Blood Legacy: The House of Alexander (36 page)

“Ready. One, two, three.”

The crew rolled the figure over with a gentleness that was astonishing, considering their rather fearsome appearance. Susan again felt for any life signs, frustrated because she didn’t find any, frustrated because that didn’t mean anything. She turned, looking up at Abigail, as did everyone who stood there.

Abigail stared down at the lifeless body, assessing.

“She lives,” Abigail said at last.

Susan let out an audible sigh of relief, as did Edward, although his gesture was more from habit than need. Abigail nodded to her consort, who let loose several commands in a language that Susan had never heard. A troupe quickly assembled, two abreast and four deep. A platform was brought forward and set down next to Ryan’s prone form. Then gently, with great deference and ceremony, the eight men lifted the girl and lay her on the platform. They then lifted the platform shoulder-high and began to slowly, solemnly carry it through the rubble, preceded by Abigail on the arm of her consort.

Susan followed the assembly, which seemed so filled with ritual and meaning, she felt she were following the funeral procession of a king.

EPILOGUE

JASON RAN THROUGH THE WELL-MANICURED gardens of the palatial estate. He particularly liked the maze in the ornamental gardens, because he could get lost in all the twists and turns. He could hear his mother calling him, her voice filled with exasperation. He giggled and sprinted into the maze.

He had rounded only the third hedge when he ran headlong into a man, tripping over his feet He would have fallen had the man not caught him.

“Hey there sport, better watch out.”

Jason blushed. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there.”

The man leaned down so that Jason didn’t have to look up so high. He smiled a brilliant smile, his teeth white against his ebony skin. “That’s okay.” He cocked his head to one side. “I think I hear your mother coming, better be quiet.”

Jason giggled, leaning against the hedge with his now fellow conspirator. He could hear his mom coming, too.

“Jason, if you don’t get back here right this min—“

Jason jumped out at Susan just as she rounded the corner.

Susan gave out a little yelp, more to satisfy Jason than anything else. She could hear his giggling a mile away, and even if she hadn’t, he was hardly enough to frighten her, considering what she had been through.

She was embarrassed, however, when she realized Jason wasn’t alone.

“Oh, hi,” she said, brushing her hair from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I hope Jason wasn’t being too much of a nuisance.”

The man stepped from the shadows, and Susan felt her heart miss a beat. The man was devilishly handsome with a gorgeous smile. He had beautiful, warm eyes and the knee-weakening charisma of all of Ryan’s Kind.

He extended his hand.

“Dr. Ryerson, my name is Raphael.”

“Like the turtle!” Jason yelled, running off.

“Or the painter,” Raphael offered ruefully, his eyes on Susan.

Susan took his hand in hers. “Please call me Susan.”

She held his hand for a moment, then blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She backed away nervously. “I guess I should find Jason.”

“Let me help you,” Raphael offered, and Susan felt an unfamiliar leap of joy at the prospect.

They exited the maze, and Jason again jumped out at them.

“Boo!” he yelled with more enthusiasm than success.

Raphael caught him, swinging him effortlessly up onto his shoulders. He smiled down at Susan, offering his arm.

Susan hesitated only the briefest moment, just enough to suggest some sort of decorum, then settled comfortably on his arm. They walked arm-in-arm across the courtyard.

Marilyn moved into the courtyard and began walking toward Edward, having already sensed his presence. Dr. Ryerson was in her path, and quite surprisingly, on the arm of one of her Kind, a handsome young black man. They were talking intimately, as if old friends.

As she neared, she had the subtlest sense of familiarity. The man was of her lineage.

Raphael looked up, amazed at the One coming toward him. The woman was ravishingly beautiful, with power beyond reason. Every step, every tilt of her hip, every flick of her eyelashes, every smoldering glance bespoke seduction. As she stalked by, she flicked that smoldering gaze Susan’s way, amusement in her voice.

“Enjoy yourself, Dr. Ryerson.”

The raven-haired woman did not alter her stride, and did not look back. Raphael glanced down at Susan, who had turned bright red.

For whatever reason, he felt like hugging her.

And so he did.

Ryan stood at the window, watching.

“You have chosen well.”

Ryan knew Abigail was there, even before she had spoken.

“He seems an appropriate match.”

Ryan looked down at her hands on the windowsill. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again.

“I should not have doubted you.”

Abigail smiled.

“I told you,” she said serenely, “I live to serve your father.” She moved to Ryan’s side, staring out the window. “As I live to serve you.”

Ryan continued to look out the window, but was staring at nothing. Abigail extended her influence to the girl, sensing her mood. It was subdued, filled with a strange uncertainty. Ryan made no attempt to hide her mind from the matriarch.

Abigail found the girl’s mood fascinating, because the girl was now more powerful than she had ever been, perhaps even more powerful than her father. Having recovered from her wounds and nearly defeated the virus in her system, Ryan had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of the world she had destroyed.

But as always, Ryan seemed oblivious to this fact.

Ryan felt Abigail’s gentle, insistent probing, felt her influence settle on her like some great mantle, soothing and seductive. She closed her eyes, offering no resistance.

Abigail smiled. It was time.

“Come rest with me awhile, my dear,” she said gently.

Ryan knew that it was not a request. And with the peculiar obedience that only Abigail inspired in her, she took the hand that the matriarch offered, allowing her to lead her from the room.

Abigail leaned against a pile of cushions, settling into the bed, smoothing her skirt. Ryan lay down beside her, her head upon the cushions and upon Abigail’s lap.

Abigail stroked her hair, and Ryan closed her eyes at the sensation. She could feel Abigail’s presence settle on her, its comforting warmth spreading throughout her extremities, ensnaring her, entangling her, binding her.

Ryan did not resist in any way, opening her eyes only when she felt Abigail’s silent command. She looked up.

Abigail held the girl’s gaze, then slowly pulled the neckline of her gown to the side, revealing the smooth, perfect skin below. Ryan eyes dropped to the hand’s resting place, below the collarbone, just above the breast. She saw the blood that flowed through the vein, just beneath the cream-colored skin.

And she saw clearly, Abigail’s control over her, saw that to take her blood was to subjugate herself in ways she little understood, perhaps forever. Ryan saw that not all dominance came by physical power, and realized that she was facing One who was master of that alternate domain.

Ryan no longer cared. She leaned forward, slicing the perfect skin, and felt the blood flow into her mouth.

For once, Abigail was unable to maintain her perfect poise. It seemed impossible that the hunger of another could bring her such pleasure. She held the girl in her arms, cradling her head, feeling the warmth of the girl’s need spread throughout her body.

In the instant Abigail’s blood touched her lips, Ryan grasped an astonishing fact: Abigail had concealed herself from all of them. She was startled at the enormous power residing in the woman she fed upon, sensing the immense force coiled inside Abigail like a colossal, primeval serpent. She tried to process this information, to comprehend the motive, to understand the implications. But it was too late.

The serpent was unwinding.

Ryan laid her head back on the cushion, a trace of blood on her lips. She gazed up at Abigail, whose eyes were filled with amusement, an enigmatic smile on her lips.

“It is time, little one.”

Ryan could not resist her, could not withstand her gentle, indomitable, controlling seduction. She turned her head, laying her fevered cheek against the cool, silky softness, leaving the throbbing veins in her neck exposed.

Abigail lowered her head, and Ryan felt the coolness of her lips just before she felt the sting of her teeth. The ache did not subside, but rather swelled to keep pace with the accompanying pleasure. Ryan felt the blood drain from her system, felt the dangerous lassitude begin to steal over her, felt her limbs grow heavy, and conversely, her body grow unbearably light. She could not fight, did not want to fight, the languor that stole her will.

Abigail’s pleasure was intense, the dark power she was consuming at times threatening to consume her. But she was in complete control, reveling in the sights and sensations the girl provided, forcing the girl gently but firmly into complete submission. She savored the culmination of her six hundred year seduction, enjoying it the more for its intricate, convoluted path. She pushed the girl’s heart, demanding obedience from that organ as well, treating it with the same tender and torturous domination she did the girl.

Ryan was in the blood-red netherworld, unsurprised that she was there by herself. Abigail had deceived them all, disguising her immense power with her cool poise and demeanor, her matronly elegance, her aloof refinement. Ryan stood on the very edge of the blackness, looking into the void. She wondered what it would feel like when she fell into the darkness, and felt curiously detached at the prospect.

The world swayed, and she teetered on the edge. Her balance was such that it would take merely a push to pitch her headfirst into the void. She was not surprised when she felt that pressure at her back, nor when she felt her weight began to shift inexorably forward.

She was surprised, however, when that momentum was arrested, and her fall halted by a powerful grasp. She was pulled rearward into an all-encompassing embrace.

“I will not allow that, little one,” came the seductive whisper in her ear.

Ryan gazed into the blackness, then closed her eyes. And as she had so many times in the physical world, she took Abigail’s hand and pressed it to her chest.

Edward escorted Marilyn to Victor’s side.

“Would you like to be alone, my lady?”

Marilyn shook her head. “No. I simply wanted to pay my respects.”

Edward stared down at the prone man. “Dr. Ryerson believes that Ryan’s blood will provide a cure for her father.”

Marilyn did not look up. “That is not surprising. The girl has many gifts.”

“As does the One who holds her now.”

Marilyn glanced over at Edward sharply. “And what gift do you believe Abigail has?”

Edward did not lower his eyes, and although his words were circumspect, there was an underlying edge to them. “I believe she has a gift that no one else has.”

“And what might that be?” Marilyn asked, sarcasm in her voice.

Edward still did not yield. “The ability to hide from Ryan.”

Marilyn’s eyes narrowed. This little man had more insight than she gave him credit for. She was intrigued by his speculation. “Go on.”

Edward began his list. “Victor is ‘indisposed.’ Aeron is missing and possibly destroyed. Kusunoki and Ala have sworn allegiance to Ryan, and you yourself are loyal to my master.”

Marilyn did not speak, waiting for him to continue.

“It seems that out of everyone in this protracted, tragic situation, Abigail has emerged unscathed.”

Edward gazed at her with unblinking eyes.

“And now she has Ryan,” Marilyn finished for him.

“Yes,” Edward said, “Now she has Ryan.”

Marilyn stared at the patrician gentleman. “It would be best for you to keep your thoughts to yourself on this matter,” she said, her warning apparent.