Eternal Demon: Mark of the Vampire (17 page)

Terrified, his legs threatening to drop out from underneath him, Raine couldn’t stop his mouth from spewing out information. “I don’t know. I think of him in my mind, call to him, and sometimes he answers and sometimes not.”

“You’re a lying sack of shite,
mutore
.” He said the last bit with undisguised hatred.

The
paven
s behind him growled low, a warning.

“Back off, Syn.”

It wasn’t Nicholas who spoke, Raine thought, staring at the blade before his eyes. Maybe the near-albino
paven
 . . .

“If you don’t tell me where he is, how I can get to him—something, anything—I’m going to cut you into pieces.”

“Synjon, back the fuck off.”

But Synjon wasn’t listening. He seemed incapable of it. In fact, he seemed out of his mind.

Raine started to shake. “I can call to him. Let me try to call to him. I can’t take you anywhere. I don’t have that power.”

“Jesus,” someone uttered.

“Brilliant,” Synjon said in a soft voice. “Close your eyes and call to him. And I would suggest you call rather loudly. Because if he doesn’t come . . . if he doesn’t make contact with you—”

“That’s enough!” It was Nicholas, and he was coming closer.

Nearly cross-eyed, Raine continued to speak to the blade that was now pressed against his nose. “He may not answer for hours, days. I’ve already tried once today for a
veana
, who came here and—”

“Shit!” Nicholas rushed forward, jumped over the desk, and punched Synjon hard in the shoulder. The knife clattered to the floor. A terrible growl sounded, and Nicholas shouted orders to the
mutore
. “Hold him! Hold him down, goddamn it!”

Then he shifted his gaze to Raine. As pale as the albino
paven
now, Nicholas’s dark eyes flashed with terror. “She was here. Kate. Where did she go?”

Raine’s gut twisted. “She is your true mate?”

“Yes. Where did she go? Please tell me she went back to Erion’s—”

“She wanted Cruen, just like all of you. She was as demanding as all of you.” His voice shook as a few feet away the Brit struggled to get free from the
paven
and
mutore
who held him down. “I tried. I tried, but I couldn’t reach him in my mind.”

Nicholas grabbed him by the shoulders and howled. “Where is she?”

Shaking, unable to stand, unable to breathe, Raine cried out, “I told her about the cemetery. The way in, the blue fire, the portal they used. The
mutore
and Cruen’s bride.”

“The portal? The portal to where?”

Raine let the word loose from his aching throat in a screech. “Hell!”

“A
re you sure you wish to wear this, Hellen dear?”

“I am.”

“It’s so . . . unattractive.”

The deep concern in her sister’s voice made Hellen smile. Poor Levia. She was truly desperate to make this a romantic event. Both Levia and Polly knew their sister didn’t love Cruen, but in the Demon King’s household, love had never been a consideration for a mating union. Granted, they didn’t know the particulars of why she’d agreed to mate with Cruen—and they never needed to—but they believed her satisfied with the match.

“It will do just fine,” Hellen told her, fastening the buttons of the oversized green gown she’d found among her mother’s old things. “Cruen isn’t mating me for my fine looks or my clothing choices.”

She’d meant the words as a joke to lighten the mood, but Levia didn’t look amused. In fact, she appeared slightly embarrassed by her sister’s words.

“You are not unappealing, Hellen.”

Hellen bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Thank you, Levia.”

“But the dress does not help matters.”

“It was Mother’s.”

The female sighed. “I loved Mother, but her sense of style was nearly as singular as yours.” She frowned. “Not to mention she was several inches larger than you in both height and width.”

All true,
Hellen mused, turning toward the mirror the girls had placed in her room earlier. Neither she nor her mother had cared all that much about appearance. They’d had far deeper, far more dangerous worries to plague them. How to find and use one’s power, then keep it caged and hidden from Abbadon’s keen senses.

Polly burst into her room, making them all turn. She carried an armful of fireflower. “I thought you could hold this.”

“Why?” Hellen asked.

“I’ve heard that in mating ceremonies aboveground, the females carry flowers.” Her eyes flashed with romantic fire. “They are blooming now, but perhaps they will close up as you walk toward Cruen.”

It was in that moment, the innocent mention of Cruen, that Hellen felt her first true pang of regret-laced panic. She had just finished off a third vial of draft a few minutes ago, and her insides were decently cold and her skin held a calming numbness. Her mind, however, seemed to be refusing the draft’s call for oblivion. Images of a dark-eyed, possessive, and caring demon male continued to rise to the surface, and now they were tempting her to run.

“Do you know what you will say?” Polly asked, placing the flowers on Hellen’s bed. “Do you know your promises?”

“Yes,” Hellen nearly whispered.
To take one mate for life. To give my body, my soul, and my mind. To bring forth the first child of Earth and Hell.

And perhaps the most important promise of all,
Hellen thought as she secured the last button on her mother’s gown with shaking hands.
Protect your sisters from the fate you must endure
.

A sudden and sweet giggle punctuated the air. “Do you think the demon will be watching?” Levia asked.

Hellen froze, her back to her sisters. She wouldn’t have them see her face, her eyes. No matter how much draft ran through her veins, they would be able to see the misery in her eyes as they spoke of Erion.

“What demon?” Polly asked.

“The one who came into the Underworld with Hellen and me.”

“I have not seen this male.”

“He is quite fierce. Isn’t he, Hellen?” She didn’t even wait a beat before continuing. “He is Ladd’s father.”

Polly gasped, and Hellen could practically see her clutching her skirts and hurrying over to her sister for more information. The rustle of silk confirmed it.

“If Ladd’s father is here, why doesn’t Abbadon hand over the boy? Let him go home?”

“Father is punishing him.”

“For what?”

Levia paused. “He is the one who abducted Hellen from the coach.”

“Oh!” she clucked her tongue. “Well, perhaps he deserves punishment. But the boy is innocent. I do not like Father’s choices in punishment. They always involve more than the one doing the wrong, it seems.”

Hellen’s heart squeezed with that truth. Ladd must be freed and safe—Erion too—and she would see to it. No matter how much she wished things could be different.

“He will release them,” Levia said lightly, as if she fully believed it—as if she believed her father merciful. “And when he does, perhaps he will allow me to mate with the male. He is part demon, and I find him fascinating.”

Hellen’s lip curled a fraction, but she caught herself and forced her face to relax.

“The other part of him is vampire, sister.” Polly’s tone held a decided trace of disgust.

Levia giggled. “Yes, think of it. Fangs.”

“I do not wish to think of it,” Polly said indignantly. “I would never find a vampire male pleasing.”

“Well, I’m not opposed to being bitten. Not if the male doing it looks like the demon male. He is more than pleasing.”

Hellen heard a low growl echo throughout the room. For a moment, she thought Erion might be at the door, and her insides battled against the cold draft that fought to repress any and all flashes of heat and excitement. Then, with a heavy heart and a wretched feeling of embarrassment, she realized the predatory, possessive sound had come from her own throat.

Behind her, her sisters had fallen silent. They’d heard her too and were waiting for an explanation. Hellen closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, forcing back the demon that had emerged as her sisters had spoken of Erion. When she finally turned and faced the two curious females, her mask of impassivity was firmly in place.

“I think I’m a little nervous,” she said, granting each of them an apologetic smile. “I’d like a moment alone, if you don’t mind.”

Levia nodded her understanding and grabbed her sister’s hand. “Of course. We’ll meet you at the entrance to the theater. Father wants us to present you to Cruen.”

The Demon King is a true master manipulator. Isn’t he?
she mused.

When her sisters were gone, Hellen went to stand in front of the mirror once again. Levia was right, of course. The dress was hideous and three sizes too big, but, truly, what did it matter? The one she’d worn in the carriage on the first trip to meet Cruen—the trip that had changed everything—had been destroyed. Much like her hope for a future that didn’t involve thinking about the true male she wanted while she continually feigned surprise at her body’s inability to produce an heir.

She grabbed the hair band that kept her curls contained on top of her head and yanked it out. The startling red locks spilled down her shoulders, over her breasts. Despite her hair, she was no beauty. Her eyes were too large and set too far apart, and her nose was too long. Her mouth was strange and wrongly built, with a top lip that was fuller than the bottom. She didn’t understand how Erion saw her as beautiful when no one else did, including herself. Perhaps he wasn’t being sincere, or perhaps he was blind. She smiled at that, seeing him in her mind, and for one brief moment she saw something shift and change in the mirror before her.

It was gone in an instant, much like her smile. But she was certain she’d seen a rosy-cheeked nymphet with a lovely grin and wicked green eyes.

She swallowed and moved closer to the mirror.
Is that it?
she thought, touching the smooth glass.
Am I smiling when he calls me beautiful? And if so, have I truly spent a lifetime with a scowl upon my face?

Her gaze caught something else in the mirror, something that made every wisp of happiness and hope bleed from her expression. The timepiece on the wall behind her. It was time.

Leaving her child’s bedroom behind, Hellen walked out the door. As she traversed the dark corridors like a mole, she recalled the last time she ran the halls. Erion had been beside her, voicing his frustration, his desire. Kissing her. She instantly felt the pressure of heat attempting to penetrate her skin, get into her cold veins, make her remember how it felt to truly desire another being.

Would Erion ever leave her thoughts? Would she have to take double the amount of draft every day to keep the effects of his touch, his taste, his hands on her flesh from reaching her core and her heart?

Her hand ran the length of the damp stone wall as she moved down the tunnel toward her destiny. She’d never thought she’d meet someone like him. Someone who saw her, truly saw her, and wanted her anyway.

If she had . . .

Damn it. She ground her molars. She wasn’t going there. What was done was done, and she would claim her role as a sacrifice with everything she had in her. Her sisters would be saved, so would Ladd, so would Erion—and her father’s black soul and nonexistent heart wouldn’t stretch any further into the future, but end with her generation.

Her thoughts had carried her not just away in her mind, but to a detour on foot. The theater, where she would give herself to Cruen, was in the north section of the compound. Where she stood now was decidedly east and housed the smallest of prisoners. With a glance around to make sure she wasn’t seen, Hellen slipped through the door and went straight up to the glass.

The
balas
, Ladd, was playing with two puppies her sisters had magically conjured for him. He was laughing wildly as they licked his face and tried to seize his toys. Hellen couldn’t help but smile at her sisters’ manufactured play. They were truly doting on him, teaching him all their favorite tricks and games, making him feel welcome in a most unwelcome circumstance. She leaned closer, trying to scent him, then shook her head at her stupidity.

Erion’s child.

He was so beautiful, his features striking like his father’s. No doubt he would grow like Erion too, tall and broad, fierce and loving.

The last thought made her stomach clench with pain. And in that moment, the boy chose to glance up. When he caught sight of her, his wild, playful expression turned sweet and knowing. Hellen didn’t understand this strange connection he seemed to have with her or the urge inside her to break down the glass and steal him away and hold him in her arms. But his life, her sisters’, Erion’s too—they all depended on her walking out of this room, out of Ladd’s life and his father’s, forever.

And so she did. Out the door, into the corridor, and down the hall, dressed in her unattractive mating gown, her hands absent of the flowers her sister had brought her—the fireflower she hoped had closed and released its scent. The fireflower she hoped was dead by the time she returned to get her things and travel home aboveground with her new mate.

•   •   •

The power he had received from Abbadon still soared impressively through his veins.

Cruen stood in the living area of his shacklike hideout, the one located on the grounds of the Long Island
credenti
, and gazed up at the portrait of Celestine. Her belly heavy with their
balas
. Once this dirty business with the demon female was done, and the king had his heir, Cruen could finally have both the power he needed and the female he desired.

His eyes roamed over her. He could finally share their daughter’s existence with the mother who believed she’d died upon birth. Cellie would be angry with him at first. But he would help her to understand how important it had been to hide the
balas
, protect the
balas
.

The faint call of the Demon King reached his ears. It wasn’t the only one. Raine had been trying to get him to respond for hours. The
mutore
was really getting on his nerves, and if he continued to be such a grand nuisance, Cruen might need to clean house.

With a single thought, Cruen flashed straight into Hell. His feet touched down almost angelically upon the black ash outside the compound and inhaled the foul scent that always permeated the still air in the Underworld. He wanted this over and done. Perhaps he would be lucky enough to have his seed take root the first time around, and he would never have to mount the demon again. Perhaps he would think about Abbadon’s suggestion of Erion taking her on. It would clear the path for him to bring Cellie home to live in his house and sleep in his bed full-time.

He entered the compound and walked the hall. His son was here already, waiting to see the
paven
he now despised mate with the female he found himself desiring.

Cruen’s lip curled. It was a simple exchange of power—nothing more. He shouldn’t care about Erion’s feelings in this matter, but there was something deep inside him that did.

A sudden movement to his left had Cruen halting midstride and searching the corridor and shadowed curves in the stone for its origin.

He saw nothing.

Scented nothing.

He was about to continue in the direction of the theater, where his mating would be received by the citizens of Hell, when several yards up, he saw a female turn to look at him, then rush off. At first, Cruen thought it was one of Abbadon’s other daughters, as both were far better-looking than the plain virgin he was to mate. But as he continued toward the theater, he realized who he’d just seen.

A blip of apprehension gnawed at his mind.

It had to be a mistake.

It was an impossibility for anyone who didn’t possess demon blood to get into Hell, and Cruen knew firsthand that Nicholas Roman’s true mate, the one who had stood before him at the table of the Order, once a captive in Mondrar, held absolutely no demon blood.

No. He had not just seen Prisoner 626, Kate Everborne, in Hell.

•   •   •

His need for blood was impossible to deny.

Erion hadn’t fed in twenty-four hours, and the sting in his belly, the hum in his veins, worked with the unbridled rage inside his mind and muscles to create the perfect recipe for murder.

Still seated in the first-row balcony on the plush bench overlooking the stage, Erion watched as the room filled with spectators. Some appeared almost human in their dress and facial features, but most were decidedly demon. Eyes that glowed jewel-colored fire; skin in various hues. His eyes closed for a moment and he inhaled.
Yes,
he thought on a sigh of wondrous melancholy,
I know that scent.
His cells recognized that scent. It was kin, where the demon side of him had originated.