Prince of Twilight (24 page)

“Pathetic,” she muttered, and bent to pick up a
small stone, then straightened and hurled it out into the waves.

“Yes. Terribly pathetic.”

Stormy spun around at the voice coming from right behind her, knowing before she saw her, who it was. Elisabeta, in Brooke's body, holding a handgun and pointing it right at her chest. The wind blew in from the sea, tossing Brooke's normally sleek hair into a wild mass of auburn tangles as Elisabeta's black eyes glinted from her face.

Stormy stiffened, stifling the words that flew to her lips, realizing she was face to face with an armed lunatic who wanted her dead. Better to try to diffuse the situation.

“I left because I want no more to do with him, Beta,” she said. “He's all yours. I won't be back.”

“Sadly, that's not quite good enough.”

Frowning, Stormy tried to size up her situation. She had no weapon. There was a cell phone in her bag, but Beta could squeeze that trigger before she would be able to take it out, much less dial 911. There was no one around. No one in sight. She tried to remember the last place she'd passed where there might have been people or even lights, and knew it had been a while.

“What do you want from me, then?” she asked.

“Not so much. Just your body.”

Stormy went stiff. Could the bitch know, somehow, what was ailing her? Her face was drawn and pale, her eyes slightly sunken. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath them. “What's wrong with the one you've got?”

“It's dying,” she said. “So I need yours.”

“Sorry, but I'm using it right now.” She could have kicked herself for letting the words out, heavy with sarcasm and impatience. She schooled herself to calm. “Maybe…there's some way I can help you, Elisabeta. Maybe—”

“Oh, there is. I need your body before midnight, or we'll both die. In order to do that, I must have my ring back. And the scroll. Give them to me.”

She would need the ring and the scroll to perform the rite again. And this time, Stormy realized, she wanted to perform it on
her.
“I'm sorry. I can't—”

“Give them to me or I'll kill you!”

Stormy swallowed, held up a hand as if to calm the woman. “If you kill me, you'll never have my body.”

“If you don't give them to me, I'll die anyway,” Beta said. “Now give them to me.”

Stormy waited a beat, trying to decide the best
answer to give, and finally decided not to push her luck. “I don't have them.”

“You're lying!”

“No, I'm not. When I left, I washed my hands of this entire case. I wanted no more to do with you or with Vlad—
or
with that cursed ring. I'm telling you, Beta, I don't have them.”

Beta closed her eyes, but popped them wide open again before Stormy could even think about going for the gun. “Who does?”

Stormy almost smiled. Almost. Because of all the lies she could think of, the truth was still the best option. “Rhiannon,” she said. “Good luck getting them from her.”

Beta was silent for a long moment, her eyes seeming to search inwardly. It was almost as if she were listening to something, or someone, and then she focused again, blinking and frowning. “You have a…
Celephone?
Yes?”

“A cell phone? Yes, I have one. It's in my bag here.”

“Take it out.”

Stormy started to take the bag from her shoulder, and Elisabeta wiggled the gun. “Slowly.”

“All right. All right. Easy with that thing. If you shoot me by accident, we'll both be screwed.” They were both screwed anyway, Stormy thought. Clearly
Beta had escaped before Rhiannon could exorcise her from Brooke's body. And time was ticking away. Slowly and carefully, Stormy slid the cell phone from its holder on the side of the backpack. “It's right here, okay?”

“Call her.”

“Who? Rhiannon?”

Beta nodded, her gun hand starting to tremble. She was getting tired.

“Okay. Just…it's turned off. I have to turn it on.” She flipped open the phone, and as soon as it powered up, the message signal sounded. No time now, though, for retrieving her voice mail. Instead, she located the number for Athena House in her phonebook and hit the call button.

It rang. And rang. And rang some more. She licked her lips, held the phone out so Beta could listen if she wanted. “No one's there,” she said.

“Does she not have a…cell phone she carries with her. Like yours?”

“Yeah. You want me to try that number?”

Beta nodded, so Stormy placed the call. Rhiannon didn't pick up, though. Vlad did.

“Tempest?” he asked. And God, he sounded as if he really hoped it was her. Yeah, he probably did. He still needed her to save his lunatic bride.

“Yeah, it's me.”

“Are you all right? Where are you?”

And now he sounded worried.
Really
worried. “I'm here with Beta. She has a gun on me.”

“Give it to me!” Beta commanded.

“Hold on. Your wife wants to talk to you.” Stormy held out the cell phone.

Beta snatched it from her, keeping the gun aimed, one handed now, and her eyes focused on Stormy. “Get the ring and the scroll from Rhiannon and bring them to me. If you want to save me, Vlad, do this for me. If you don't, Tempest and I will both be dead soon. And you know that's the truth. And if you come, Vlad, and you are not alone, I will shoot her, just to be sure you don't try to save the wrong woman.”

Without waiting for a reply, she handed the phone back to Stormy. “Tell him where we are, so he can come to us.”

Stormy nodded as she pressed the phone to her own ear again. “We're on a deserted stretch of beach off the Seaside exit. Take a right, about two miles down. You'll see my car along the roadside.” She met Elisabeta's eyes and said, “She's going to try to take my body. If it were me, I'd let the bitch die, but I don't suppose you feel the same.”

Beta snatched the phone from her hand and hurled it into the sea. “I should kill you right now.”

“Go for it. I've got nothing pressing.”

She swung. It came out of the blue; Stormy hadn't expected it. The gun hit her right in the side of the head, behind her left eye. There was a brief explosion of pain, and then the ground was rushing up to meet her as she went down for the count.

Her last thought was that her words to Vlad had been wasted and she'd taken the blow for nothing. There was no way he would let his precious Elisabeta die. He would probably bring the ring and the scroll and assist in Stormy's execution.

“S
he said to come alone. And that is
precisely
what I intend to do.” Vlad hovered near the mansion's front door, addressing Rhiannon, while the other two mortal women stood a short distance behind her. They looked nervous, as if they expected a vampiric battle to break out at any moment and wished to avoid being caught in the crossfire. “And frankly, I'm growing weary of repeating myself. Give me the ring, Rhiannon. And the scroll.”

He held out a hand, palm up, and looked into her eyes.

She held them in one hand but didn't offer them to him. He hoped to the gods she wasn't going to force him to take them from her.

“There is strength in numbers, Vlad. And she's not one of us. She'll never know if I'm lurking in the shadows nearby, ready to back you up, if needed.”

“And since when does Dracula require backing up?” he asked. “Rhiannon, she's a mortal. A sick one, at that.”

She pursed her full lips and stared at him, her eyes speaking volumes. “She's your wife,” she said.

The words penetrated. The meaning clarified in his mind. “You don't trust me.”

She averted her eyes. “I'm going with you. That's all and that's final. If you want to prevent it, Vlad, you'll have to kill me, and I don't think you're willing to do that.” She shrugged and met his eyes again, hers less serious this time. “Moreover, I don't think you could best me even if you were willing to try.”

“Don't bet your life on it.”

Rhiannon locked her gaze on his. “I never thought it would come to this. The two of us on opposing sides. I'm going to Stormy, Vlad. And I'm going now.” She moved toward the door, but she would have to pass him to get to it.

Vlad threw his will at her, hitting her squarely in the chest with a surge of energy that stopped her in her tracks and made her suck in a quick, sharp breath.

She glared at him. “You dare…”

“Give me the ring and the scroll, Rhiannon.”

She flung out an arm in a powerful arc, sending a bolt of energy that knocked him backward until
he hit the wall, hard. A nearby painting crashed to the floor.

He righted himself, shook off the pain and hurled his powerful will at her much harder than he had before. Rhiannon flew into the air as if hit in the gut by a wrecking ball, landed hard, on her back and struggled to suck in a breath of air.

Vlad lunged at her then, straddled her, and searched her until he found the items he needed in a deep pocket of her gown. He took them from her, paused only to gaze at her face, to touch her cheek as she blinked to clear her vision. “I'm sorry, Rhiannon. You left me no choice.”

Then he turned from her and raced from the room, out through the front door and into the night. Regret gnawed at his soul. But he hadn't harmed her. Not truly. Hurt her, yes, but she would suffer no lasting effects. In fact, she would likely be strong enough to follow on his heels within the hour. So he'd best hurry.

He whirled, right there on the steps of Athena House. Spun like a top, gaining momentum and speed, and exerted his will to alter his form. As a giant raven, he flexed his wings, beat them once, twice, three times, as he pushed off with his legs and took to the starry sky. As he made his way to her, Vlad remembered the way their time together had
ended in the past. He let the memories flow through him, hoping they would stiffen his resolve to do what he knew must be done.

 

He had been losing hope of ever finding a way to solve the riddle that had become his life. He stood beside Tempest at the site that had been his bride's grave, and he watched her stare at the ground that bore no marker, no memory. All had been lost to the ravages of time. Grasses and trees grew. The stream still bubbled and laughed its way past. The stars still shone down on her resting place.

Rest. That was a bitter joke, wasn't it? There had been no rest for his beloved. No peace, not in all this time. Why hadn't he had the strength to let her go?

Why couldn't he find it still?

Tempest looked ill. She was pale and trembling at intervals. She rubbed her arms with her hands as if she were cold, and he put an arm around her to warm her. “You haven't eaten all night,” he said. “Perhaps we should go—”

She whirled on him, her hands fisting and rising, her eyes blazing into his. Black, black as coal. “Do not think to leave me here, Vlad! Do not dare think it!”

He recoiled, taken unaware by the sudden change in her. But he knew she was not Tempest any longer. He was staring into the eyes of his beloved, of his Elisabeta.

He lifted an unsteady hand, touched her face. “I wouldn't leave you.”

“You have!” she accused. But she didn't pull away from his touch. Rather, she covered his hand on her cheek with her own, leaned into it, closed her eyes. “You've abandoned me to this existence, trapped, unable to return, unable to move on. I want to return, Vlad. I want to be with you. I will never give up.”

Tears sprang into his eyes, though he fought them. “You shouldn't have taken your own life, Beta. You should have waited for me. Gods, if only you had waited.”

“I have waited. All these centuries, I've waited. And now I've found you again. Don't let her come between us, Vlad. Don't let her take me away from you.”

“I—” He searched her face, unable to speak, because it was as if she knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

“She wants to, you know. She wants to be force me back into that infernal netherworld that's neither life nor death. That limbo. That prison between the worlds. I cannot go back there, Vlad. I will not.”

“I won't let that happen, Beta. Not if I can prevent it.”

“She wants you for herself,” she whispered.

He lowered his head.

“I'll never let her have you.”

Vlad's head rose again at the venom in her tone. At
the hatred in her voice. She did not sound like the Elisabeta he had known.

“I'll kill her first, Vlad. I vow to you I will.”

“Beta, don't think that way. It's not—” He broke off there, because she had whirled away from him and taken off running through the forest.

Vlad took off after her. “Wait! Beta, dammit, wait!” He poured on a burst of speed, even as the horrible scene unfolded before his eyes. Beta had flung herself—no, she had flung Tempest—into the stream at its deepest point, and she lay face down in the water. Her arms flailed as if she were trying to get up, as if something were holding her down. She was drowning!

Vlad gripped her around her waist and chest, and hauled her, dripping, out of the water. Then, turning, he took her to the grassy bank and laid her down on her back. He pressed his ear to her chest to listen to her breaths and heard none. But then, suddenly, her head came up and she began choking, water spewing from her nose and mouth.

“Thank the gods,” he muttered, and rolled her onto her side, to help her eliminate the icy water from her lungs.

Leaning over, weak, and shaking now from head to toe, she gagged and spat and gasped, until, finally, she managed to empty the water from her lungs. As she sucked in breath after breath of air, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Tempest?” he asked.

She lifted her head, eyes tired and unfocused. “What…happened?”

“I…I don't know.”

A twig snapped behind him, and Vlad whirled to see Rhiannon standing there, Roland at her side. She looked furious. “You know exactly what happened, Vlad. Elisabeta just attempted to murder Tempest. You saw it. You know it's the truth.”

He closed his eyes, lowered his head.

Rhiannon moved closer, knelt beside Tempest. “Has this happened before, Stormy?”

Still shaking, she tugged the coat closer around her shoulders and nodded, the movement jerky. “Yes. I think so. I mean, I wasn't sure until now, but—”

Her words were cut off by another round of coughing.

“We have to get her back to the castle,” Roland said. “She needs to get warm and dry. Mortal bodies can't tolerate this sort of trauma easily.”

Nodding, Vlad got to his feet, reached to gather Tempest into his arms, but Roland stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Let me, my friend. I'll get her there quickly, bundle her by the fire and care for her until you arrive.”

“But why?” he asked, searching the man's face.

It was Rhiannon who answered him. “I think you
know why. You know what must be done, Vlad. There are things we'll need, for the rite of exorcism.”

Vlad gasped, and his gaze shot from Rhiannon's to Tempest as Roland gathered her weakened, battered body into his arms. She was not doing well. She couldn't take much more of this attack—and he knew now that she was indeed under attack. Without the ring and the scroll, he couldn't hope to help her find union and harmony with the soul he believed to be her former self, a part of her own. But she couldn't go on like this, either. Not and survive.

His tears spilling over, he no longer tried to control them as he whispered, “So be it, then.”

 

By the time Rhiannon and Vlad arrived back at the castle, Tempest was warm and dry, as Roland had promised she would be. She'd changed clothes, and now wore a nightgown and a heavy velvet robe, and had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders besides. She was sipping hot soup from a large mug, and sitting with her legs curled beneath her in front of a roaring fire. Her hair was beginning to dry, its tendrils springing into their natural curls around her face. She looked exhausted, drained, as she stared into the fire.

Rhiannon had explained that she and Roland, knowing full well Vlad's folly could only lead to disaster, had decided to stay on another day, another night, in case
they were needed. Rhiannon had deliberately tuned into Tempest's mind, and had picked up on her distress and located her easily.

Just as well.

His quest was at an end. And yet a spark of hope remained. He had to say goodbye to his goal of almost six hundred years. He had to say goodbye to Elisabeta. But perhaps something of a chance would remain for himself and Tempest. He didn't know. He didn't know if her feelings for him were her own or a part of the possession of her body by his long dead wife. In fact, he wasn't even certain his own feelings were truly for her or for the woman she had been in another time, another place.

And even if it turned out they did still care for one another, there was the inevitable end they both must face. She was mortal. She was not one of The Chosen. She would die. He would live on.

But one thing was certain. She couldn't go on this way.

“Are we ready to do this?” Rhiannon asked.

Vlad looked at Tempest. “Are you certain she can withstand it?”

“It shouldn't be too trying, Vlad. It's only a ritual.”

He nodded. Tempest turned to face him. “I'm ready,” she said, her voice soft. “I'm sorry, Vlad. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to give her a chance.”

He moved closer, touched her hand. “Perhaps this
was the way it was meant to be, Tempest. She needs to be at peace. We can give her that, if nothing more.”

She nodded, then looked to Rhiannon. “What should I do?”

“Just lie down. Relax.” She nodded toward the chaise that stood a few feet from the fire, and Tempest rose unsteadily. Roland gripped one arm, Vlad the other, and they helped her to the chaise. She slid the blanket from her shoulders as she lay down and pulled it over her instead.

“Very good.” Rhiannon slid a pack from her shoulder, and opened it began taking items from it one by one. Weeds she'd gathered from the forest. A handful of dirt from Elisabeta's grave, a stone from the stream where her body had landed, a vial of water she'd provided herself, and salt and candles, black ones. A bell. She gathered candles from around the castle and brought them to place with the rest of her items.

She pulled a small table closer and began laying the items out one by one. Then she carried the black candles to the extreme directions of the room. One on the mantle by the fire in the south, another on a table in the west, where she poured the water into a bowl. A third rested in a spot she cleared on the bookshelf in the north, the fourth beside a dish of herbs in the east.

She stared at the candles, and one by one they burst into flames at the sheer power of her will. Then she
touched one burning wick to the herbs, until they began to blaze. After a moment the died flames out and left the herbs to smoulder in a silver dish. The spiraling smoke they emitted was pungent and strong.

“You two sit on either side of her. If Elisabeta realizes what we're doing, there's a chance she could come through and try to prevent us from completing the ritual, or if that fails, to try again to harm her. You'll need to hold her to prevent that.”

Vlad looked down at Tempest, the way her eyes widened at Rhiannon's words, and he stroked her forehead. “I won't let that happen. I promise you.”

When she nodded, he turned to Rhiannon. “Proceed.”

Rhiannon stood still for a long moment, as if gathering her thoughts, but Vlad thought she was doing something far deeper than that. She was connecting to some force within her, or perhaps beyond herself. When she opened her eyes again, she looked different, more powerful than she ever had—and that was saying a lot.