Prince of Twilight (15 page)

“Yes.” Rhiannon waited, saying no more.

“Would it have worked?”

It
had
worked. Stormy knew that, because the vampires had used it to save the life of Willem Stone. And they'd learned how to recreate the formula, so that he could live as long as any of them. But she hadn't known the Athena group had been involved in any way with that case.

“Stiles is dead now, according to all reports,” Rhiannon said. “So apparently his formula didn't work as he'd hoped.”

Melina nodded slowly, sensing, perhaps, that there was more to the story than what she was being told. Stormy knew instinctively that Rhiannon would never reveal the secret of Willem Stone. And she thought she knew why. The Sisterhood would likely see him as a breach of their precious supernatural order. They might decide to do something about it.

“Why didn't your friends tell me, if they knew Brooke was trying to steal the formula? They must have known that was a betrayal of everything our order stands for.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “You'd have to ask them.”

“Why didn't
you
tell me, Rhiannon?”

She shrugged. “Because I don't trust any of you any more than I trust Brooke,” Rhiannon said. “Besides, does it really matter at this point?”

“What else was in the files?” Stormy asked. “Anything about the ring or the scroll?” She told herself she no longer cared, but she thought a new topic might break some of the tension mounting in the room.

Melina nodded, allowing herself to be distracted for the moment. “Brooke believed that when Elisabeta returned to life, she would return with some means of gaining immortality. Speculated that she might somehow imbue the host body with the Belladonna antigen that Brooke believed Elisabeta had possessed during the course of her natural lifetime, enabling her to become a vampire.”

“That wouldn't do Brooke any good, though,” Stormy said.

“Brooke thought it would,” Lupe said. “She was convinced Elisabeta could co-exist with another
soul in the same body. She was willing to share her own body in exchange for eternal life.” Lupe lowered her head. “My God, she intends to put on that ring and perform the rite. She means to bring Elisabeta into her own body.”

“She's already done it,” Stormy said.

The other two women gaped at her. She nodded and went on. “I just ran into her outside. Only she wasn't Brooke. She was one hundred percent Elisabeta. And I don't know about you, but I
know
that one. I've lived with her for a long time now, and I know damn well she has no intention of sharing that body with Brooke.”

“She couldn't if she wanted to,” Rhiannon said. “Two souls cannot long occupy the same body.”

“Mine did,” Stormy said. “She's been living in me for years.”

“Yes, because the ring kept her from moving on. Brooke has no such anchor. She's surrendered her own body. In your body, Tempest, Elisabeta could only lurk and wait and occasionally take control. She wasn't strong enough to drive you out, and the power of the ring kept her from moving on. But Brooke has given herself over. Her own soul will shrivel, weaken and fade.”

“How soon?” Melina asked.

“Melina?” Lupe was searching her mentor's eyes, her own huge and brown and full of questions.

“How soon?” Melina repeated, ignoring Lupe's unspoken question.

Rhiannon shrugged. “A few days, at most.”

“Can we save her?”

“Why would we want to?” Lupe all but shouted her question. “Melina, she betrayed us. She betrayed the Sisterhood. She hit you over the head and left you lying there. Why would you want to help her now?”

Melina lowered her eyes. “I don't expect you to understand.”

“No one could understand. It doesn't make any sense,” Lupe said.

“To me it does.” Melina looked to Rhiannon again. “Can we save Brooke?”

“Only by exorcising Elisabeta. And only after releasing the hold the ring has over her, so she can move on.” Rhiannon lowered her head.

“I thought the ring's hold was dead, now that Brooke has performed the rite,” Stormy said.

“Not entirely, I fear,” Rhiannon replied. “If we free Elisabeta from Brooke's body, chances are the ring would still keep her from moving on as she should. She might very well return to your body,
Stormy. The ring's powers are that strong. We need to be sure.”

“What if we can't do it?” Stormy asked.

Rhiannon bit her lip. “Then they'll both die. Brooke will move on, and Elisabeta will once again be trapped by the power of that ring. Stormy, it's your body Elisabeta needs. You are her spiritual descendant, I am convinced of this. You're spun from the same collective soul. What she's done, it's like…like performing an organ transplant between two incompatible patients. It cannot take. It cannot last.”

Stormy lowered her head. “Well, good luck with that. I'm out of here. This no longer concerns me.”

“I'm afraid it does, Stormy.”

Stormy met Rhiannon's eyes, praying the vampiress had no rational argument to give.

“She'll realize soon enough that Brooke's body cannot hold her. And when she does, she'll come for yours. She still has the ring and the scroll.”

And Vlad,
Stormy thought. She has Vlad, too. And if he realized his precious wife was dying in Brooke's body, that she needed
hers
to survive, he might very well come for it himself.

Tough as she was, she knew she wouldn't stand a chance. Not against both of them.

“And there's the deadline. If her soul isn't at
peace, either fully re-established in a living body or fully relieved of the burden of physical life, she'll die. And so will you, Stormy. Tuesday. Midnight.”

Stormy closed her eyes, lowered her head. “Fine. I'm in. But I'm not interested in saving Brooke. She got what she asked for, as far as I'm concerned.” She recalled Lupe's words earlier, about her having no idea what would happen to her if Melina found out she had shared the Sisterhood's secrets with Stormy. “And from what I understand about the Sisterhood of Athena's rules and regs,” she went on, “she's going to end up being executed anyway. Am I right about that?”

Melina gaped briefly, then looked away, refusing to answer.

“So I'm right on that one. There's no point. No one leaves this organization. And I'm not interested in freeing Elisabeta, so her soul can move on to eternal bliss. All I want to do is kill the bitch. Once and for all. I want her dead.”

“It amounts to the same thing,” Rhiannon said.

“Then let's do it.”

“We're going to have to get her here,” Rhiannon said. “We need to convince Vlad. And I think, Stormy, that you are the only one who can do that.”

She lowered her head. “He won't listen to me.”

“I think he will.” The vampire shrugged. “I've been wondering, Stormy, why it is I like you, when I have little tolerance for most of your kind. And I've come to the reluctant conclusion that it's because you remind me of myself.”

Stormy met the woman's dark eyes. “Is that a compliment?”

“Well, it was. But I'm wondering now if I was wrong about that. Because, frankly, I would never stand by and let some other woman walk away with the man I loved. I would fight.”

Stormy sighed. “I've been fighting Elisabeta for sixteen years.”

“Yes, you have. So what's one more night?”

She thought about that for a long moment; then, finally, she nodded, knowing Rhiannon was right. She was going to love Vlad forever, win or lose. She might as well give it one last try. Pride be damned. Her life was on the line here. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go to him. He's staying at a house, a vacant one, two miles north along this very road. I sensed his presence there when I arrived. Go to him, Stormy. Talk to him. Make him see that this is the only way.”

She licked her lips, then nodded. “I think I'll walk. I could use the air.”

A
s Stormy walked in the clear, warm night, she felt the rush in her mind as more of Vlad's blocks fell away and more memories of her time with him sixteen years ago returned.

She and Vlad had returned to the castle with Rhiannon, to find Rhiannon's mate, Roland, there waiting for them. Roland had, she recalled, coaxed Stormy into taking him for a drive into the local village for a proper meal. Partly to give Rhiannon time to speak to Vlad in private, Stormy suspected, and partly to give Roland time to speak to her; to ascertain for certain whether Vlad was holding her against her will. She had assured him that wasn't the case.

But as they'd driven back, along the winding road to the castle, she'd seen something that had hit her hard. A meadow, with an old foundation crum
bling in one corner. She'd stopped the car and gotten out, compelled beyond reason. And then she'd blacked out.

When she roused again, Roland had been carrying her into Vlad's castle. And then…

She felt weak, sick, achy. Her body was limp, her head down, supported against Roland's shoulder, and her eyes refused to stay open for more than a heartbeat at a time.

“What the hell happened?” Vlad demanded.

“Damned if I know, my friend.”

Vlad took her from Roland as he spoke, then turned and carried her into the castle. He laid her on the chaise, hands going to her cheeks as she felt his senses probing her mind. “Tell me everything, Roland.”

“Of course. We had dinner, talked a bit. She seemed perfectly all right. Healthy, strong. But on the way back here…” Roland paused, and Stormy forced her eyes open in time to see Vlad shoot him a look, one that begged the rest of the tale.

Rhiannon sucked in a breath. “By the gods, Roland, what happened to your face?”

Roland touched his own face, and for the first time Stormy noted the four long scratches that ran from high on his cheek nearly to his jaw.

“Roland?” Vlad prompted.

“I don't know what happened, Vlad. She stopped the car and got out, hurrying into a meadow to examine an old foundation. I went after her, naturally. She seemed…distressed. Kept saying, ‘She's coming.' And then…then she changed.”

“In what way, Roland?” Rhiannon asked.

“In every way,” Roland whispered. “Her voice, her stance, her scent. The color of her eyes turned to black, and she began speaking in a language I do not know. But I'm certain it was Italic.”

“Romanian,” Vlad said softly. He was stroking her hair now, leaning in close to watch her face, willing her to come more fully awake with his mind. She felt it but was too weak to obey. “It's happened before.” Vlad looked away from Tempest only long enough to glance at the other man. “She put those scratches on your face?”

“Yes, when I tried to keep her from running off into the forest.” He frowned. “She was strong, Vlad. Stronger than a mortal should be.”

“It's exactly as Maxine described,” Rhiannon said. “Is this an example of how your precious Elisabeta's spirit is melding with Stormy's own? By taking control from her? By attacking a friend?”

He continued stroking Stormy's face, her neck. “Wake up, Tempest. Wake now.”

“Vlad, I do not remember your bride as being either violent or strong,” Rhiannon said. “This is more like some kind of possession.”

He shook his head. “Beta is confused and frustrated. Five hundred years she's been trying to find her way back to me. And now that she thinks she has, Tempest insists on fighting her.”

“Perhaps for good reason.”

Tempest blinked slowly and opened her eyes more fully. “I'm…I'm okay.” She sat up slightly and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes tightly. “I remember seeing a foundation in a meadow and feeling compelled to explore it more closely. I pulled over, and Roland and I—” She stopped there and shot a look at Roland, then quickly lowered her head. “I did that to your face. I'm sorry.”

“I don't believe it was you at all, Stormy,” Roland said.

“It wasn't. Not really.” She glanced at Vlad. “What made her come through so strongly?”

Vlad shook his head in apparent bewilderment, then glanced at Roland again. “Where was this foundation?”

“Off the main road, if you can call that dirt track a road,” Roland said. “About a half mile down, where the forest ends, there's a large meadow with the foundation of a house in one corner.”

Vlad closed his eyes and said nothing.

“The house,” Tempest said softly. “It was her house. Elisabeta's.”

“Yes, it was.” Vlad looked at Rhiannon. “Do you still think I'm wrong?”

“In so many ways,” she replied. “If this invading spirit is that of Elisabeta, Vlad, she is not the woman you remember. She has changed, warped, twisted.”

“You're the one who is wrong.”

She met his eyes, then moved closer to Tempest, leaned over her, clasped her hand. “Come back with us, Tempest. Let me find a way to exorcise this creature from you once and for all.”

Tempest sat up and swung her legs around to put her feet on the floor. She looked at Vlad, searched his face. He couldn't seem to hold her gaze. Guilt? Did he know full well what he was doing to her? she wondered. Did he know Rhiannon was right?

“It will be dawn soon,” he said softly. “There wouldn't be time to leave tonight, even if she wanted to.”

“Dawn has no impact on her, Vlad,” Roland said. “Our jet is waiting at the landing strip fifteen miles from here, with instructions to take her home should she show up asking to leave, with or without us.” He looked at Tempest again. “You can go if you wish it, Stormy. We'll join you as soon as we can.”

Vlad pushed his hands through his hair and paced away. “Dammit, why won't you stay out of this?”

“Because you'll destroy her, Vlad,” Rhiannon said. “How many more of these episodes do you think she can withstand? Look at her!”

He whirled on her, his eyes blazing. “I'll destroy
you
if you continue to interfere!”

Roland stepped between the two, and Vlad hit him, a single, powerful blow that sent the man sailing across the room, where he hit a stone wall and sank to the floor. Rhiannon launched herself at Vlad then, growling like a wildcat as she swung both fists into his chest and put him flat on his back as surely as if he'd been hit by a wrecking ball.

She came on as he struggled to get upright. But then Tempest was on her feet, shouting, her voice deep and strong, despite the weakness still invading her body. “Stop it! Stop it now, all of you!”

Rhiannon froze and turned slowly to stare at her. Vlad remained where he was, on his back on the floor, and Roland lifted his head, but not his body, from where it had come to rest.

“Don't you think it should be up to me whether I leave or not? And how I decide to deal with this presence? It's my problem, after all. My life. Why are you all arguing over what I should do when the decision is no one's—
no one's
—but my own.”

She crossed the room to where Vlad lay on the his back and extended a hand to him. He took it, searching her face. She knew full well he had no intention of letting her go, not yet. Not until she remembered. He was obsessed with his damned dead bride. But Stormy had her own reasons for staying. She needed to solve this thing.

And she hoped he would come to his senses and decide to let Elisabeta go at long last. That he would come to love
her,
instead.

She helped him to his feet, then turned to walk away from him, and knelt in front of Roland. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, and she helped him up, as well, frowning as she cocked her head to glance at the back of his. “He has a bit of a gash here, Rhiannon. You should bandage it before you rest. Do you two have a place to stay tonight?”

Her meaning was clear in her tone, she thought. They were not to stay here.

“We have accommodations on the jet. Quite luxurious ones, actually.” Rhiannon came to check Roland's head wound as she spoke. She touched it, and Roland sucked air through his teeth. Rhiannon shot Vlad a narrow-eyed glare. “I should kill you for this.”

“No one's killing anyone,” Tempest said. “You two should go if you want to make it to the jet before sunrise.”

“And you?” Roland asked.

Vlad watched her, awaiting her answer, and she knew damn well he would keep her with him by force if he had to. Or anyway he would try.

“I'm staying,” she said. “One more night. I gave my word.” She turned to Vlad. “Just as you gave yours that you'd see me safely back home after that. And I'm holding you to it, Vlad.” She also knew he had no intention of letting her go until he was damn good and ready. But she had to at least pretend to believe. God forbid he should ever realize what a fool she was to have fallen for him so hard.

Stormy turned back to the others. “I'll be fine. You see?”

“Oh, I see, Stormy. But do you?” Rhiannon had her fingertips pressed to Roland's head to keep it from bleeding. “Do you understand who you're dealing with? This is Dracula, child. And if he decides to keep you here, no power on earth will set you free.”

She blinked, then turned to Vlad, her eyes probing his. “I trust him,” she lied. “He'll keep his word.”

“And if he doesn't?”

She shrugged. “Then it'll be my mistake, won't it?”

Rhiannon scowled at her. “God save us from spunky mortals with more courage than brains,” she muttered. “Courage won't help you in this, Stormy.”

“It's never let me down before.”

Sighing, Rhiannon seemed to give up. “If someone can locate a bandage, we'll be on our way.”

Vlad nodded toward a cabinet visible just through an open door at one end of the room. “I always have a supply on hand.”

“As do we,” Rhiannon snapped. “But we left ours on the jet, never dreaming we'd have need of it here—in the home of my own sire.”

“Sire?” Stormy asked with a gasp. “Vlad, you…you're the vampire who made Rhiannon?”

“I am. Though there are times when I sorely regret it.”

Rhiannon left, then returned in a moment with adhesive strips and gauze, which she applied to Roland's head. Then she took his hand, and, without a goodbye, they headed for the door.

Rhiannon stopped there and turned briefly, but she spoke to Tempest, not to Vlad. “If you're not back in the States in a reasonable period, we'll be back.” She slanted a look at Vlad. “And we won't be alone.”

“Oh?” he asked, his tone sarcastic. “Bringing along an army of vampires, are you? Enough to set Dracula straight?”

“I won't need to bring them, Vlad. There are vampires everywhere. More than an antisocial creature like yourself could even imagine. And while they are different, there's one thing they pretty much have in common.
One value we all share, by unspoken mutual agreement. We don't do harm to mortals or meddle in their lives. And we don't tolerate rogues who do.”

“You protect The Chosen. Isn't that meddling?”

“Tempest is not one of The Chosen.”

“And yet you're here, meddling.”

“I'm here to prevent you from destroying her. And in the process, yourself.”

Vlad averted his eyes. “Doesn't matter.”

“Yes, Vlad. It does.” She sighed and opened the door, walked through and, without looking back, spoke to him one last time. “What you've done this night will not be undone. Goodbye, Vlad.”

He didn't respond, only watched as the door banged closed, apparently on its own, and then turned to Tempest. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For trusting me.”

“Do you think I'm an idiot?” she snapped. “Hell, Vlad, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Not when I know perfectly well whose side you're on in this…this war of mine. I just wanted to get rid of them so we could get on with this. I still think the answers to my issues might lie here, in this place and, maybe, in you.”

His face turned angry. He took her arm and started for the stairs. “Tonight,” he said, “we share the bed.”

“Fine by me.”

She knew he saw what she tried to hide. The flash of desire, of longing, of hunger in her eyes. She wanted him, even now.

She shuttered the desire, hid the ripple of delicious fear, buried them both in sarcasm. “You'll be dead to the world in twenty minutes, anyway.”

“But very much alive again come sundown, Tempest.”

She stopped halfway up the stairs, turning to spear him with her eyes. “Are you trying to frighten me into running away, Vlad? Into taking off as soon as you sleep, finding that jet and begging its pilot to take me home?”

He stared into her eyes. “Believe me when I tell you, frightening you away is not what I want.”

“Then knock it off with the idle threats, okay?”