Blood Legacy: Heir to the Throne (21 page)

And now Ryan was laying on some sort of rock. Her wrists were still restrained, but her feet were free. She lie very still, listening intently. The room she was in was not large and seemed to made of rock. She was not alone. There was slight movement, and she identified three others present. She was certain the woman was not one of them. She used the subtle movement of those present to identify the remaining features of the room. There were no windows and a single door, perhaps made of some type of heavy wood. There did not seem to be any furniture in the room except the bed she was lying in, which seemed less of a bed because of its narrowness and height from the floor, more something along the lines of an altar.

Great, Ryan thought to herself. An altar. Things got sacrificed on altars.

Ryan remained motionless as one of the figures approached her and removed her blindfold. The guard seemed startled that she was already awake. Ryan stared back at him, taking the opportunity to examine him thoroughly.

He appeared a normal man, although an exceptional specimen, as they all did. Tall and muscular, there was a cruelty about his stony face. There was also an odd, very faint cast to his skin, a bluish color, something a little darker than the pallor of death. But it was very faint and seemed to shift with the light, making Ryan wonder if she was imagining it. He was dressed in a uniform of sorts, sleeveless, revealing massive arms and bulging biceps. His expression was one of arrogance and utter contempt.

Ryan turned her attention to the other two, noting she had been correct in the number present. They were very similar to the first, their features only slightly different. The resemblance, in fact, was enough to suggest that they were related, even if distantly. They too were dismissive and contemptuous of their captive, a fact clearly evident as one moved to remove Ryan’s wrist manacles. He grabbed her by the shirt, yanked her into a seated position, and roughly removed the restraints.

Ryan watched the technique carefully, but they were unlatched so quickly she could not see how it was done.

“Lie back down,” the guard commanded harshly.

Ryan just looked at him as if she suddenly did not speak English. It infuriated the guard, and he stepped forward, grabbed her shoulders, and forced her downward.

It was a mistake. Ryan knew he was far stronger than she was, so she did not resist at all, causing him to pitch forward, off-balance. She immediately snapped her knee upward to the back of his head, sending him crashing to the floor. She continued the movement, rolling the somersault backward until she was on her knees on the platform.

The other two were on her immediately, and within seconds she was back onto her back from sheer force. Ryan was shocked at how strong the men were, all easily surpassing her strength. Still, even as the third rejoined the fray, they had difficulty restraining the thrashing girl. It took each man both arms to restrain a limb, leaving one limb free, which happened to be Ryan’s right foot. With blinding speed, she snapped a kick upward, striking one man full across the face and sending him flying. The man on her left arm moved to restrain the deadly lower limbs, leaving that appendage free. Ryan took that opportunity to leverage herself into a half-seated position, then took aim to deliver a left cross to the guard pinning the right half of her body. It would have been a stinging blow since his face was fully exposed.

Except that Ryan’s left arm was now encased in steel. The forward motion had been stopped so abruptly her shoulder dislocated as the force redistributed when the arm failed to move.

Ryan stopped struggling.

She turned to look at Madelyn, who held her trapped wrist with one hand without effort. The woman gazed at her with a mixture of amusement and vexation. Ryan let her eyes rest on the captive, motionless wrist, incredulous at the force that had stopped it. She raised her eyes again to those of Madelyn’s. Since the wrist was not going anywhere, Ryan reversed the pressure on the arm, now using the leverage to put her shoulder back into place. It relocated with an audible pop.

A smile played about Madelyn’s lips at the defiant gesture, but it did not diminish the predatory look in her eye. Nor did it lessen the hostility in her tone as she addressed her men.

“Leave us,” she commanded in disgust. She released the wrist.

The men knew the disgust was fully directed at them and hung their heads in fear and shame. They quickly departed. Ryan sat upright, rubbing her wrist. It felt as if it had been fractured. Madelyn was behind her, and the sensation was very uncomfortable, as if she were being stalked. It was even more disturbing because she could not sense the woman and was not certain where she was. The voice in her ear startled her, immediately pinpointing the women’s location and proximity to her. Ryan swallowed hard, struggling to calm herself.

“So, Ryan Alexander,” Madelyn whispered mockingly, “will you fight me?”

Ryan sat silently for a moment, the muscle in her jaw clenching and unclenching. “No,” she said finally.

“And why not?” Madelyn asked in a tone reserved for a recalcitrant student, one forced to verbal repetition because she could not learn the lessons.

“Because it is futile,” Ryan said.

Madelyn was pleased with her student. “Good,” she said.

Ryan swallowed again, bracing herself for what she knew was to come. But even that did not prepare her for the tremendous pain of the woman’s bite, and although she had said she would not, she instinctively struggled. It was as ineffectual as the attempted left cross. Madelyn simply wrapped her arms about Ryan and now Ryan’s entire body felt as if it were encased in steel.

The pain was intense, blocking out all sight and sound, and there was no accompanying pleasure. Worse, Ryan felt her lower extremities begin to go numb, almost as if there was some paralysis to the bite. The paralysis seeped upward and Ryan began to lose feeling in her arms and torso. Madelyn’s embrace no longer immobilized her but rather was supporting her as she went completely limp. Madelyn adjusted the girl’s position, her pleasure at the immobilization pronounced. She continued to drink from the carotid artery, leisurely taking her fill. Unfortunately for Ryan, the paralysis did not diminish the pain in any way. It seemed to actually increase it, for now Ryan could do nothing to relieve or escape it. She closed her eyes in misery and despair, praying she would spin off into unconsciousness, but that welcome blackness was denied as well. Ryan was fully aware the entire time, unable to slide into oblivion.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the woman was finished. Madelyn stood, releasing Ryan and allowing her to fall to the floor. Ryan lie in a crumpled heap, still unable to do more than flex her fingers.

“So you are the best they have to offer,” Madelyn said mockingly. She examined the crumpled heap with a predatory smile, then departed, leaving Ryan to her agony and despair.

Harrian stood outside the captive’s door. As Madelyn’s chief familiar, he was responsible for the security of the prisoner. News of his men’s failings had shot through the compound, and he now stood ready to face his mistress’s wrath.

Madelyn, however, seemed serene as she entered the hallway, an uncharacteristic disposition that, in a way, was more unsettling than her wrath. He bowed low before her.

“Shall I have the girl killed, or simply allow her to succumb to her injuries?” he asked with what he hoped was the right amount of subservience.

“You will do neither,” Madelyn said, her thoughts on the previous moments. “You will tend to her wounds and see that she fully recovers.”

“What?” Harrian asked, astonished. He immediately regretted his tone because those who questioned Madelyn suffered the consequences. Fortunately for him, Madelyn seemed engrossed in her own thoughts and did not notice his insubordination.

Or so he thought. She turned upon him, and although her tone was mild, her words left little doubt as to her threat.

“If the girl ‘succumbs to her wounds,’ then so will you,” she said, brutally clear.

“Yes, your highness,” Harrian said, bowing low. He did not raise his head until Madelyn’s flowing garments had disappeared down the corridor. Once upright once more, he stared a long moment after his mistress. This was most unexpected.

Half a world away, two very dark and very furious eyes opened.

CHAPTER 21

ABIGAIL PUSHED THROUGH THE DOUBLE DOORS, hope and disbelief on her features at what she thought she would find.

A wickedly handsome man, broad through the shoulders and slender at the waist stood with his hands on his hips, facing away from her. His black, silky hair brushed his collar, and as he turned, his dark eyes flashed.

“Where is my child?” Victor demanded, “Where is Ryan?”

There were so many things Abigail wanted to say to him, but knew that right now there was only one thing he wanted to hear.

“She has been taken, my lord,” she said simply.

“By whom?” Victor asked, a very dangerous undertone in his voice.

“A woman,” Abigail replied, “an Old One by the name of Madelyn.”

“I do not know a Madelyn,” Victor said, his fury barely controlled.

“Nor do I,” Abigail replied, “nor any of us for that matter.” She was something at a loss, there was so much to explain, and Victor clearly did not have the patience for a long-winded account.

Victor interrupted her reverie, clearly reading her thoughts. “There is one way in which you can bring me up to the moment very quickly.”

Abigail knew to what he referred, because if Victor Shared her blood he would also share her Memories. But she was mildly affronted by his presumptuous manner.

“Is that a request, my lord? Or a command? For you should know you are no longer King.”

Victor’s anger softened for a moment. “Ryan is King?” he asked.

Abigail nodded. “Her coronation was but a few days ago.”

Victor realized his anger was misdirected, at least until he knew otherwise. His tone was formal, but there was a trace of apology in it as well. “Then it is a request, my lady.”

“Then I live to serve you,” Abigail replied.

Victor moved to her and without prelude took her into his arms. They had been in such an embrace numerous times throughout the centuries, but today it was more a business transaction than a coupling. Abigail stiffened slightly at his bite, seeking to repress any pleasure she might feel in order to control the ebb and flow of her thoughts.

But Victor would have none of it. He took everything that he could see, attempting to absorb the events of the last few years. He saw Ryan’s success at the purge, culling their Kind in an extraordinary manner. He saw the complicity between Aeron and Abigail as Ryan sought to battle his nemesis. He saw Abigail ultimately come to the girl’s aid, as well as his own. With pride, he saw Ryan’s relationships with the Old Ones, and her final assumption of leadership of the hierarchy. And he saw the woman Madelyn, at the very end, taking his child prisoner, leading her away like a lamb to slaughter.

Victor raised his head, Abigail’s blood still on his lips. He took a step back, removed a tissue from a nearby table, and wiped his mouth. His eyes were on the matriarch.

“You played a very dangerous game with my daughter’s life.”

Abigail gazed at him, unruffled. “At your request my lord. If you remember correctly, you asked two things of me. And until a few days ago, I had accomplished both.”

Victor nodded slowly, unable to generate any anger at her. He had taken a dangerous gamble and it had paid off. He had given Abigail only goals, not methods, and how she chose to carry out her objective was entirely up to her.

“I can see it has cost me greatly.”

Victor was referring to the intimacy that had flourished between Abigail and Ryan. He sensed Abigail’s hold on the girl was great.

“You did promise her to me,” Abigail reminded him.

“Yes,” Victor said, “I did.” He glanced at the already-fading bruise on Abigail’s neck. “Perhaps when I am no longer seeking information I can find a way to distract you from that pursuit.”

Abigail felt desire flare in her, but carefully suppressed it. Victor Alexander was a formidable player in the game of seduction. “Perhaps,” was all she said.

Victor turned abruptly, business-like once more. “I want the Council convened,” he paused, and his eyes grew dark with fury once more, “and I want to see Aeron.”

“Victor,” Abigail interrupted him, “there is one more thing you should know.”

She had withheld one bit of information from him, if for no other reason than she was not certain how he would respond. And there certainly had to be a better way to tell him.