms around her, rested his chin in her silken hair, and closed his eyes in order to transfer the information he had absorbed, analyzed, and sifted directly into Rebecca’s mind. Now that she was converted, it was an easy thing to do.
 

When she gasped, he tightened his hold.
That’s it, angel girl
, he spoke inside her mind.
You can smell the difference between a moist pine needle and a dry one. You can almost hear the hydrogen combining with the oxygen, if you really filter everything else out.
He switched to speaking aloud. “That’s where Ian shifted into mist, changed from his typical vampiric form.” He pointed skyward. “He retreated to the west, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything; he could’ve doubled back and gone anywhere.”

Rebecca leaned back against him, and Julien wondered if she even knew she was doing it. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s…that’s incredible, Julien. I don’t think just anybody could do that, not even other vampires.”

Julien cocked his head slightly to the side, weighing her words for a moment. Hmm, he’d never really thought about it. He had been a tracker all his life, from the time when he was ten years old and arrived on Napolean’s doorstep, begging to be taught. It all just seemed instinctual…

But speaking of Napolean: “Angel, are you ready to go?”

Rebecca pulled away from him as unconsciously as she had propped against him. “No,” she said in a forthright tone. “But I’m coming to understand that
ready
doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.” She sighed. “Am I ready to meet the vampire king and queen, to be thrust into this alien, terrifying world even more deeply than I’ve already been? No, I’m really not.”

Julien allowed the silence to linger.

Sometimes words were an insult when feelings were exposed and raw.

Honest.

True.
 

Finally, he whispered, “We do need to go, baby. I just…there’s no other option that’s feasible.”

Despite her misgivings, Rebecca nodded, and then she quietly spun around, padded toward the front door, and re-entered Julien’s home.
 

He watched her like a hawk studying its fleeing prey, wishing he could change the trajectory—of everything. Her path and his. The uncertain future, and his inherent weakness. The dueling need to stay alert and hunt Ian, coupled with the imminent danger of slipping into a place of insanity, of too much emotion, continuing to use the H if he had to.
 

Gods, what a mess his life had become.

Perhaps it had always been.

twenty-four

One hour before sunset

Julien Lacusta felt positively twitchy as he strolled into Napolean Mondragon’s
elaborately appointed conference room, just to the right of the large receiving foyer. He made fleeting eye contact with each of the sentinels, in turn—Ramsey, Santos, Saxson, and Saber—and each warrior, to a vampire, gave him a stern, unyielding nod. It was almost as if they were reluctant to say
hello
, as if the very sound of their voices, echoing in the classy hall, might set the volatile tracker off, send him flying into a virulent rage.
 

He avoided eye contact with the youngster, Braden Bratianu, even as he acknowledged his informal mentor, Nachari Silivasi, although he couldn’t clearly articulate why. And then he declined his head toward Napolean in the most genuine token of respect he could muster and promptly took an empty seat toward the head of the table, just to the left of the monarch. As he settled back, feeling as if his body was too big for the tall, mahogany chair, he couldn’t help but think about Rebecca…and hope she was doing okay.

He had brought her to the manse nearly five hours ago, and although he had wanted to get right down to business with Napolean and the other warriors, he had restrained his impulse to go straight to the conference room. Instead, he had taken the time to help her get acquainted with her new housemates and surroundings: Brooke Mondragon, the queen, had been as understanding, hospitable, and welcoming as possible, and Tiffany Matthews had also come to the manse as well. As the most recently converted
destiny
in the house of Jadon, Tiffany had wanted to make herself available to Rebecca, to share her own personal story, answer any questions Julien’s
destiny
might have, and talk to her about the stages of adjustment, fill in any holes. Both women had gone out of their way to make Julien’s newly converted female feel at home.

Yet and still, the look in Rebecca’s eyes, when Julien had finally left her in the lavish guest room, had tugged at his heart like an anchored cable. She had drawn inward like a wilted wildflower, one he had suddenly plucked from the side of a mountain, stuffed into a cold glass vase, and placed on a barren, dark shelf set in an abandoned room, like he had left her to readjust to her new surroundings alone, in a world absent of her familiar roots.
 

The entire situation sucked.

There was simply no other way to put it.

“Tracker.” Napolean’s deep, resonant voice cut through his internal reverie, bringing him back to the conference room and the various players at hand, all those gathered for one singular purpose, one grave resolution: to help Julien find and destroy his evil twin, once and for all.

“Sorry, milord,” he mumbled absently, meeting the monarch’s onyx gaze. “I was…I was someplace else.”

“She’s going to be fine, warrior,” Napolean said candidly, making it abundantly clear that he was reading Julien’s thoughts, or at least he was reading his countenance, since mind-invasion was considered rude among fellow vampires.
 

Julien nodded. He cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair, all at once switching into
strictly business
mode. “So,” he projected, “will someone run this plan by me again? Any adjustments you might have made while I was helping Becca settle in?”

Nachari Silivasi’s eyes brightened, if only for a second, as he caught the intimate reference, the shortening of Rebecca’s name. He leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, sideways at the knee, and then placed a firm, supportive hand on Braden Bratianu’s left shoulder. “As everyone here already knows, I’m not exactly thrilled about the idea of using this fledgling as a decoy, but—” Braden stiffened in reaction to the word
fledgling
, and Nachari quickly amended his statement. “I’m not exactly thrilled about using this courageous and determined neophyte as a decoy, but since we don’t know where Ian is and have no sure way to flush him out, the plan makes sense to me.” He softened his tone to a reflective tenor. “I spoke with Dario and Lily earlier—they needed to know what was going on—and while Braden’s mother registered some pretty strong objections—in fact, she more or less said
no way, no how
—his stepfather was more understanding as a warrior. In the end, they gave us their blessing, just so long as we have all bases covered. Just so long as Braden’s backup includes not only the sentinels, but the king.”

At this, Napolean stiffened, and then he simply took over the conversation. “As all of you know, I do not make a habit of hunting Dark Ones—my duties lie elsewhere, and I am reluctant to use my unique celestial powers because of the risk they pose to the house of Jadon. When I am weakened, ill, or depleted, anything could happen. One never knows what the cost of such an energy surge might be.
However
…” He cleared his throat for emphasis. “I believe this situation is unique, and therefore, it may require an exception.” He held up his hand to silence any protests or remarks before the council of warriors could make them. “That said, Ian would surely recognize the unique power of my presence, the sheer force of my energy, in an instant, should I be physically present at the creek. He would never appear to young Braden. For that reason, I will link to Braden’s psyche and watch through Braden’s eyes from the manse, prepared to materialize at the scene in an instant. I do believe, however, that Ian would fail to notice a panther blending in with the night, camouflaged within the shadows, and Julien”—he turned to lock gazes with the tracker—“in the middle 1800s, I witnessed a ferocious ambush between a small band of Chiricahua Apache and a regiment of unsuspecting US soldiers: The Apache literally burrowed beneath the ground, making themselves one with the landscape, and when the soldiers passed by, they arose like ghosts from an unmarked grave, part and parcel of the land itself, overtaking the enemy before the enemy even knew they were there. If you can slow your heartbeat to a mere crawl, the wizard has assured me that he can control your breathing with a spell, replace the need to acquire oxygen through your lungs so you don’t have to hold your breath. Your body will continue to transfer the hemoglobin through your cells and deliver it throughout your body, maintaining the functionality of your brain—”

“You can do all that while you’re in panther form?” Julien asked dubiously, not meaning to interrupt the king.

“Yes, I can,” Nachari said bluntly, casting a sidelong glance at the tracker.

Julien shrugged his shoulders, and the king continued: “As I was saying, Nachari will see to your breathing so that you can arise like an Apache warrior and take your brother by surprise. You can be there at the creek, ahead of young Braden, already burrowed in. Nachari will be there also; the sentinels will be waiting in the wings; and I will appear
if needed
, to end the whole sordid affair with a glance.”

Nachari nodded in affirmation, and Julien sucked in a harsh breath of air. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts and measure his words, he stated: “Just so you know…” He leveled a cautionary gaze at every warrior at the table. “You weren’t there on my tenth birthday—I was. Ian can move like the wind. He can strike swiftly and definitively in the space of a single breath. Braden
will be
in danger if he’s there with Ian alone, in closer proximity than Nachari or myself, if only for a heartbeat. We can counter whatever Ian does, but we can’t stop him from striking. The male is like a scorpion, and he packs a powerful sting.”

Nachari swallowed his trepidation, although it was evident in his dark green eyes, and then he nodded once again. “We’re aware,” he said matter-of-factly. “But Braden can also move swiftly.” He tightened his grip on the youngster’s shoulder. “No, he may not be able to fight in a way that is equal to a centuries-old male, but he can shift into a bat—”

“In less than three seconds,” Braden supplied, drawing back his shoulders and puffing out his chest. “I can also shift into an eagle, almost instantaneously.”

Nachari eyed him suspiciously, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

“I can,” Braden insisted, nodding his head several times. “I’ve been working on it, like…forever.”

Nachari held his tongue out of what appeared to be great restraint and deference. “So you can swiftly fly away if needed?”

“Yep,” Braden responded, and then his lip quirked up in a snarl. “Or I can rip his throat out with my talons, or peck his eyes out with my beak.”

“Um, that would be a no,” Ramsey Olaru chimed in, leveling a stern, heated gaze at the teenage vampire. “Braden, if there’s even a chance that you’re gonna go off-script, that you could become a liability in all of this, then it’s a non-starter. Sorry, but you fighting Ian is not an option. You either stick to the plan, without wavering, or we come up with another strategy.”

Santos Olaru linked his hands in front of him and then extended both forefingers toward Braden in a targeted gesture. “Agreed.”

Saber crossed his arms over his chest and stared the fledgling down, even as Saxson leaned gently toward him. “For the record, my role in all of this is singular,” Saxson said. He leveled his gaze at Braden and raised both eyebrows. “To keep my eye on you. To jump in, the second anything goes down, and remove
you
from the fray. That’s it; that’s all. Your parents said it’s non-negotiable. The king said it’s a wrap. If I get involved in any other way, outside of having your back, he’s gonna kick my ass, himself.”