Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (28 page)

Ryan shifted uncomfortably as Abigail continued. “Secondly, the Change is tremendously difficult on humans, and most do not survive the process.” She glanced up from her tapestry. “I imagine yours must have been particularly horrifying.

Abigail watched Ryan pale and knew she had hit upon a truth. She continued. “And finally, as I said, we are predators by nature and have a bad habit of destroying our Young simply for the pleasure of it.”

Ryan looked at her. “If so many Young are killed, how does anyone survive to grow Old?”

Abigail shrugged. “Ours is a strange hierarchy. The humans who survive to become Young Ones are often killed. There are some who initiate the Change simply so they can then kill them.” There was neither approval nor disapproval in Abigail’s tone; she was simply stating a fact. “Some of the Young have powerful mentors who are capable of controlling their own passion to allow their progeny to grow up to become their companions.”

A servant entered, setting out a flask of wine and some goblets. Ryan absently poured a glass of wine for herself, deep in thought. She sat back and put the glass to her lips, unaware of how closely Abigail was watching her.

Good god, Abigail thought to herself. This child had a sensuality about her that was as devastating as it was unintentional. Ryan sipped the wine, lost in her own thoughts. She finally became aware of Abigail’s scrutiny, and blushed.

Abigail had to concentrate for a moment on her tapestry. Ryan took this opportunity to form another question.

“So age determines how powerful one becomes?”

Abigail tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. “To a degree. There are really three things that determine how powerful one is, and how powerful one can become. Foremost, of course, is age.”

“And the other two?”

Abigail glanced over at Ryan. “The first is a matter of chance; the second a matter of politics.”

Ryan waited patiently as Abigail carefully formed her reply, watching for Ryan’s reaction. “The more powerful the person who created you, the more powerful you are and will become.”

Ryan digested that bit of information. “And the political?”

Abigail examined her tapestry. “If you Share with one more powerful than yourself, you yourself will become more powerful.”

Ryan began to understand the interaction at the gathering. “What advantage would there be, then, to Share with anyone less powerful than yourself?”

Abigail made a languorous gesture. “There is always the seduction, which can be exciting. And Sharing in and of itself is always pleasurable, with the exception of first contact when they are still human. But the greatest pleasure is either to kill, or to Share with one more powerful.”

Ryan was quiet for a long while, absorbing the implications of Abigail’s words. She suddenly understood some of the reaction to her presence, and why she was considered so unusual. Abigail was not content to stop with mere implications.

“Victor was responsible for your Change, yes?”

Ryan nodded slowly and Abigail probed further.

“And you have Shared with him, probably on a regular basis, have you not?”

Ryan did not know if she should be answering these questions, but knew that the heat in her cheeks had already given Abigail the response she wanted.

Abigail’s mood, one of calculated disinterested, suddenly changed. Her gaze was now intense and her words were spoken very deliberately. “Victor is the oldest and greatest of our Kind. You do not seem to realize that Victor is our King, and you do not seem to understand that you are now our crown prince.”

Ryan was taken aback at the suggestion, no, the command. “Victor has no other offspring?”

Abigail held her gaze unblinkingly. “None.”

Ryan was stunned by this revelation, although a search of her mind told her she had already known it to be true. Abigail seemed to follow her train of thought and her mood of calculation returned.

“Do you have Victor’s Memories?” Abigail asked casually.

Ryan seemed unaware of the undertone in Abigail’s voice, and answered truthfully, musing. “Sometimes. I see pictures, but they are not clear.”

This time Abigail had to struggle to maintain her own composure. The child should definitely not have this ability, and the fact that she announced it with such naiveté told Abigail she did not understand the significance of the admission.

Ryan continued her silent contemplation as Abigail watched her. Her lack of self-consciousness was disarming.

And extremely dangerous, Abigail reminded herself. She could not afford to allow herself to become entranced with this child. She examined her most recent stitchery, and Ryan posed another question.

“If I Shared with you,” Ryan began curiously, “would I have your Memories?”

This time the tapestry slipped to the floor unchecked. Abigail stared at her across the room and Ryan felt she had just inadvertently crossed some line.

Abigail searched Ryan’s face, seeking any sort of knowledge of the implications of her question. She found none.

“You must never,” Abigail began carefully, “never speak of such things to me.”

Ryan felt as if she had committed some terrible faux pas, but was not certain what it was.

Abigail eyes lingered on Ryan’s lips, then on her throat. Her eyes were dark as she regained control, and her predatory smile returned. “You must not suggest such things, my dear. Even I am tempted by you.” She carefully picked up the tapestry from the floor, and her eyes flickered back to Ryan’s. “You sorely test my loyalty to Victor. It would take very little encouragement for me to seduce you.”

Ryan swallowed hard. She could not hold Abigail’s gaze and looked down at her hands. Abigail watched her for a moment more, then returned to her tapestry. Ryan sat in silence for a long while, chastened.

But her thoughts swirled, returning to all they had spoken of. She realized how truly vulnerable she was in this violent and erotic world. This brought other questions to mind, questions she felt she had to ask.

“What would happen to me,” Ryan began hesitantly, “if something happened to Victor?”

Abigail glanced sideways at her. “Nothing will happen to Victor.”

“Yes,” Ryan pressed, “I know. But what if something did?”

Abigail shrugged. “There would be a great fight for you amongst the Old Ones,” she said, as if it were of no consequence.

“And would you fight for me?” Ryan asked.

Abigail smiled her preternatural smile. “Yes my dear, I would fight for you.”

Ryan was not appeased. “And who would win this fight?”

Abigail shrugged, as if it were no matter. “Probably Marilyn. She is very strong.”

A thought occurred to Ryan. “Did Marilyn Share with Victor?”

Abigail looked at her shrewdly, but she answered offhandedly. “Yes, I believe she has in the past. But it has been a long time.”

Ryan digested this information and Abigail continued casually, watching her. “Marilyn has always wanted Victor, but I watched her at the gathering and I believe she has found something she wants more.”

Ryan looked at her blankly, so Abigail spelled it out for her.

“I believe Marilyn’s desire for you is nearly as great as her desire for Victor, perhaps even greater.”

This was another startling revelation to Ryan, who had perceived none of this. She thought this through, returning to her original question. “And so Marilyn would fight for me and would win, and I would be killed.”

This gave Abigail pause and she was thoughtful for a moment. “I do not believe so.” She shook her head. “No, I am not certain that you can be killed. You may already be too powerful.”

This disclosure was finally enough to silence Ryan. She sat quietly while Abigail’s fingers flew over the tapestry. Abigail glanced up from her work, aware of the child’s deep contemplation. Again, Ryan’s lack of self-consciousness was disarming. Abigail reached out to mentally touch her.

Ryan’s head jerked upward, unsettled by the contact. Abigail let her eyes linger on Ryan’s throat once more.

“You know, my dear,” she said softly but not gently, “I think the most precarious part about taking you would be not knowing who was seducing whom.”

“I don’t think I would have any difficulty answering that question.”

The voice from the doorway startled Ryan, but Abigail had sensed Marilyn’s presence a long way off and was unperturbed. She was not pleased with Marilyn’s presence but like most of her Kind, any type of stimulation was irresistible, no matter how dangerous.

“Why Marilyn,” Abigail said, making no attempt at subtlety, “whatever brings you here?”

Marilyn moved gracefully to Abigail’s side. She leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I came to pay my respects, of course.”

She turned to Ryan as she said this and Ryan felt herself getting to her feet, apparently not of her own volition. Marilyn moved to her side, her movements languid. She grasped Ryan’s hands in her own.

Ryan gazed deep into Marilyn’s eyes and it seemed to her the dark-haired woman’s influence over her was like something alive. Ryan gazed at her lips, at the long, lustrous black hair, and tried desperately to clear her mind.

There was wicked glint in Marilyn’s eyes and Ryan knew the fury directed at her the other night had been displaced by other, more powerful emotions.

“Marilyn,” Abigail said with warning, “do not toy with the child.”

Marilyn released Ryan’s hands and Ryan sat down heavily on the settee. Marilyn sat down next to her, smoothing her flowing skirt.

Abigail watched the two, warring with herself. She knew she should not allow Marilyn here with Victor’s progeny, but she was also immensely enjoying the sensations present in the room. She inwardly shrugged. What harm would there be in allowing Marilyn to trifle with the girl?

Ryan sat on the couch stiffly. She felt very much in over-her-head. Marilyn was not only powerful, she was also extremely beautiful. Ryan was conscious of her rough attire next to Marilyn’s elegance.

Marilyn in turn was very aware of the effect she was having on the girl and found it captivating. Young Ones normally did little more than annoy Marilyn, but this one was special. She reached over and took a lock of Ryan’s hair in her hand, twirling it around her finger.

Ryan looked to Abigail, who was dividing her attention between her stitchery and the scene. Ryan realized she would receive little help from the older woman. Abigail had laid out boundaries but she would do nothing until Marilyn crossed them, leaving her plenty of room to torment Ryan.

Marilyn was now stroking her hair, which had a hypnotic effect on the young woman. Ryan’s head began to feel too heavy for her neck and she had to lay back and rest it on the cushions. Her eyes became heavy and she fought to keep them open. All of the stiffness left her body and her limbs became leaden as she was forced to relax. Her eyes closed.

Abigail paused in her stitchery. She could not help but stare at the child who appeared drugged on the couch. Abigail tried to ignore the sudden ache inside of her and Marilyn looked at her knowingly.

You could have her too, came Marilyn’s voice inside her head.

Abigail looked at Marilyn in fury, angry that the woman had chosen to invade her mind without her permission. But the taunt was in Marilyn’s eyes as well, and Abigail knew that Marilyn had manipulated her into a dangerous space. How could she stop Marilyn if it took all of her willpower just to keep from joining her?

Marilyn returned her attention to the girl. Ryan was already half-leaning on her and it was a simple enough maneuver to gently guide her head so that she was lying on Marilyn’s lap. Marilyn ran her thumb lightly over the veins in Ryan’s throat, feeling a kindle of excitement at the strong pulse. This would be satisfying, but far too easy. Perhaps the girl was not as powerful as she thought.

Abigail felt as if time had stopped. She was powerless against her own voyeuristic passion. Their Kind was ever more motivated by instant gratification over abstract concepts such as consequence, and she could no longer contemplate Victor’s wrath. She wanted nothing more than to see Marilyn’s teeth on the Young One’s throat, and to watch the blood spill.

Marilyn lowered her head and brushed her lips lightly across the girl’s veins. The throb of the pulse against her lips aroused her even further and she parted her lips so that she could brush her razor-sharp teeth against the skin.