Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (39 page)

“Including you.”

The silence was complete. No one moved, no one breathed. There was no mocking in Marilyn’s eyes, no sarcastic retort. She nodded in understanding, almost in deference, and gestured for Ryan to accompany her.

Ryan preceded her through the opening the Others made in the circle, and the circle collapsed behind them. Susan and Jason were drawn along behind in the crowd. When they exited onto the street, Susan was reminded of the material power these people wielded.

Jason stared in amazement at the line of limousines that stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. The long, sleek cars gleamed blackly under the streetlights, reminding Susan uncomfortably of an infinite funeral procession.

Susan watched as Ryan approached the door that was held open for her. She was struck by the deference with which Ryan was being treated. Prisoner or not, the awe in which she was held was evident.

Susan started to follow Ryan and she was grabbed roughly from behind by a young woman. Faster than the eye could see, Ryan was there between them, holding the Young One off the ground by her throat.

In the same instant, Marilyn was behind Ryan, slipping her arm about her waist and pulling her to her. She leaned over her shoulder, brushing her lips against Ryan’s throat, then whispering in her ear.

“Let her go, Ryan, she’s young and stupid and she forgets herself.”

Ryan stared down at the Young One, her fury and frustration threatening to explode. But the combination of Marilyn’s touch and the whispered reasoning distracted her. Her grip on the wide-eyed girl loosened.

Marilyn’s hand brushed Ryan’s hair from the nape of her neck, and the gesture was so familiar and seductive, Ryan closed her eyes against the sensation. She released the girl, who staggered backwards.

Marilyn held her for a moment longer to make certain Ryan’s temper had indeed cooled. She gazed past Ryan to where Susan Ryerson was standing. There was no fear in the Susan’s eyes, but rather the beginnings of a suspicion.

Susan, watching the scene, was again struck by the deference with which Ryan was treated. Marilyn had twice chosen not to confront Ryan, but rather to beguile her. It made her wonder if Marilyn chose the path of least resistance out of necessity, if she was indeed powerful enough to defeat Ryan.

Marilyn stared at her impassively, as if reading her mind, then slowly smiled.

Susan mentally added another option. Or perhaps Marilyn chose that path simply because she enjoyed it.

Ryan relaxed and Marilyn released her. Ryan stepped away from the dark-haired woman into the waiting limousine. Marilyn motioned for Susan and her son to ride in the same vehicle, then she herself climbed in after Susan.

Susan sat next to Ryan and Jason sat between them, clutching his mother. He wanted to go to Ryan, but her body language was closed to him. She gazed out the window at nothing as they began moving.

Marilyn’s attention was fully on Ryan. She examined the girl’s features. Physically, Ryan had hardly changed. She was taller, her shoulders broader, but she was still slender. She still had the face of an angel, with the high cheekbones and the too perfect mouth.

Marilyn’s eyes narrowed. On the other hand, Ryan had changed dramatically in other ways.

It had taken all of Marilyn’s composure to appear unruffled at the first sight of Ryan. She thought back centuries before as she lay by the girl’s side, when Ryan had first displayed her formidable temper. Marilyn remembered her premonition at how powerful Ryan would become, how great her magnetism would be.

Marilyn’s first thought upon mentally touching Ryan this evening was how badly underestimated that prediction had been. Ryan’s charisma was staggering. Although Marilyn sensed that she herself was still the more powerful of the two, it was not by as great a margin as she would have wished, especially considering the disparity in their ages. The whelp had made up considerable ground in the last two centuries.

Ryan turned her gaze upon Marilyn, and her expression was unreadable. The dispassionate expression irritated Marilyn, who allowed her eyes to drift to Ryan’s lips, then to her throat. Her gaze lingered there, caressing the artery.

Ryan, as always, was aroused against her will. She carefully maintained her poise, however, and returned her gaze out the window. Marilyn smiled.

In some ways, the girl hadn’t changed at all.

CHAPTER 31

SUSAN STOOD AT RYAN’S SIDE IN THE ALCOVE. Edward stood at her other side. Jason had been removed from their presence at Susan’s objection, but Edward had assured her the boy would not be harmed.

Susan looked over at Edward. His demeanor had changed dramatically. She had seen him as subservient before, but she now him as a warrior standing at the side of his King, ready for the battle for which he had prepared for centuries.

Ryan also looked composed, as if she had steeled herself for what was approaching. She had spent the last few hours isolated, aware of the Others’ presence, but immune to it. She stood calmly in the shadows, as if awaiting some hidden command.

A figure slipped from the shadows and Susan saw that it was Marilyn. The dark-haired woman approached Ryan and Ryan did not at first acknowledge her presence, keeping her own counsel. She finally turned to Marilyn, nodding. Marilyn gestured for Ryan to lead the way.

Ryan stepped from the alcove into a great subterranean hall. The room was longer than it was wide and the ceilings were so high they could not be seen in the blackness. The walls were covered with huge tapestries stretching up into the darkness. The light from thousands of candles flickered across the faces of those leaning out of the balconies to glimpse the procedures below. Pews lined both sides of the central aisle, filled with hundreds of people. The hall was less a courtroom than an underground cathedral.

Ryan briefly paused at the entrance to the hall as all eyes turned towards her. Susan could feel the sudden tension, as if the room had drawn its collective breath. Electricity suddenly danced between every occupant of the room, and Susan realized she was the only human present.

Ryan began walking forward, allowing her eyes to briefly skim the great crowd of Others as if they were of no consequence to her. And indeed, they were not. She could feel their shock at her presence, feel them reach out to her and withdraw in terror. She could feel their desire intermixed with their terror, their longing intermixed with an ancient fear.

Ryan strolled leisurely down the aisle, coming to a stop at the table set before the judge’s stand. She was not surprised to see the identity of the One who would sit in judgment of her. She gazed at the matriarch standing on the dais before the great hall.

“Hello Abigail,” Ryan said softly and sardonically.

Abigail examined the young woman in front of her, a young woman who was no longer young but truly one of the Old Ones. Abigail noted the slight physical changes in Ryan that Marilyn had noted, and the non-physical ones as well. She smiled her slight and enigmatic smile.

“Hello my dear.”

Susan had a very good idea who the older woman was, just by Ryan’s previous tales. But there was much Ryan had failed to convey in her stories.

Each of these people had distinctive characteristics that were magnified by a devastating eroticism. From Marilyn’s earthy sensuality to Abigail’s matronly seduction, they all wore their lust on their sleeve with little if any contrition. Even now, in her position of objective judgment, Abigail did not hide her admiration for Victor’s protégé.

With great show, Abigail seated herself behind the huge desk, smoothing her robe. She picked up the paperwork in front of her.

“The courtroom may be seated.”

Susan Ryerson started to sit but then caught herself awkwardly halfway. No one else in the great hall had moved, so she as subtly as possible stood upright once more. Edward stood rigidly upright, unmoving.

Abigail’s rustling papers were very loud in the silence, a silence that became even more pronounced when the rustling slowed, then stopped.

Abigail glanced around the great hall. Not a single person moved. All stood stiffly as if involuntarily at attention. Abigail turned to look at Marilyn, whose gaze flicked upward to those in the balconies, then around the room. She turned her attention to the accused standing in front of her.

Ryan stood at the head of the great hall, only the slightest trace of tension about her. Very slowly and with deliberate casualness she took her seat. She took a moment to settle into the cushion, then crossed one long leg over the other. Without taking her eyes from Abigail, she languidly raised her hand, and with a casual gesture, allowed the rest of the room to take their seats.

There was much whispering as people settled into their chairs; no one in the room missed the significance of the gesture. Abigail herself was aware of the message Ryan had sent her. She gazed down at the younger woman with the ambiguous emotions of their Kind. She was impressed but not surprised; exasperated but unmoved; and, as always, stimulated by the casual display of power. She looked down at her paperwork.

“Please state your name for the record.”

“My name is Rhian.”

Susan glanced over at Ryan. She spoke her name with that curious inflection, as she had the first time she had met her.

Abigail peered expectantly over the papers. “Your full name, my dear.”

Ryan shifted in her seat, a look of discomfiture passing over her features. She took a deep breath. “My name is Rhiannon Alexander.”

This brought a slight murmur as Abigail nodded in satisfaction. “Rhiannon,” she said, “The goddess of the dead. How appropriate.”

Susan at last understood. Ryan spoke her name so curiously because it was a shortened version of her true name, a name that she had never spoken.

Ryan sat back in her chair, arms folded. Abigail gazed at her a few moments longer, enjoying the implications of the name. Her gaze drifted over to Susan. “But I do believe you are now called ‘Ryan.’”

Ryan nodded curtly. “That is correct.”

Abigail turned her attention to the paperwork in front of her, from which she began to read aloud.

“You have been brought here today to be tried by a jury of your peers—”

“Then I move for a mistrial,” Edward said, interrupting her.

Abigail peered over the paperwork. “On what grounds, counsel?”

Edward turned to Ryan, who gazed at Abigail with her unblinking gaze. “I have no peers,” she said.

The silence was very loud as Ryan’s words hung in the room. Susan gazed up at Abigail, expecting to see the older woman angered at Ryan’s insolence. Instead, Abigail was having difficulty controlling a smile. She regained her composure and waved her hand.

“This is inconsequential.”

The omission in Abigail’s words was greater than the content, and silence again settled upon the room. Ryan spoke softly.

“But not untrue.”

Abigail herself did not break eye contact this time. “No,” she agreed, nodding ever so slightly, “not untrue.” She drew herself up. “But it is still immaterial, motion denied.”

The gavel came down, startling Susan so she jumped. She glanced over at Ryan, then back up at the judge. She wasn’t certain what was going on, but it seemed Ryan had just won two small victories in a row. She could not tell if this judge wanted to destroy the defendant or eat her for breakfast. Somehow she had the feeling the magistrate wanted to do both.

Abigail continued to read from the paperwork. “You are accused of killing your mentor, Victor Alexander. How do you plead?”

The expectancy in the room was in sharp contrast to Ryan’s nonchalance. “I plead not guilty,” she said firmly.

A murmur went through the crowd and Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You deny killing Victor?”

Ryan shook her head. “No, I plead not guilty because my actions were justified.”

Another murmur swept the crowd as Abigail gazed down at the defendant. “An interesting defense.”

A distinguished looking black man stood. Apparently he would be serving in the role of prosecuting attorney. He turned to Ryan. “So you admit killing Victor Alexander.”

Edward stepped forward. “Objection, my client admits nothing.”

The prosecutor turned to Abigail, speaking over Edward’s continued objections. “If the defendant wishes to stipulate to certain details of the crime to—”