Chosen: Book 1 in the Ancients of Light series (17 page)

Kat frowned momentarily before schooling her
features into a mask of innocent confusion, shrugging, “I fear I’ve
misplaced them Milord.” At his reproachful look, she offered
honestly with a groan of defeat, “But I
hate
shoes.”

Having already spied the slippers beneath the
edge of the bed, he moved to retrieve them. Returning to press them
into her hands, he explained, “Some things must be Kat and your
appearance tonight will require shoes.” She made a face, but with
an exaggerated sigh she shoved them onto her feet. She had barely
placed her now shoed foot back to the ground when he grasped her
arms and spun her around to face him. His eyes were rich and
seductive even as he mocked her, “Good girl.”

Kat would have delivered a good blow to his
stomach at that moment if he had not caught her unawares again.
Lifting her easily to crush her to him, Lorcan’s mouth dropped onto
hers. His tongue sought immediate entrance. Lorcan dragged her back
with him to his chair and laid her across his lap, never lifting
his mouth. His arm cradled her shoulders in recline while he set
his fingertips to painting patterns over her exposed skin. The cut
of this particular dress dipped low; he did not resist the
temptation but left his fingertips to explore her neck and
shoulders and then dip into the neckline.

Her restless movements were driving him
insane with want. His intent was to tease her only a little before
he fed her. Capturing her wrist in his exploring fingers, he
finally lifted his mouth from hers. Raising her hand, he pressed
her fingertip against one elongated point, slicing the skin easily.
Lorcan dragged the wounded tip into his hot mouth and sucked.
Taking only a small sampling, he withdrew the tip and growled,
“When I next take your neck, it will be to give you my mark.” His
lips dusted hers with the promise.

Lorcan shifted her so that she was fully
reclined and his eyes captured hers when he lowered his arm to her
mouth. Her lips were swollen from his kiss and the tips of her
little white fangs emerged from beneath when she opened her mouth
for him. His eyes remained fixed on hers as she pierced his skin.
Dropping a hand to the back of her head, he encouraged her to apply
more pressure. Soothingly rubbing his hand through her hair, his
voice was full of pleasure in response to her little whimper of
delight, “Shhh…Kat, you can take a bit more.”

Kat was studying him, fascinated by the
blackness of his eyes rimmed with that blue. She pulled his arm
with her as she sank back further into him, continuing to slowly
draw at the wound.

Lorcan let her have his arm for long minutes
before he withdrew it, mindful to keep his wrist from her gown
until it completed healing. Kat tucked her head closer, rubbing her
cheek against his shirt, murmuring “Your eyes Lorcan…they are not
normal for your kind.” He gave her a little squeeze and remained
silent. Twisting in his lap she sat straight up, facing him, “They
are like mine. When they turn, they are not solely the dark color
of the Vampire breed.”

He was not ready to go where this
conversation would lead, so he hoped his simple agreement would end
it, “Yes, Kat, ours shift differently, probably an effect of the
transition from Witch to Vampire.” He shrugged it off as though
meaningless and attempted to tuck her close to him.

Kat resisted though, “It may be just that
Lorcan, but as a witch mine would ring more brightly in blue when
my magic rose. The trait has remained, coupled now with the
blackness of the Vampire species.” His gaze had shifted
deliberately to the fire, so she placed her palm on his cheek to
gain his attention. Waiting patiently until he returned his eyes to
hers, she prodded, “Could it be the same with you? Is there power
in you still, magic?”

Lorcan stared at her for a moment, his gaze
narrowing with annoyance. He had not anticipated that she would
push the issue. No one had openly confronted him on the possibility
of the existence of his magic in centuries; most knew better than
to dare broach the topic. He stood abruptly and placed her on her
feet away from him before he walked in the direction of the hearth,
“Kat, I prefer not to entertain this discussion. The Warrior
Caste,” he looked at her pointedly, hurtfully reminding her that
she was exactly that, “has always attempted to propagate such a
theory and claim me as one of their own. I expect you to adhere to
my wishes in this and let the matter drop.” The injured look on her
face gave him pause, but he continued callously to drive his point,
“I am Vampire. No hoping from you simply because my eyes match
yours will make me what you are.”

Since his mother’s death and his transition
to Vampire, the entreaties from the Warrior Caste to claim his
birthright had been incessant. Lorcan had grown resentful of the
lot. He had reached the limit of his patience with their
manipulations and their attempts to foster an allegiance towards
the Caste that he did not feel. While he did not share a general
antagonism toward the Witch as did many of his breed, his mother’s
betrayal had wounded him and would not allow him to acknowledge the
magic she had left with him. As a result, he had behaved more
cruelly with Kat than he had intended.

Kat was biting at her lip and Lorcan had come
to know in this short time that it signaled that her emotions were
high. She was entirely too interested in smoothing the silk layers
of her skirts and he knew it was so that he would be unable to see
her face. He had upset her greatly and experienced a twinge of
regret, wondering how long he would need to soothe her tears before
he could take her to meet his people.

Kaitriana
was
in a
great upset, so much so that her eyes were inky. She was hurt by
his treatment, but she was also bloody well furious. His surprise
over the lack of tears was obvious when she finally raised her face
to him. The softness of her voice belied her growing rage, “Lorcan,
did you mean you are not a Witch as I am? Or that you are not the
abomination
that I am?”

She leveled her blackened gaze on him and
settled her arms over her chest, “There are but two in the Realm
that have eyes that mirror both breeds. I am one and I have the
traits of both. You are the other. You may deny to everyone in the
Realm that you have power but do not think I will accept you
keeping the truth from me.”

Lorcan’s eyes widened, stunned, before his
face took on an irritated set. Any response was cut off as she
closed in on him. The blue around her orbs seemed to grow with each
step until it nearly overcame the blackness, “I can
sense
it Lorcan…I am the
Chosen
. If you want to hide it and not admit to what
you are, that is your choice.” She pointed her finger at his chest,
her voice near shouting with the last, “If you do not want to use
the magic that has been given to you to the advantage of the Light…
your choice. But do
not
lie to me, and do
not
dismiss me as though I am a
child.”

His eyes were also pitch-black by the time
she finished her tirade. The little witch dared to challenge him.
Lorcan stormed the few steps that remained between them. Grabbing
her chin between his fingertips, he forced her eyes to stay on his,
“Do not presume, little one, ever to lecture me on my duties to the
Light or any of my duties for that matter. I am what I
choose
to be and neither you nor any of the Witch will
change that.”

Kaitriana angrily jerked free of his hold,
her eyes challenging, “You did not choose to be this, the
choice
was made
for
you.” Her hands were firing blue sparks in her
anger. Raising them, she snapped her fingers in his face when she
hissed, “I do not need to change
you
.
You
are what you were
made
to be. If you are unable to make peace with that,
it is on you. You live a lie.” Another snap had blue sparks flying,
“If
you
cannot be comfortable with what
you are, how can you possibly be comfortable with what
I
am? I am that which you deny yourself to be.”

In her outrage, she waved a single glowing
finger back and forth at him, chiding, “We are the same. If you
feel the need to hide your true nature from your kind, how can I
possibly feel that I may have a home with them? Your denial tells
me that you believe there is something wrong with being what we
are. You believe we are abominations.” Shouting, her eyes were
overtaken entirely by blue light, “Deny it!”

Lorcan shadowed away from her to the door. He
was shaken by her outburst, but moreso by the veiling of her eyes
with magic. He had not witnessed that phenomenon since the Queens
walked the Realm. His stony expression hid his feelings as he
glanced over his shoulder and jerked the door open. His voice was
cold, devoid of emotion, “You have not lived in my world Kaitriana;
you have hardly lived in this Realm. You speak to things of which
you have no understanding. I was willing to give up my seat in this
Coven to keep you at my side but perhaps you should decide if you
want that position before I abdicate mine.”

He waved dismissively towards the room, his
tone menacingly soft, “Stay here. Even if Myrrdyn himself would
make an appearance, I expect you to be in this room when I return.
Until I decide otherwise, you are still my responsibility.”

Kaitriana stomped her foot in anger. If not
for his Vampire speed Lorcan would have caught a ball of light
upside his head as he exited rather than it merely dissipating
against the dark oak of the door. It would not have burned him. She
was not angry enough to lose control of her power and cause him
serious harm, but it most certainly would have…rung his bell. That
brought a flicker of a smile to her face…Aye, rung his bell. She
was becoming much more adept with the current language, and finding
that she liked these quirky phrases.

Three deep breaths later, she defiantly
kicked off the little satin slippers. In a moment of inspiration
she placed them quite nicely on top of his pillow. Kaitriana did
not know how to combat this issue with Lorcan. She did believe that
she may find the key to helping him accept the duality of his
nature if she gained a better understanding of his kin and in
particular those that made up his Coven. With that course of action
in mind, she made a mutinous face. Lorcan would not be confining
her to her room as though she was a wayward child being
punished.

Kaitriana shadowed to the landing of the
steps, directly outside the door of Lorcan’s chamber.

CHAPTER 17

From this vantage point, Kaitriana could
quietly observe the great hall below and the few hundred Vampire
loitering within it. She listened intently to see if she could
locate the sound of Lorcan’s voice in the crowd, though her senses
had already told her he was not present. Those in attendance seemed
in high spirits. Mingling conversation and laughter rang out from
the clustered groups as they sipped their goblets. The Witch in her
definitely appreciated all the sparkle from the magnificent threads
as well as the revelry. Witches loved a party. She observed with an
appreciative smile that they were all dressed in finery, beautiful
clothing from various centuries.

Any large gathering of immortals was always a
testament to history. Since their existence coincided with the
beginning of man, the Witch and Vampire of the Realm seemed to
gravitate towards centuries that carried particular meaning to
them. Some remained steadfast in ancient times, in both manner of
speech and dress. Others held special affinity towards later eras
and it was reflected in their own personal style. The majority
moved progressively forward in most respects, save the elders of
the Council, and incorporated the modernizations of the current age
of man into their lifestyles and mannerisms. As a result, the
populace of the Realm was a riotous, and sometimes discombobulated,
living tapestry of the passage of time.

Kaitriana realized, looking out over the
group, that her own fashion and mannerisms were aged. Her flowing
gowns and antiquated habits of speech were reminiscent of the era
she lived in five hundred years past. It seemed to her that Lorcan
too had left part of himself behind in that age. With a stab of
guilt she idly wondered if part of it was subconsciously due to the
fact he had lost her in that period, which made it hold greater
significance for him.

With his continued use of the armor from that
time and his habit of addressing her as ‘lass,’ she feared that
might be the case. When he addressed her as such in that Old World
accent of his, it made her melt. Selfishly she hoped it would be a
pattern he would not break now that she had returned. However,
spying some of the amazing attire below she most certainly intended
to get herself up to date with modern fashion.

Her eyes fell on Jortha standing in the far
corner of the hall; he looked as though he would either faint or
lose his dinner at any moment. His presence in that crowd of
Vampire immediately brightened her mood; at least
someone
found her advice to be sensible. Kaitriana
took pity on him and shadowed to his side…shadowing, definitely a
perk of her new form.

“Good evening, Sir Witch,” she was being
playful addressing him as such. Her argument with Lorcan was
deliberately forgotten. She was intent on enjoying the merriment of
the gathering. “Are you hiding over here because you are going to
be sick…or are you going to be sick because you are hiding over
here?” Her eyes were twinkling with her teasing and although Jortha
could not ascertain that himself, he could tell that her words were
lighthearted.

Jortha offered her a frown but there was no
chill in his response, “I am attempting, Bratwitch, to work on my
issues
.”