Immanuel's Veins (15 page)

Thoughts of the church and monasteries flooded my mind. But surely, Vlad van Valerik was no monk.

“What is this?” I asked.

Sofia came up behind me. “Later,” she whispered. “Hurry. It's just a painting.” She guided me by my arm and pushed open the door at the back of the library.

Inside, a heavily draped room filled with smoke and incense. Orange flames lapped at the oily air and cast shifting light over a round table at the center.

There lounged four Russians, three on armed chairs around the table, and the forth on a green couch that faced a fireplace. I could see only her shoulders and head. I recognized only one man, Simion, from the dinner party at the Cantemir estate. No sign of Alek. They talked in low tones, chuckling, fingers toying with brass goblets.

Their dark eyes turned lazily to us. I would ask about those dark eyes. Why did they all have the same here, and why did their eyes look golden in different light, as I'd seen at the Cantemir estate?

“Hello, Dasha,” Sofia said. “I've brought my lover.”

It wasn't my place to object here.

Conversation stalled. The woman on the couch faced us. I was staring at Sofia's sister, and I could see the resemblance. Older, I guessed. Her eyes bored into mine, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Hello, beautiful Toma
.

This from her, clearly in my mind. How it was possible I could neither guess nor dwell upon.

You are mine, Toma
.

This from Sofia. Or perhaps all of it was only in my mind, bent as I was by this strange castle. I had heard Lucine calling to me a hundred times these last few days. But not like this, not so vividly like a voice in my head. Evidently only these sisters and others like them had that ability.

Let us see you, beautiful man. Take your shirt off for us
. This from Dasha.

Her eyes went to Sofia. “So nice of you to join us, Sister,” she said. “You've come to play?”

“No,” I said. “I'm here for my man Alek.”

A man, until now hidden by the stuffed green back of the sofa, pushed himself up. Alek. His hair was tangled and his eyes were wide, still blue by the light. He wore a white shirt half undone and slacks. No jacket.

“Toma?”

He tried to get to his feet, but the woman had to move first. He clambered up and faced me, smiling like a delighted child.

“You've come!”

Alek leaped over the couch and hurried up to me. He gave me a tight hug—something he'd only done once, while weeping at the loss of our friend Johan on a battlefield in Turkey—then stepped back. “You've come, my friend.”

“What is the meaning here?”

“Love, my friend. Decadence. And revelry!” His face suddenly flattened and he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Is there a problem at the estate?”

“Yes, Alek. There is. The estate is missing you.”

He broke into a grin. “Of course! I am needed.” He turned to the others. “I am loved and dearly missed. What did I tell you? Everywhere I go they desperately need Alek!”

“As do I, lover,” Dasha cooed, standing now. She wore a short red dress that clung to her form and covered only her upper thighs. No stockings or shoes. Rounding the couch she walked up to Alek, snaked her arms around his waist, and gazed up at him. “As do I.”

They both looked at me wearing dumb grins.

“You want to take him from me?” Dasha asked.

I hesitated. Truthfully, they looked so contented that I didn't feel as compelled as I had only minutes ago. This was surely because of my own state of mind, having for so many days now been in a state of love itself.

I envied Alek for the lover who craved him.

“Alek, this is not why we are here,” I said.

He blinked, then loosed himself from her arms and led me into the corner. He spoke in a low voice, turned away from the others.

“No, you're wrong, Toma. All is well at the estate, yes?”

“Yes. But—”

“And half of our charge is here, not there.”

Natasha.

“We will take Natasha with us,” I said.

“No, my friend, you will not. She has a mind of her own. She follows her own heart, and that heart is here. She will return in the morning as she wishes.”

“And your heart, Alek? I see it's here as well.”

He looked over his shoulder and smiled at his lover. “Yes, well, there is that. But I am fully aware of how critical my charge is, and I insist on fulfilling my duty to keep a watchful eye on Natasha.”

However twisted his motivations, he made perfect sense. And he was right. Forcing Natasha back to the estate would be unacceptable protocol.

“Quite convenient,” I said.

“Quite,” he agreed.

And there it was.

“So you do see a danger here, then?” I asked.

“No, not at all. At first I thought so, but then I realized that however different this coven is, they are only lovers, not fighters, and they will consume only what is given. What better virtue in love can there be? I can assure you, there is no danger here, not even a drop.”

“Why do they have dark eyes? Why can I hear their voices? How can Natasha move like a tumbler at a circus? None of this bothers you?”

“They have dark eyes because of their diet. You can't hear their voices; you only interpret what you want to hear because they call to your heart. And I haven't seen Natasha move like a performer, so that is new to me.”

He gripped both of my shoulders and spoke in an earnest whisper, eyes bright. “The power of love in these halls is fantastic, Toma. These Russians have found an elixir of sensuality and passion that cannot be found in all the world, I tell you. You must stay for a while. If you stay and are bothered, then leave.”

I was now drawn, I cannot lie. And Alek took my hesitation as answer enough.

He put his arm around my shoulders and turned me back to the group. “My friends, I give you Toma Nicolescu, slayer of wicked infidels, hero of Russia, servant of Her Majesty, Catherine the Great, friend to us all!”

THIRTEEN

T
he moon was high and bright when Lucine rounded the bend that first offered her sight of the Castle Castile, and she pulled the mare up, stunned by the sheer scope of the behemoth across the valley. What was she thinking, coming up here alone?

But she wasn't alone. Natasha was up there. And Alek. And Toma, the ferocious warrior who would throw himself over a hole in the road if it would save her life, surely. Mother had made her claims of Toma's lack of interest in her, but if nothing else, he was indeed loyal to the bone and sworn to protect her. Staring up at the monolithic structure illuminated by moonlight, she felt drawn to that loyalty.

To Toma.

This is what she told herself as she headed on. Now that Mother had thrown down the gauntlet, casting Toma in such a negative light next to the duke, her mind had more deeply explored her own opinion of the warrior.

She'd toyed with him in her own way, even that first night when she mistook his loyalty for attraction. Why? Why had she flirted with him at all? She had, hadn't she, if only a little? Then why?

The answer was simple: she longed to be loved. Was that so careless? Who did not long to be loved?

As she rushed up the mountain, her mind searched back through each time they'd been together. The looks, the words, the kiss she'd given him on his chin. The kinds of things Natasha did by rote as a way to test or maintain opportunity.

Did this mean she was taken by him? No, because he had made it clear that he would not be interested in her beyond his charge. But what if he
did
love her?

The thought made her heart quicken, which surprised her. And it made her even more eager to dismiss Vlad van Valerik, regardless of Mother's demands.

She recognized Toma's stallion and she tied her mare off next to it. How long had he been here? What if harm had come to him?

What if they had fallen on him and her sister and killed both of them?

She went up the stone stairs with a tremble in her legs, thinking she would be wiser by far to flee back to her horse and fly down the mountain. But Natasha was here, and not for the first time . . .

The door opening when she was only halfway up the stairs interrupted her thoughts. A young man dressed in a frock stepped out and looked down at her.

“Are you a party pooper as well, then?”

She opened her mouth but didn't know what to say.

“Well, get out of the cold if you must. He's waiting for you.”

“Who is? I'm sorry, I . . .” Words were flowing like tar.

“You are Lucine Cantemir?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“I am called Johannes. Then get yourself up here quickly. You're expected. But I must insist on one thing. Yes?”

She climbed the stairs, still at a loss. She was expected? They'd seen her as she approached, of course.

“Yes?” the man asked again.

“Yes.”

“You must not spoil any fun like the last one. You must play with us and play our games.”

She climbed the last step. “Is Toma Nicolescu here?”

“My, he didn't tell me how beautiful you are.” Johannes reached out and touched her dark hair. “An exquisite creature. So many will like you.”

“Please, sir. I'm not your toy to play with. I demand to be taken to Toma, the warrior who rides that black stallion down there.”

“Demands. Always demands. If he hadn't sent me to collect you, I might leave you out here in the cold, because I can tell you're not going to play nice.”

“Then take me to the duke. Immediately.”

His right brow arched over a dark eye. “So very demanding. As you insist, then. Follow me.”

The Russian led her into the castle through a set of inner doors that opened to a grand hall with a large domed ceiling. The room was lit by a hundred candles, at least, but it was vacant.

“This way. Come, come. And there's no need to waste the journey to the tower, it will take us a few minutes and we could at least have some fun with words.”

The initial threat she'd felt by the oddity of this man was fading, replaced by the realization that he was indeed only wanting to play, as he called it. As if he were a puppy sent to fetch her to the master.

“No?”

“I don't think so,” she said. “No.”

“Party pooper, then.” She had no idea what that meant and didn't care to ask.

The Russian led her through a dining room, then up stairs that circled a full rotation before landing at a richly appointed atrium.

The duke's wealth was apparent everywhere, from the original oil paintings to what were surely antiquities on shelves along the walls. The large brass chandelier alone might fetch a year's wage or more. Perhaps much more.

Royalty. Wealth beyond comprehension. The power to buy and sell countries and women. She found it all vaguely revolting.

Her host made a great show of presenting her to the door, bowing deeply and sweeping his arm out in dramatic fashion. “The duke awaits, madam.”

Despite the circumstance, she felt no threat from the man, only good nature. She could resist her revulsion.

“Thank you.” With a slight curtsey. Then she immediately chastised herself and stepped up to the door. Before she could reach the handle, her host bounded up.

“Allow me.” He gave the door a little shove.

Lucine walked into a small, lavishly appointed library, built in the round. No sign of the duke Vlad van Valerik. The door shut behind her and she spun, startled.

Nothing. The tower, as Johannes had called it, was lined with finely crafted wood. The smell suggested it was cedar. More paintings here, each illuminated with its own pair of candles, old portraits gleaming by the flickering light.

“Welcome.”

She started and whirled. The duke was seated at a desk that had only moments earlier been unoccupied. He leaned back and eyed her for a long moment, then spread his arms wide.

“Welcome to my home, Lucine Cantemir. I am so delighted you chose to accept my invitation.”

“I didn't,” she said.

“But you are here.” He stood. She'd forgotten how tall he was, a lean form perfectly fitted in black.

“I came to find my sister.”

“Then you shall.”

The duke stepped around the desk and walked to the center of the room. “My home is your home.”

“I have my own home.”

Valerik smiled. “And a beautiful home it is.” He scanned the walls of his library, then walked to a bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes. He ran his fingers along a row of spines, brushing them delicately.

“Did your mother tell you who I am?”

“She did. And I must tell you that it's of no concern to me. I appreciate your interest, but I'm not of a mind to be courted by anyone not of my choosing, regardless of their status. I would like you to dismiss me and never consider me again.”

“
Appreciate
is such a weak word, Lucine. Does my attention flatter you?”

She thought about the difference between the words. “No, I don't think it does.”

Valerik faced her and his eyes showed not a hint of discouragement. She wasn't doing this well enough.

“The realization that I can give you whatever you desire, be it wealth or servants or property or power to rule, doesn't interest you?”

“No, not really.”

“Then only a little. And that's what I find irresistible about you. You aren't a woman who rules her world. You are not easily beguiled by the first serpent who comes along. You are the daughter of Eve, pure and lovely, searching for that perfect Adam.”

An interesting choice of metaphor, she thought.

“Then you will understand why I have no interest in this serpent.”

“Yes. But you are too naive. Your lack of knowledge is your only weakness. I'm the Adam, not the serpent, in your life.”

“Don't be so presumptuous. I know what I need to know, and I know that you're a bewitcher of women. Where are Toma and Alek? I demand to see my sister immediately.”