Wicked Obsession (21 page)

The heat reached out to him from beyond the closed door. On instinct, he grabbed for the door handle and gasped in pain as the metal seared his palm like a hot poker. Backing up a step, he steadied himself, his palm smarting, a pulse beating hard in the burned flesh. He kicked the doors open, and the blast of heat from the room staggered him.

Julian flinched back, but as he looked into the room, into the inferno of rippling, flowing fire. The sound was deafening, a steady rushing roar that cracked and moaned.

Panic washed over him, a cold wave of fear that swept through him and lodged in his stomach like a ball of ice. For a moment, he was back in the past. In that moment that still came to him in his darkest nightmares. The crackling in the room was so loud it sounded like screaming—hellish cries of anguish and agony.

“It’s happening again,” he rasped in horror. But, at the same time, awareness rose up in him, the memory of a face. His heart leapt to his throat at the thought of Eleni burning, screaming for him. Torment gripped him, determination. A rush of adrenaline surged through him. The thought of losing her forever sent his fear fleeing into a remote part of himself that clamped down on the notion that he had to find her, save her, even if he destroyed himself.

 “Eleni!” he shouted as he dashed into the burning room.

Julian searched frantically, squinting through the orange brightness. His skin instantly drenched in sweat as he turned a small circle and saw flames dancing on every surface of the room. It had crawled up the curtains, bubbled the wallpaper and was eating through the carpet like a grass fire. He flinched at the fire licking along the ceiling in roiling waves. It was when he turned to escape the room that he saw her through the ripples of wavering heat. Eleni was lying unconscious on the floor near the bed. His heart gave a frantic leap. He rushed over to her, and crouched down through the littered debris—signs of a struggle.

He swept her up into his arms, shocked by the sight of blood and the awareness that she wasn’t breathing.

He rushed to the door as the ceiling began to rain fire over them. It burned his back, his arms, but he thought only of sheltering Eleni, escape. He stumbled from the room into the hallway. The flames were lapping over the top of the door, pouring fire and black smoke into the hall. Julian had just regained his footing when he glimpsed dark movement out of his peripheral vision. He glanced to the left, and to his stunned horror, he saw a dark form emerge from Eleni’s bathroom into the center of the bedroom.

“Gisele!” Julian gasped her name. He almost didn’t recognize her. Her sooty face was swollen, her eyes ringed with darkening bruises. Blood streamed from an obviously broken nose. His gaze zeroed in on the bloodstained pullover sweater, the way the smears of blood looked like a macabre finger painting.

His breath held as their eyes locked. Motionless, she watched him, her gaze flat, the flames turning them a glistening shade of ebony. Sweat, or maybe tears, ran through the smudged soot on her cheeks. She looked haunted, distant and ghost-like. He opened his mouth to call out to her, when without a word, she opened the door on her left and walked into Eleni’s closet, closing the door behind her.

In shock, Julian began to run with Eleni in his arms. Halfway down the hall, Gisele’s bloodcurdling screams pierced his heart, and shivered through the burning walls of the house. Her cries of helpless agony chased him from the room as flames took root in the hallway, pulling the oxygen from the air and devouring the house from the inside out.

Running on automatic, bent on survival, he made his way down the corridor with Eleni in his arms. At the top of the stairs, he paused to boost her higher against his chest. Her body was so slick with sweat and blood, he very nearly dropped her. His lungs burned, and sweat rolled off of him. The heat was incredible, building up in the house at an alarming rate. Eleni’s blood had soaked into his shirt, and slicked his hands. Looking down at her, he sobbed. She looked so crushed and helpless. He feared she was already dead.

At the bottom of the stairs, he remembered Claudette. Eying the front door, he cursed under his breath. He was right there by the doorway to the kitchen. It would take but a moment to yell at her if she was there.

He veered to the right, kicking the door open with his foot and entered, holding the door open with his shoulder. “Claudette!”

Copper pots boiled angrily on the stove, the lids bouncing, boiling over in foamy stock. The central island with the chopping block surface had various vegetables sliced, the scent of spices and chicken stock and vegetables was as thick as the humidity in the room, but through it all, Julian could also smell the rich tang of blood. He stepped around the edge of the central island, and saw Claudette lying on the kitchen floor. He winced in shock at the sight of her, frozen in death. She was covered in blood—someone had slashed her throat with a large knife from the wooden block on the counter. Her eyes were closed but her tongue bulged, her face fixed in an eternal expression of horror.

The cloying odor of raw blood hung thick in the air. It blended with the kitchen smells, the stench of onions and hot oil, and made his stomach turn. There was nothing to be done for his beloved housekeeper. Her life had bled out of her at Gisele’s hand. He couldn’t save her, and he feared that if he didn’t hurry and get Eleni out of the house, he wouldn’t be able to save her, either. Already, the heat of the fire intensified as it ate into the ancient wooden walls of the house. It seemed as if every surface radiated heat. The entire chateau was going up like a tinder box. He had to get Eleni out of the house now, or they were going to die.

Stepping over Claudette’s lifeless form, Julian nearly slipped in the growing pool of blood. He quickly regained his balance, and went to the door leading out to the garage and flung it open. Heat blasted him in the face like the open door of an oven. He backed away, his mind reeling as down the dark tunnel, the sounds of cracking beams echoed, and drops of fire began to rain down.

Turning on his heel, he dashed out of the kitchen and headed toward the front door. The fire hadn’t yet reached the foyer, but above, all along the hallway and the balcony the fire had spread like a huge, rolling wave.

Flames licked at the ceilings, and had spread along the carpet, creating a frame of fire around Saint Vincent’s window. Julian felt an odd sense of finality while he stared, as the window began to darken and crack. The panes of glass fractured in places, sending shards of colored glass tumbling from the window. Through it all, Eleni never stirred.

Julian hurried out of the house, carrying Eleni across the driveway to a grassy slope downwind of the house. He had just settled her down, was checking for her pulse when he saw a dark shape coming up the hillside toward the house from the direction of the vineyard.

“Monsieur Julian!” It was Henri. The old man had a walking stick and was making his way up the hillside, heading in his direction.

As the driver neared, Julian could see he had his cell phone in his hand.

“I saw the blaze from the small hill, and called for a rescue. The fire brigade is on the way.” Panting, Henri eased down onto his knees. He swiped his face with a handkerchief and looked around. “What has happened? Where is Claudette?”

 “She’s dead, Henri. Gisele killed her and attacked Eleni. She has gone mad.”

Henri stared at him in shock, then looked up at the house that was now billowing smoke, the upstairs windows pouring out flames.

Julian leaned over Eleni and discovered she wasn’t breathing. He dipped his head down to listen for a heartbeat, and at that same moment, the peaked roof over the premiere suite collapsed with a sound like crackling, groaning torment. The onrush of oxygen stirred the blaze into an inferno that began to lick a path along the roof.

 Julian began CPR on Eleni. He tilted her head back, opened her mouth and puffed air into her lungs, all the while praying he was not too late.

“Come on
, mon amour
. Breathe for me.” He completed a series of chest compressions, then paused and listened for breath, a heartbeat. Hearing nothing, he repeated the cycle.

Her lips were blue from lack of oxygen. Julian’s mind began to race. He worried about death. Smoke inhalation. Dark, purple bruises had begun to form on her forehead. It would take at least fifteen minutes for emergency services to arrive, and by then, Eleni would be dead.

“Work with me, Eleni,” Julian murmured as he pulled her lip body into his lap. He was shaking, determined, as he angled her in his lap so he could initiate a blood exchange. Henri hobbled forward on his knees to help him pull her into his lap. The old man couldn’t have anticipated what he planned to do.

But Julian had no intention of quibbling over details. He couldn’t let her go, his only protégé. Not only had she changed his life, she had given him reason to rise from the ashes of the man who had been scarred by the past. He loved her, and he couldn’t bear the idea of facing eternity without her.

His eyes on Henri, a look of warning, he sank his fangs into Eleni’s neck. The sweetness of her blood sprang hot into his mouth, the iron taste of immortality pouring down his throat. Her heartbeat was so weak, he was afraid to take too much.

He let go with a gasp and pulled open his shirt, quickly slashed a line over his heart, and as the blood flowed, he pulled Eleni to him, and laid her head against him, but she was unconscious and he struggled to make her drink.

He swore under his breath and looked up at the horror on Henri’s ashen face.

“Call Marguerite,” he ordered as he stood and gathered Eleni’s limp body into his arms and carried her toward his car, which was still parked in the drive. “Tell her I’m on the way, and explain what has happened.” He swallowed over the lump of fear that threatened to close his throat. “If I don’t turn Eleni soon, she will die.”

Marguerite was waiting at the front door when he arrived. The outdoor lights were turned on for him, and as he parked in front of her house, Marguerite and two of her protégés stepped outside to offer him assistance. A small cry of shock escaped her Marguerite’s lips when he tugged Eleni from the car, and boosted her up into his arms.

“Julian… Is she breathing?” She held the front door open for him as he shuffled into the house with Eleni’s limp body held tight against his chest.

“It’s begun, Gita. I’ve already made an exchange with her, but the addiction… It has made her resistant. You must help me.”

Marguerite looked suddenly afraid. Julian carried Eleni across the threshold into her house, ignoring several of Marguerite’s protégés who were in the sitting room, looking around in alert fascination as he carried Eleni straight up to the room where he stayed when he visited as a guest. He turned the knob and kicked the door open with his foot, then carried Eleni into the room and placed her in the middle of the large bed. The room was country provincial, spacious and closed off from the rest of the sleeping quarters. Julian chose it now because it had blacked out shutters over the windows, and a private bathroom.

“How can I help you, Julian? What must I do?”

“She needs more blood. More than I can give alone. You must help me complete the exchange.”

She gaped at him. “Do you know what that could do to her?” He didn’t answer her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Do I want to save her life?” he asked incredulously. Frowning, he knew what she meant. “She is clinging by a thread, Marguerite. Now is not the time for analyzing our greater desires. But if you’re asking me if I’m certain about entering the blood bond with her then—” He looked down at the woman in his arms. “I cannot bear to lose her.”

“Julian, what you ask…there is a reason it isn’t done. The results would be unpredictable. She could end up blood bound to us both. If it is my blood that turns her, she may end up bound to me.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“You could lose her entirely.”

“I will lose her entirely if she dies,” he snapped. “I would not ask this of you, but I love her, Gita. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flicked over his face. “Damn you, Julian.” She licked her lips. “I do not like this. You know what a dual exchange could do to her,” she said in a low voice. “I adore Eleni, but what you are asking is dangerous. Not just for her, but for all of us. The bond will connect all of us in some way. The results are not predictable. There is a reason why we are only allowed to turn one blood mate.”

He laughed sharply. “I don’t need you to lecture me on the subject, Marguerite.”

“With both our voices in her head, it could drive her to suicide.”

“If it comes to that, then you can place all the blame on me,” he snapped, his eyes glittering with impatience. “I know the risks. Will you help me? Or will I be arranging for her burial come morning?”

She pulled a face, baring her fangs in frustration. “You are a bastard, you know that? You always must have your way.” She ran a shaking hand over her mouth and cursed under her breath. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried to the bedroom door, flinging it open and startling several of her protégés who were waiting in the hallway.

“Yvette,” she called one of her most trusted Acolytes to the door. “Heat a pan of water,” she told the young woman when she was close. “And have Oksana bring spare towels.”

“What’s going on?” Julian heard one of the young women ask from the hallway.

“Monsieur Julian’s blood mate is dying,” Marguerite said quietly. “Now, do as I say. And be quick!”

She shut the door and returned to bed, where Eleni lay like a broken doll across the ivory sheets. Julian looked up at his cousin in silent gratitude. She was already rolling up her sleeves.

“Thank you,” he said in a voice that was both rough and weary. “I know this may well take away your one chance to have a blood mate.”

“There are never any perfect choices are there?” Marguerite sighed, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Let us save her, and pray we are not too late.”

* * * * *

They worked with Eleni for hours, Julian giving her blood first before passing the duty to Marguerite. They each bled for her several times, and through it all, Eleni remained mostly unresponsive, her breathing raspy and irregular. Weak from blood loss, he sat back in a chair beside the bed, and didn’t argue when Marguerite went to the door and called down for bottles of blood wine to be delivered to Eleni’s room.