Immanuel's Veins (32 page)

It was all the hesitation I needed. I ran while twisted halfway around, keeping the stakes pointed in their direction.

“Stop him,” Stefan growled.

Something slammed into my shoulder as I rounded the corner, knocking one of the stakes to the ground. Pain flared up my neck.

Then I ran pell-mell for the first door that led to the tunnels. Only the stake saved my life, I'm sure of it. Perhaps without the distraction of the smoke they would have gotten to me already. As it was, I made it through the first door and raced for the second.

I flew down the stairs into the long tunnel, expecting to feel claws or teeth in my back at any moment. I kept my eyes on that glow of the study because I knew that my salvation waited there.

Three strides from the gate, something struck me again, knocking the other stake from my grip. They were taking their time, I thought, knowing they could pick me apart at their choosing.

I spun into the study, plucked the flaming torch from the wall, and spun to face them. Three appeared in rapid succession.

I held the fire toward them and backed to the door I'd soaked with oil. They stepped in carefully. I wasn't sure why I assumed they would fear fire, but now I had no doubt they did. Thomas had said water terrified them, but I saw more fear in their eyes at the sight of fire. Then again, I hadn't confronted them with holy water.

Without removing my eyes from theirs, I touched the torch to the ground. A ring of fire swooshed around and then behind them. But the flames weren't large enough to stop them from exiting through the gate. Only enough to give them pause.

I shoved the door behind me open, dropped the torch on the ground, and slammed the door shut on them. I could hear the rush of flame exploding up the oil-soaked wood. With any luck, it would be enough to hold them back.

However great the cost, I had managed to do what I planned with respect to the Russians. I prayed they would interpret me as the jealous lover who had come to exact some revenge before fleeing for his life. Now their hands were full with my distraction. They surely would employ all means to extinguish the blazes.

I turned my back on the door and ran out into the heavy rain, uncaring now for stealth, only speed.

My trap had been set and sprung, but the night had only just begun.

THIRTY-THREE

Y
ou must know your place, my queen.” Vlad spoke in a low rumble that shook Lucine's bones. She felt both dread and wonder in his presence. “You must know that I have made you and that your flesh sees only my flesh.”

They were in the ceremonial room at the base of the tower, a space reserved primarily for the rituals that marked the changing of powers, such as a wedding or a death of any half-breed. There was no throne, as one might expect, but a slate table with candlesticks rising on each end. The candles lit a large circular carving in the wall behind, the image of a crucifix with three curled talons reaching down from above, piercing the middle where the members crossed. Blood, real blood as far as she could tell, seeped from the puncture wounds, glistening in long trails to the base of the carving, where they seeped into a large stone basin. One might easily mistake the throne room for a dungeon rather than a place of such esteem.

The rest of the floor was unfurnished. Oil lamps ran along roughly hewn walls softened by long red velvet drapes that framed the lamps. She stood at the center of a large black circle etched into the marble floor, dressed in a thin white cotton gown that hung to her knees like a scant whisper. At Vlad's command, Natasha and Sofia bore witness from their places at one end of the circle.

Vlad walked around her, arms behind his back, black boots clacking slowly on the marble. His eyes swiveled to Sofia and Natasha. “Your sister should watch and know that her fate would be much worse if she ever broke our covenant.”

What was he saying?

“Sofia should watch and know that I see the fracture in her heart already. Hell will not contain her pain.”

Lucine blinked, frightened by the harsh words. Yet they were appropriate, weren't they? If Natasha or Sofia broke their covenant with Vlad, they should pay whatever price he demanded. He was their lord and master.

He stopped in front of her and smiled. Brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Tonight we will be wed and the world will not contain my joy. The coven will gather, and you will lie on the altar. I will deliver you into hell, and you will become a half-breed, fully fleshed and fully dead. Together we will reign over these living. What do you make of that?”

“It is my honor, my lord.”

“It is. But you must also know your duty. You must know that I may do with you as I please. That your very existence now depends solely on me. If I would drain you of blood and leave you as ash, I will do so. If I would send you to my master to be used for his pleasure, you would run to him. You will have great power in your flesh, but it is mine, never forget that.”

It sounded both terrifying and beautiful. Lucine knew that she had changed, but the specifics of that change seemed to fade with each passing hour. Glimpses of her prior self flashed through her mind but vanished so quickly that she couldn't dwell on them. She only knew they were there, not what they meant. Like knowing that the devil lived but not what his purpose was. Or that God was in heaven but not what he did up there.

“Yes?” Vlad prompted.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You must know that you are already dead. That your flesh is meat. Even your beauty is mine. All of it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And you will love me always, like an innocent child loves even a brutal father.”

“I will.”

“Yes, you will.”

Vlad was smiling one moment, then his face twisted with rage. He drew back his arm and slashed at her with a grunt. His claw slammed into her face, spinning her around and off her feet. She landed on her left shoulder and felt her head crack against the floor.

Her world went dark and was filled with screaming. Her own, she thought. She clawed at the darkness above her, then was jerked upright.

“Now look at you, you whore.”

Her master was speaking. He was telling her what he wanted from her, and she would do it without question, because not to meant more of that screaming. Anything but that screaming.

Orange light flickered into view. She saw that she was standing again, held up by Vlad, who gripped the back of her gown. Without thinking, she lifted a weak arm and felt her face.

It was not normal. Lumpy. Fleshy. And wet with blood. She could only see out of one eye. She thought maybe other parts of her face might be missing.

Lucine began to cry.

“You aren't so beautiful now, Lucine. And if I took Natasha's head off, I would expect you to smile still.”

But she couldn't respond. Her throat was choked off with her own cry. She could hear the soft cry of Natasha behind her, sniffing.

“Shh, shh, shh, now come, darling. Come.” He drew her to his breast and she leaned into him.

“Shh, shh, shh. You'll be beautiful for our wedding.”

Then he dipped her in an embrace, bit his lip firmly, and let his blood dribble onto her face.

Lucine felt the numbing change immediately. Felt her face tingle and shift. Soft popping as flesh joined flesh and bone connected to bone.

Vlad licked her face gently, then wiped the excess blood off with his palm. In that moment she loved him more than she had at any previous moment.

“See? All pretty again. It is my flesh to do with as I please. You should never cry again. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“And who am I?”

“My lord and master.”

“And am I Natasha's lord and master?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” He released her, walked over to Natasha, and slit her throat with his nails. Blood spilled down her dress. Her eyes went wide and she tried to speak, but her larynx was severed.

She collapsed in a heap.

“Leave her.”

He would heal her, of course. Lucine felt her hands shaking with the horror of this sight, but she knew that he would heal her and they would dance together again.

Sofia's eyes were misty.

Why, if she knew that this was all just a test? A rite of passage. The becoming of a queen.

Vlad returned to Lucine, wearing a smile. “Not to worry, darling. She will see our wedding from a very unique vantage. Yes?”

“Yes,” she said, but it came out like a croak.

“Do you love me?”

“I love you, my lord.”

A fist pounded on the door.

“Not now!” Vlad thundered.

“There is a fire, sir!”

He hesitated.

“Where?”

“In the tunnels.”

Lucine saw the flicker in his eyes, the momentary shock. Nothing more.

“Sofia, take Lucine to my tower. Now.”

She was instantly by Lucine's side.

“Both of you, remember what you have seen tonight.”

“What about Natasha?” Lucine asked.

He searched her eyes. Offered a compassionate smile and kissed her forehead. “I will take care of her later.”

And then he was gone.

THIRTY-FOUR

T
ime was against me. From the beginning my plan had been to distract them sufficiently with fire to draw Vlad van Valerik's attention. I had not intended to leave with such a loss. Though my slaying of Alek would undoubtedly help convince them that my purpose was retaliation, not rescue, his death rode me like a monster.

Still, I had to bear down and use what means lay at my disposal to find Lucine and get her out before the fire was put out and matters sorted.

I ran around the castle, drenched. The fortress was bordered by a stone sidewalk, and the pounding washed away my footprints as quickly as they were made.

I already knew precisely where I would scale the wall. The lowest section that ran into the tower was midpoint on the western side. I withdrew the rope, shoved the bag into my belt so as to leave no evidence of my passing, and stared up at the lip of the wall, only twenty to twenty-five feet here.

Still, it took me four casts to lodge the hook firmly enough to chance a climb. The wet wall compromised my footing, but I managed to scale most of the way before teetering on a fall. I lunged up and grasped the ledge with one hand, swung free for a moment, then grabbed that same ledge with my other hand.

Without the full benefit of fear, I might not have thrown myself over the wall so easily—scaling wet walls is difficult business without the proper leverage. I quickly hauled the rope up and left it ready to be thrown back down.

The top of the wall was not even two feet wide, and I ran it with far too much abandon. Thinking back now I realize how easily I could have missed my step in the rain and plummeted to a nasty end. But my mind was now swallowed with the tower just ahead and that window within easy reach of a higher ledge.

If Lucine was not in the tower I would . . . Honestly, I might have been tempted to throw myself to the ground.

Only when I was there, on the ledge at the window, did I realize that it was sealed. A curtain hid the room beyond. I would have to break the glass and risk drawing attention. I saw no alternative other than retreat, which was tantamount to death.

So I wrapped my pistol in the leather bag and slammed the butt against the glass. The window shattered inward. Thankfully there was no wind to blow the rain in. With visions of Vlad or one of his subjects pushing me back while I was only halfway through, I slapped the leather bag on the windowsill and threw myself into the tower, uncaring of what lay beyond.

Thinking back now, I realize how disastrous that leap would have been if I'd entered an open stairway and fallen to my death. Evidently God hadn't abandoned me when I'd killed Alek. I landed on a hard floor and rolled into a ball, tearing the curtain down with me. It took me a few seconds of frantic motion to untangle myself from that cloth and get to my feet.

A bedroom. Not just any bedroom, mind you. A magnificently appointed chamber with a huge canopied bed and velvet drapes all around. Outrage overtook my good senses, and I blotted out any imagination of what that beast might have done to her in this chamber.

Thunder shook the tower.

I stood shaking and dripping on a large bearskin rug, knowing that even this hesitation worked against me. But I was suddenly afraid of what I might find if Lucine was indeed in the next room.

I could not take any time to deliberate. So I strode to the door and shoved it open.

Lucine stood in the middle of the room before a full-length mirror as none other than Sofia attended to her. She wore a white gown, reddened around the neck by what appeared to be blood, though I could see no blood on her flesh.

Her hair was long and dark as I remembered it, but her skin . . .

Her skin was a translucent white. Her lips were pale. Her eyes were dark. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. I could not move. Of course, Lucine could have had unwashed, knotted hair with bugs crawling in it and I would have undoubtedly felt the same.

They both looked over at me and gasped when my frame filled the entry. Here were the two women most immediately in my life. But the only one I had eyes for was Lucine.

I stood rooted in the doorway, overwhelmed by her presence after so much conjecture and longing on my part. There she was, standing like a ghost, but I saw only an angel.

“Toma?”

Her voice was frail. Her dark eyes round. Her lips pale, parted with surprise. She had said my name. Not with malice or any side of disparagement. Just
Toma
. And I heard it as the voice of one calling to me in the wilderness, begging me to come to her if only so that she could know that I was real, not just the lover in her dreams.

I stepped into the room and stopped. “Yes?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I . . .” Words failed me.

“How did you get in?”

Sofia stepped to one side, glancing at the door behind her.