Blood Legacy: The House of Alexander (22 page)

Marilyn returned to the wrist, brushing her lips across the bruised flesh once more. She still seemed completely in control, as if the outcome of their little tête-à-tête was not in question.

“So are you at all curious how they are different?”

Ryan gazed at her suspiciously, then realized what she was saying. “You could show me,” she said.

“I could,” Marilyn said, as if the thought had just occurred to her. Her gaze returned pointedly to Ryan, and her tone confirmed that the thought had pre-existed. “But what do you have to offer me in exchange?”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “I could simply take what I want.”

“Hmmm, yes,” Marilyn said, glancing at the girl’s somewhat vulnerable, supine position. “I almost believe that you could.”

Ryan wasn’t certain if she were being mocked. In a flash she was upright, pinning both Marilyn’s wrists in her grip and twisting. In an instant she had thrown the other woman on the bed, pinning her beneath her.

Ryan stared down into Marilyn’s eyes, which were now filled with wicked amusement. Ryan cursed herself. Marilyn’s other gift was the ability to manipulate her into exactly what she wanted Ryan to do.

“You are right, ma Cherie,” the dark-haired woman said, glancing down at the lithe body that now lay on top of her “This is much better.”

Ryan stared down at her, now in the awkward position of not having any idea of what to do, or how to disentangle herself. Marilyn saved her from any more difficult decisions and pulled her firmly downward, slicing into her neck with perfect, razor-sharp teeth.

Ryan arched her back and resisted perhaps a second before the events of the day took her headlong into Marilyn’s embrace. The pressure that had built in her veins during her exchange with Aeron was screaming to escape, and Marilyn was only too willing to provide that release.

Aeron stood in his chambers, staring at the wall. Abigail stood a few feet away, watching his struggle, entertained as always at the anguish of their Kind. In a startling move that did not startle her, Aeron punched his fist into the wall, sinking the fist into the solid rock up to his shoulder. He pulled the appendage from the rock, glanced at the damage to his hand, and thought about doing again.

Instead, he regained control, and turned to Abigail who gazed at him coolly from across the room.

“Marilyn can be quite opportunistic.”

Aeron glared at her. “If she does not cease tempting me, she will have the opportunity to regret it for the rest of her life.”

Abigail smiled. “I don’t believe it is you she’s tempting right now.”

Aeron’s jaw clenched spasmodically, and Abigail relented.

“The girl has always had a weakness for Marilyn. It is an interesting phenomenon, because Ryan is the more powerful of the two.”

Aeron glanced at her sharply. “You know this to be true?”

Abigail was always reluctant to reveal her sources, but in this instance it did not matter. “Marilyn as much told me so herself, and she was quite pleased at her findings.”

Aeron absorbed this information, filing it for future reference. If the girl had caught and even passed one of Marilyn’s stature…

“And have you any verification on the numbers?” he asked, changing the subject.

Abigail nodded. “My reports are preliminary, but it seems the girl was telling the truth. There are thousands missing.”

Aeron silently fumed as Abigail continued.

“There are reports that some are killing themselves at her request, while others have taken it upon themselves to self-sacrifice.”

Aeron was furious. It was just like the girl to seduce them into doing her job for her.

“And is there any word of Victor?” he asked, his gaze burning into the rock wall.

“None.”

“Well,” he said sarcastically, “She must be far more hardy than her father. Who thought that she would still be standing at this point?”

Abigail kept her own counsel. She had previously been quite forthright with her opinion.

Aeron was running the facts through his head. “First Kusunoki, now Marilyn. What do you think she is doing?”

Abigail was thoughtful. “I believe she is looking for information. She is quite gifted, I understand, at obtaining the Memories of Others when in the heat of the passion.” She cleared her throat delicately. “I believe you have some personal knowledge of that yourself.”

Aeron’s eyes narrowed at the memory, even though it also gave him pleasure. The whelp had touched his mind before they even touched, and had seen his Memories without a drop of blood passing her lips.

“So you think she is seeking the One who betrayed Victor?”

Abigail stood, smoothing her skirt. “Perhaps.” She touched his cheek as she passed him, stopping only when she reached the door. She turned back to him.

“Or perhaps she’s just enjoying herself.”

The door closed behind her, but she could still hear the sound of the fist shattering through the rock.

Ryan was held in the steel of Marilyn’s embrace, who had nearly bled her dry. She enjoyed the feverish, light-headed sensation of emptiness, the deep lethargy that came from being so close to death. She could hardly keep her eyes open, so languorous was the feeling.

Marilyn had a similar sensation for the opposite reason, she was completely sated. She languidly toyed with the girl’s hair, who lay on her light as a feather. Marilyn did not believe it possible, but this Sharing was as powerful and satisfying as the one before. Marilyn could tell that Ryan was withholding her Memories from Marilyn during the act. Although capable of forcing disclosure, Marilyn did not pry. She was too busy enjoying the sheer physicality of the powerful union. It seemed that Victor’s progeny had his gift for consistent and continual gratification.

She knew that Ryan had seen her Memories of Aeron, seen his sadistic passion and brutal domination. He was dangerously seductive, violent in the act, and rarely fulfilled. The union of he and Marilyn had been physically satisfying for both of them but emotionally bereft. Both enjoyed the game of seduction itself almost as much as the outcome, and they were perhaps too alike in that sense to create any of the enjoyable, uncertain tension of the hunt.

Marilyn glanced down at Ryan. Unlike this one, she thought. She never knew what to expect from this girl. One moment stumbling about endearingly like a bashful adolescent, bringing out the predator in all of them. The next moment turning into a devilishly charming, near invulnerable individual who made them all want to throw themselves at her feet. And neither personality was the least bit affected or artificial, nor, oddly enough, in conflict with the other.

Marilyn grew more thoughtful. Perhaps it was because they were both true. Was it possible that Ryan had not yet reached anywhere near her potential? Was it possible that she still was nothing more than an adolescent, as old and powerful as she was? Had Victor indeed rewritten all the rules in creating Ryan?

Although the thought might have brought others resentment and fear, it brought Marilyn nothing but pleasure. The girl was clever, charismatic, and impossibly alluring, but lacking in the guile of the Old Ones. Marilyn would greatly enjoy watching her mature.

Marilyn thought for a moment that the girl was asleep. She gently rolled Ryan onto her back, then sat up to leave. She was halfway standing when her movement was abruptly stopped by a hand encircling her wrist in a grip of iron.

“And where are you going?”

Marilyn sat back down on the bed, amused. She leaned over Ryan, who had not released her wrist. “You have what you want, ma Cherie. And I have what I wanted.”

Ryan gazed up at her, idly toying with the wrist she still held imprisoned. “I don’t think you’ve completely fulfilled your part of the bargain.”

Marilyn raised an eyebrow. “Oh really, ma Cherie.” She thought Ryan might have been implying that she had withheld information, but noting the mischievous glint in Ryan’s eye, she realized that wasn’t the case at all. She did not suppress the tingle of excitement that ran along her spine. “I would hate for you to go away unfulfilled,” she said, with emphasis on the final word.

Ryan brought the wrist to her lips, her eyes locked with Marilyn’s as she feathered a kiss on the now-burning veins.

“I do not have my father’s sight. But I do not foresee that happening.”

Marilyn laid with the girl for hours, feeling the heat emanating from the sleeping form pressed against her. Marilyn finally pulled away, only because she had pressing business to attend to. Otherwise, she admitted to herself as she departed, she might well have never left again.

Ryan lay on her stomach in a feverish, exhausted sleep. Normally, even soundly unconscious, she would have been aware of anyone’s presence in the room. But this particular presence was used to moving about clandestinely, ethereal and undetectable.

Abigail stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down coolly at the prone figure. She moved alongside the bed, trailing her hand up the girl’s calf, along the length of her thigh, then across the tight muscles of the her back. She brushed her hand lightly along the girl’s cheekbone, tracing its outline. She ran her fingers through the blond hair, causing the girl to stir and murmur in her sleep.

Abigail allowed her presence to settle on the girl like a mantle, calming her and keeping her from awakening. Although there were no outward cues that the girl had fallen into a deeper sleep, Abigail knew it was so.

Abigail stood in the darkness gazing down at the sleeping figure thoughtfully far into the night.

CHAPTER 13

THE FIGURE MOVED THROUGH the dense tangle of the jungle. Completely covered in an elaborate pattern of black and green paint, it was difficult to tell if the person was wearing clothing, or indeed, even if it was male or female, as it shifted ephemerally in and out of the forest. It would seem that the paint was for camouflage, so perfectly did it blend into the dark vegetation. But that theory was shattered by the shock of pale hair that was uncaringly exposed. As the figure loped through the forest like some great jungle cat, the grace and power on display made it apparent the figure had no need for disguise, and that the paint was merely for effect.

And a terrifying effect it was, yielding something fierce and primordial. Even the huge, coiled pythons and the occasional mountain gorilla gave this one wide berth.

Ryan smiled, and her teeth were blinding white against the dark green paint. This place stirred something deep within her, something primitive and primeval. Perhaps it was because she had Memories of this place, but they were not her own. She inhaled deeply the fecund, verdant earth, the wondrous cacophony of smells that competed for her senses. She wondered why she had not spent more time in this birthplace of humanity. She glanced at a parrot on a nearby branch, who gazed at her curiously but unafraid. A nearby bonobo screeched an alarm and raced off to tell his family of the strange animal he had seen in the jungle. She again smiled and continued on her way.

It began to rain again, and Ryan lifted her face to the dripping water. The water gave life to the rubber trees, the oil palms, the banana, coconut and plantains. It nourished the teak and the ebony trees, the cedar and the mahogany, and created the monstrous redwoods that dwarfed her, both in size and in longevity. She touched one great trunk, marveling that it was a sapling at the time she was born, when the black prince ruled England and the French and the English were gearing up for a war that would span lifetimes. The water ran down her arms, down into the earth, snaking into tributaries that ran back to the massive river that ran for thousands of miles through the heart of this country.

Ryan began climbing the gradually rising series of plateaus that bordered the east. The physical effort required of her was minimal, but she paced herself out of habits acquired centuries before. The Great Rift Valley was still miles away.

Time passed, and the sun rose and set. The vegetation began to change, becoming near impenetrable. Ryan again smiled. An excellent location, the approach nearly impassable and deeply hidden. There would be a few recreationally scaling the mountain peaks from the other side, and there were many who lived in the shadow of Nyiragongo, close enough to be subject to the volcano’s whims. But there was no one here. At least no one human.

Ryan began to feel the presence of those in the jungle around her, circling warily, uncertain of the One who was walking through their midst. Ryan stepped into a beam of light filtering through the trees. She concentrated, blurring her mental impression. There was only One who could now see her as she truly was, and that One already knew she was coming.