Immanuel's Veins (25 page)

“I don't care about your punishment! I want only to take Lucine out of his hand. I have made my oath to the empress!”

“So I hear.” He accepted some tea from Kesia. No one else was in the room that I could see. “I also hear that you are quite taken with Lucine.”

I could not deny it after my full confession to Kesia. “My heart has taken an unexpected turn, yes.”

“Against the order of our empress, no less.”

I stood, face hot. “I am here to fulfill my charge. How dare you suggest I stand in compromise to the one I serve?”

He took a sip of that steaming tea, showing no sign of hurry whatsoever. “How do you suppose your heart was so taken against orders?”

“It doesn't matter. She is in trouble.”

“So you say. And the punishment for the cause of this trouble, assuming there is witchcraft involved, is burning. You're demanding that we burn the duke, Vlad van Valerik, because you have fallen in love with the woman who has granted him the right to court.”

“That's absurd!”

“Sit!” he snapped.

We faced off, he seated, I standing, and I saw that if I wanted any chance at his help, I must show my respect. So again, I sat.

“Forgive me,” I said. “This is a highly unusual situation for me.”

His dark eyes showed no relief at or acceptance of my apology.

“You have said some things of terrible concern to any man of God, sir. There can only be three explanations as I see it.”

The lady Kesia was not her jovial self but fixed and distant. Something was not right here. I could see that they'd met and come to some understanding. They weren't going to help me.

The bishop continued. “The first is that you are mistaken. That whatever you saw was innocent. An expression of simple passion common among those of considerable means.”

“No, I know what I saw.”

“The second is that you saw unspeakable wickedness on the part of the duke and that he and his retinue are the handiwork of the devil.” He crossed himself. “May God forgive my words.”

“I can only say what I saw,” I said.

“A most heinous accusation that would rip through the royal court and affect the empress herself.”

I had not considered this.

“And the third?” I asked.

A blunt object pressed against the back of my skull. Immediately I knew—this was a pistol. I was being detained. My muscles started and I very nearly spun and slapped the weapon away, as I would have had I been among enemies. But I was with a bishop and in the service of Her Majesty to protect this household. So I remained perfectly still.

The bishop's eyes didn't move from mine.

“The third is that
you
have been infected with evil, Toma Nicolescu. And I would not move. He has orders to shoot if you do; all the exits are covered.”

The full scope of their treachery swarmed me. I considered my alternatives and decided immediately that my chances for any escape would be better later, if indeed I chose to make that attempt.

My voice was rough, cut with fury. “This is an outrage.”

“It is not uncommon for the ungodly to be bewitched without their knowledge. You have spoken knowledge that puts me in a difficult position. Either you or the duke seems to have slipped into the devil's claws. I can't burn another man, much less a royal, on the word of one whose head and heart are suspect.”

There it was. I had not foreseen this possibility because I was so ignorant in the ways of the church. If I'd known better, I might have taken the bishop by force the night before and hauled him up to the castle to see for himself!

I looked at Kesia. “Madam, I beg you. You have to consider what I'm saying. I was there. I drank the blood! What else explains Natasha's and Alek's behavior? You saw them!”

“You drank blood,” the bishop said. “And now you speak of tales that only a man who's visited hell itself could speak of!”

“Then cast that hell out of me and let's be on with it!”

“We will try.”

“Then try.”

“In time.”

“We don't have time! Madam, your daughters are becoming something they were not. I beg you to let me do what I was born to do here.”

“And what is that, Toma? To love and bewitch Lucine?”

I could see only red then. These fools were actually thinking that I was the devil, while the one we all loved was trapped in the real villain's cage.

That pistol was still against my head. Two soldiers dressed in the gray of the local militia stepped around the sofa bearing shackles. I, a hero of all Russia who had the authority of the empress, was put in shackles by a bishop.

“This is a mistake! I have a higher authority.”

“And I have the authority of God,” the bishop said. “Restrain him!”

They pulled me to my feet and clamped the shackles to my wrists. However much I wanted to resist, I knew it would only earn me a bullet in the back, for there wasn't just one pistol trained on me, but three. And I had no weapon.

“Take him to our dungeon in Crysk,” the bishop ordered, turning away from us all.

Crysk! “No, hold me here while you explore the Castle Castile. I swear you will return and release me!”

“These things take time,” the man said without turning. “An invitation will be sent to the duke. He will be given ample opportunity to explain any misunderstandings.”

“An invitation? Of course he'll say what he needs to say, you fool!”

“He will say what he should say!” the man snapped, whirling back. “He is a Christian!”

Then he marched out of the room.

I should have felt humiliated, but I was too terrified for Lucine to worry about my standing.

“Madam, I swear you are making a choice that will undo your entire fortune if your daughters are in high value,” I rasped. “You can still undo this!”

A flash of concern lit Kesia's eyes, but she only turned away. “You are out of your league, Toma.” Then she too left the room.

I was hauled unceremoniously into a cart used to carry common drunks, then chained to a steel ring in the back. No amount of resistance or argument would help me now. I was headed south, toward Crysk, away from the Cantemir estate, away from the Castle Castile.

Away from Lucine.

TWENTY-SIX

L
ight streamed through drawn drapes when the black sleep first retreated from Lucine's mind like tar melting off a skull under a hot sun. So deep was her dream that she could remember nothing of it. She was hardly even aware of her own existence, only that she was waking. Layers of death were fading. She was being born. A butterfly emerging from a cocoon.

And still her eyelids felt as if they were made of lead.

She became aware of a cool breeze drifting across her body. The scent of earth after a hard rain was carried on that breeze. And beyond that, the smell of roses and pine needles. Cool water ran through a mountain brook, gurgling over mossy rocks—she could hear it. A horse whinnied; a laugh echoed softly from far away.

Her eyes opened briefly then closed against the bright light. They slowly opened again. She lay on her back with her hands clasped over her belly, facing the white silk draped over a canopy bed. Vlad van Valerik's bed.

She was alone. Her muscles and bones felt heavy, like stone, but her senses were screaming with vitality. Prisms of red and green shone where the light struck the golden bands fashioned around the bedposts. A candle scented with vanilla burned somewhere.

Memories from last night drifted into her mind. Vlad, the dinner, the blood. His bite. She was to be his bride.

Lucine blinked and moved her fingers. Her hands. Then lifted one arm up so that she could see it. The pain she'd suffered was gone. Flakes spotted her arms, like a snake's dead coat. But beneath lay a new, beautiful layer of white skin.

She sat up, expecting her rising to be sluggish. Instead she rose effortlessly, as if her upper torso had lost all of its weight during the night. A burgundy bedspread hugged her body, neatly folded at her breasts. She absently rubbed her arms. The dead flakes fell away leaving skin so pale that it appeared translucent in some places.

She gently pulled the bedding away from her naked body. The sheets were covered with the white flakes, and much more hung to her flesh, so delicately that most of it fell away when she moved. She'd been changed.

She wasn't sure what to make of that.

A strong scent that might be blood or sweat or bile tickled her nostrils, and she looked up to see Vlad in the doorway, watching her. She could smell him.

“You are beautiful, my darling.”

Lucine opened her mouth to speak, felt the cracking of her lips. She touched her tongue to her lower lip and tasted the dried blood. The pain from his bite was gone.

“Beautiful,” he said, approaching.

Vlad was dressed in black as was his custom—a long cloak and black trousers. A white shirt beneath a leather vest with brass buttons. His collar was loose and hung open, revealing his white chest, marked by blue veins just below the surface.

She vaguely remembered that he had beaten her in the night. But the memory seemed distant now, obscured by the explosion of sensations that throbbed through her mind.

He leaned over her, and the smell of his breath came as a quickening stench that could be flowers or dank mud, she couldn't decide.

His mouth lowered to hers and he licked her lips with the tip of his tongue. “I own you now, my bride.”

Fear sliced through her mind. Then was gone. Her breathing thickened. Vlad straightened and paced. For a moment that stretched for a long while, he kept looking at her. She didn't know what to say. What to ask.

“On the third night we will be wed, here in the castle,” he said. “Does this excite you?”

“I . . .”

She didn't know.

“No, you're too confused still,” he bit off. “But you will. I will make you crave me for the pain it will save you. The castle will be yours. More power and love than you could have hoped for, here under my rule. A queen. My bride.” He paced. “Say something.”

She really didn't know what to say. She only wanted to bathe and see what had happened to her body. She wanted to leave this room. She wanted to find her mother. She wanted to drink and soothe her parched throat.

But she must say something.

“What happened to me?”

He smiled, but reluctantly, she thought. Sitting on the bed, he ran his long fingers down her leg, clearing the flakes as a twig might clear ash from a marble statue.

“I have given you my blood. Some might call it a disease; I call it life. My kind are ancient and we live a very long time, hundreds of years or more, depending on the purity of the blood. I am the last half-breed. There is only one full breed, called Alucard, who could make half-breeds, naturally, but he chooses not to for now. There are thousands of lessers in numerous secret covens. The others take many mates, but half-breeds take only one.”

His hand traced her side up to her shoulder and neck. “You, my darling, are to be the bride of a half-breed. My blood is very powerful. The transformation you've seen already would normally take days and would never progress to this state. You will be very special, Lucine.”

“I will?” Her voice was raspy.

“They will be in awe of you.”

“I'm . . .” Her mind spun with all of this talk. The thought at once terrified and fascinated her.

“Don't stammer, it's unbecoming.”

“I'm a half-breed?”

“A little blood doesn't give you that lofty status. Don't be ridiculous. You're the carrier of the half-breed's blood. Made by me. I offered you my blood and you took it gladly. I am your serpent and you are my Eve. And in our world, my darling, that is a very beautiful thing.”

“But that doesn't tell me what I am,” she said, gaining her voice. She looked at her white forearm. “What is this disease that you gave me? Am I . . . Can I be rid of it?”

“Rid of it? You've only just been born into it. My love for you knows no bounds! I have given you a gift that every woman alive would willingly die for. And you would throw that away for what?”

“I don't know.” She felt the pressure of tears build behind her eyes. “I'm just frightened, Vlad.”

For a moment he appeared angry by her confession. But then a comforting smile pulled his mouth into a shallow show of empathy. “Only because you don't understand yet, poor darling. You've given up the life you knew, so yes, it must be terrifying. But I have given you the world, you'll see that.”

“Am I dead?”

“Heavens no,” he scoffed. “Then you'd be in hell, now wouldn't you? You're alive, and with my blood will remain alive for longer than most. You will thirst for more blood; it is our drug. All other food is only for simple pleasure and growth. But the drug is what keeps us strong. Wicked! Full of love and passion.”

He looked so powerful hovering over her. Like a god, and she his prey. She looked at his parted lips, recalling the way he'd kissed her the night before. His white teeth were hidden.

“They will come for you, my bride. My enemy will try to steal you. It's his way. He will try to make you fear me.” He gently ran his thumb along her cheek. “And then I would be unable to control my rage. You haven't seen anger here, because we are full of love. But it could not stop me from destroying your family. We would ruin this earth!”

She was unnerved by the confusion she felt when he spoke. “Please don't talk that way,” Lucine said.

“In time you'll understand the full weight of my power. But first, come.”

He lifted her hand and she swung her feet to the floor, then stood. Her toes tingled.

“Dance with me!” He snapped his fingers and a fiddle started up, far away, but she could hear it perfectly clear, as if it were playing in her ear.

Vlad slid one hand around her waist and swung her around. Flakes spun off her skin like dandelion seeds scattered by a puff of breath. She felt as agile and energetic as a gazelle.