Blood Legacy: The House of Alexander (21 page)

“Oh really?” he asked, his amusement evident. He lowered his head further, toying with a small vein that branched out near her collarbone.

Ryan closed her eyes, then forced them open to focus on the chess board. Her words were suddenly very clear, with a distant other-worldly quality. “It is twenty moves out, and you cannot see it, but you have already lost.”

Her words stopped him, and he raised his head to look at her. In his current position, he was leaned over her shoulder. Before Ryan could completely think about what she was doing, she leaned sideways toward him and brushed her lips across the veins in his neck, biting him gently without breaking the skin.

The shock was instantaneous, causing Aeron a sharp intake of breath as his back arched. The dark desire uncoiled and began twisting inside of him, and any illusion that he had that he could maintain control in this situation was immediately banished. His involuntary response allowed Ryan to free her wrists and regain her leverage, but instead of pulling away, she turned to face him. She grasped his shirt collar in her hand, uncertain if she was going to push him away or pull him close.

She wasn’t given the liberty of deciding. As soon as she turned to face him, Aeron wrapped his arms around her sinuous frame and pulled her to him. Without hesitation, her teeth were again at his throat, torturously biting without breaking the skin. Aeron wanted to moan with pleasure and scream in agony at the anguish this child was inflicting upon him.

Ryan was in her own agony, wanting so desperately to pierce his skin and take his life into her body that she felt her insides writhe in torment. She wanted to take this man’s blood than she had wanted anything in her entire life.

But instead, she turned her head and with immense effort, pushed him away.

The two mortal enemies stood feet apart, staring at one another across a chasm that had just grown deeper but more narrow, seeing in an instance an outcome that was both impossible and inevitable.

Ryan did not know what to expect from Aeron, did not know if he would be furious with her, or if he would take her by force, which he was surely capable of. And, she admitted to herself, it would only be by force for so long because her embattled will would quickly fade.

He surprised her, because he did none of these things. He stood without moving, then slowly smiled. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

“You are even more than I had hoped for.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Aeron continued.

“When I take you,” he paused for emphasis, “and let there be no doubt that I will take you. I expect that it shall be the most extraordinary experience of my life.”

Ryan’s eyes flashed in anger. “And your life might end shortly thereafter.”

“Perhaps,” Aeron said, amused. “but I think not.”

He reached over to the chessboard and moved his queen across the board, removing the rook that Ryan had just placed there. He set the castle to the side with the other captured pieces.

Ryan gazed at the board for a moment, then turned to leave without a word. But halfway to the door, she paused, then turned around. There was a dark intensity in her gaze.

“Nineteen,” she said, nodding to the board. “Now it’s nineteen.”

And then she was gone, leaving Aeron staring at the empty space where she had been, marveling at the audacity of the girl.

Edward stood in the anteroom as Ryan pushed through the double doors of Victor’s chambers. He did not speak, and nor did she until she was at the door leading to the inner stateroom. There she paused and turned to him.

“I require nothing further this evening, other than not to be disturbed.”

Edward nodded and disappeared into the adjoining suite.

Ryan pushed through the door into Victor’s chambers, and was so suddenly overwhelmed by his presence that she stopped short, closing her eyes. As the door whispered closed behind her, she breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent, his very essence. The longing welled up in her, so different and so similar to the ache she had just experienced.

She glanced around the room at the furnishings, as masculine and elegant as her father. She walked over to a highly polished mahogany table and picked up an ancient book. It was an original copy of “Le Morte D’Arthur,” the same one that he had given her as a gift centuries before. It was probably priceless now, one of the few still in existence. She smiled at the thought that he had kept it.

She wandered through a few of the rooms, wondering if this is where he had spent time recovering from her attack on him. She had to move quickly from this thought, because it reminded her that she might well be responsible for his current condition.

She moved into the bathing room, which for her father was always one of the most elaborate living areas. He had gained his appreciation from the ancient baths in Damascus. Prior to her birth, he had been a great admirer of Turkish medicine, far more advanced than its barbaric European counterpart. And although he had no personal need of medical care, he had an intellectual appreciation of their sophisticated knowledge.

Ryan smiled in remembrance. Prior to her Change, Victor had been a shadowy figure in her life, protecting her from afar as she was raised as a boy by a peasant family. He felt that she would be safer that way, hidden from the Others and protected from his own dark desire. He did, however, lay out certain seemingly arbitrary requirements of her human parents, one of which was that she had to bathe everyday, fully clothed. In a modern context, it did not seem unusual, with the possible exception of bathing fully clothed, but in a medieval context, it was unheard of. The filth they unknowingly lived in was obscene by modern standards. It was likely that Victor’s understanding of the connection between hygiene and disease, gained from the Turks centuries before, kept Ryan from contracting any number of the hideous maladies that plagued medieval peasants. Ryan smiled at her father’s foresight. Bathing fully clothed had not only disguised her sex, but had made her wash her clothes as well.

She moved into his sleeping chambers, gazing at the huge, ornately carved bed. It was neatly made, as if awaiting his imminent return. She ran her fingers over the smooth lines of the dresser, then moved to the closet. She found a comfortably loose pair of nightclothes and changed into them, and was again overwhelmed with Victor’s ghostly presence. It brought her solace, however, and when she settled into the luxurious bedding, the comfort it brought was immense.

She stared through the darkness at the ceiling. As thick as the walls were, she could still here the murmurings of the Others as they went about their various trysts and assignations. She shut them out, returning to her examination of nothingness on the ceiling.

She wished desperately for Victor’s counsel now. She wondered if he would change his mind about telling her to Share with the Old Ones if he knew what she had gotten herself into. Having Shared with no one other than him for centuries, and now having done the deed with both Marilyn and Kusunoki in such short order, it seemed as if her dark thirst was growing. Victor’s power had so satisfied her that she rarely wanted. But now, paradoxically, it seemed her appetite was growing by satiating it.

And it did not seem an entirely physiological thing, although the pleasure was almost unbearable. The psychological aspect of it was as addictive, if not more so, than the physical. The interplay of power and relationship, of role and role-reversal, was both arousing and disturbing.

Ryan stared up into the darkness. She wondered if this was the conundrum of the Old Ones, that the more powerful they became, the less likely they were to be satisfied by anyone or anything. She wondered if they would eventually move to a place where they would never be satisfied at all. She marveled at how neatly Victor had side-stepped the entire issue by creating her, and was oblivious to how dangerous a position this placed her in.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She could smell the wonderful spice scent of her father and ached from missing him. It seemed she could open her eyes and see him, and she avoided doing just that so that she could maintain the illusion.

But as she lay with her eyes closed, a different scent wafted toward her, one of cinnamon with a touch of ginger. She spoke into the darkness without opening her eyes.

“Remind me to fire Edward.”

Marilyn kneeled on the bed and ran her hand through Ryan’s hair.

“Ah, ma Cherie, maybe he thought you needed company.”

“Hmmph, not likely,” Ryan said, rolling on her side to face the woman. “It is more likely he was bewitched by your rather lethal charm.”

Marilyn gazed down at the girl, eyes gleaming in the darkness. “And why is it that I do not have that affect on you?” She shifted so that she was closer. “Or perhaps I do.” Her hand settled lightly on Ryan’s waist.

Ryan suppressed the urge to pull away, as well as the urge to do its complete opposite. Marilyn glanced down as something caught her eye, and she lifted Ryan’s wrist for closer inspection. There was a light bruise circling it, one that was rapidly fading, but still visible. She looked to the other wrist, which had similar bruising. She gazed at the girl with amusement.

“Ah, little one, I see you have been playing with Aeron.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “And is this the voice of experience talking?”

“Perhaps,” Marilyn said. She examined the injured wrist. “He is an indulgence best partaken of infrequently.”

Ryan rolled onto her back, looking up at Marilyn. “And why is that?”

Marilyn caressed the bruise on the wrist she still held in her hand. “Because he is a very dangerous man, ma Cherie. Particularly to you.”

Ryan was having a difficult time concentrating on the conversation, as serious as it was. She brought her attention back to the matter at hand. “And why not to you?”

Marilyn held Ryan’s gaze as she raised the wrist to her lips. “Because I am not a threat to him,” she said, kissing the bruise. She feathered her lips across the veins on the inner wrist. “I am not the crown prince of our Kind.”

Ryan was really having a hard time concentrating now. The importance of the conversation was being overshadowed by the sensations shooting up her arm and spreading out to the rest of her body. “I have a hard time believing you’re not a threat to everyone,” she said, half under her breath.

Marilyn smiled. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she whispered, “I won’t hurt you.”

She then did just that as she sank her teeth into the bruised skin. She did not bite deeply however, just breaking the skin enough so that a small amount of blood began to seep.

The pleasure at the first bite was so intense that the darkness in the room was filled with stars for a few seconds until Ryan’s vision cleared. Marilyn still held her wrist, now toying with the small wound she had inflicted, her eyes locked with Ryan’s. To make it worse, it now seemed that Marilyn was going to continue to have a conversation with her, as casually as if they were speaking over dinner.

“But Aeron,” she said, suckling the wound, “Aeron wants to kill you.” Her lips traveled up Ryan’s arm toward the veins on the inner forearm. She pulled back slightly, examining her target. “Or worse,” she said as she again sunk her teeth into the arm.

Ryan arched her back at this puncture, but not in pain. The bite was again minor, and Marilyn covered the wound with her mouth before it could spurt, drawing the blood into her. Ryan stared down at her, mesmerized by the sight of her lips on her arm.

Marilyn’s movements were still entirely casual, as was her tone. “You will find that Aeron is very different from your father.”

The reminder that Marilyn had Shared with Victor angered Ryan, momentarily clearing her senses. She started to pull away, but Marilyn skillfully twisted her wrist, exposing the inside of her bicep and the brachial artery. In a second, the dark-haired woman severed the artery and pressed the wound to her lips.

Ryan wasn’t certain if she had blacked out for a moment, or merely tightly closed her eyes to fight against the sensations that were tearing through her. It was possible for Marilyn to completely bleed her from the large artery, and Ryan steeled herself to put a stop to the seduction. Instead, Marilyn caught her off guard and chose again to defer her pleasure, sating herself for a moment with a lengthy drink. Ryan inwardly cursed herself for the urge to beg her to continue. Marilyn leaned back, putting pressure on the wound as it quickly healed, staring down at Ryan.

Ryan held her gaze, fighting the daze. Marilyn had already taken so much of her blood she felt light-headed and lethargic, which was not an unpleasant feeling. Marilyn had also always had the ability to entrance her, sapping her will. No matter how powerful Ryan had become, it was an irrelevant ability if she would not use it.