Shadow Rising (36 page)

“I anoint you in the name of the First Mother.” Once again, he coated his thumb and this time he motioned for me to pull back the folds of the gown, exposing my chest. He pressed his thumb against my heart.

“I anoint you in the name of Blood Wyne, my sire and mother.” A third time, and this time he pressed his thumb against my lips.

“I anoint you in my name—Roman, Liege of the Vampire Nation, Son of the Crimson Veil.” He lifted the goblet to salute me, then drank half of it. Handing it to me, he nodded. “Drink.”

I swallowed the blood and it tasted like spice, like cinnamon and cloves and fire and copper. As it bathed my throat, the room began to spin; slowly but surely, I swallowed my fear with the crimson nectar.

I’d been through portals; I’d been through death. I knew transition when I felt it. There was no going back now.

Roman stood and dropped his robe off. He was naked beneath it, and his scars were glowing in a way I’d never before seen. I could see every mark he’d accumulated during his thousands of years. He motioned for me to stand and I dropped away my gown. I glanced down, gasping as every mark Dredge had made on me began to glow and shimmer. I was lit up like I was covered with fireflies or glowworms. But for some reason, here—in this place—it didn’t bother me.

Roman took my hand and as we stepped back, the altar table slid to the left, and a secret door opened in the chamber, revealing a dark passage. A booming of drums and music began to sound as Roman drew me into the passage. He sped up and I kept pace, suddenly aware we were no longer in the mansion but somewhere in between worlds.

And then a light shimmered at the end of the passage, and we raced toward it, bursting through into a wide meadow under the rain-soaked night skies.

Up ahead of us sat a mansion that dwarfed Roman’s house. Painted in alabaster and gold tones, it was surrounded by guards, but they seemed to take no notice of us. They stood at attention, dressed in crimson robes, with gold-hilted knives at their belts.

We walked up the stairs, hand in hand, naked and glowing, and passed through the door as if we were ghosts. I glanced at Roman, but he seemed perfectly calm, as if he did this every day.

As we entered the mansion’s foyer, he pulled me to the right, into a small room, which turned out to be a coatroom. It was the size of our living room at home. Roman handed me a plain white tunic and draped a red cloak around his shoulders, trimmed with gold ribbons and beading. I slid into the simple cotton shift, wondering again what I had done.

After we’d dressed, we walked out and toward the central doors. Roman took my hand again.

He gazed down at me, pausing for a moment. “You are about to be inducted into the Crimson Veil. You will be my heir and hence related to my mother. Do not flinch. Do not hesitate. There is no returning to who you were before you drank the blood sacrifice. Do you understand me, Menolly? Do not fail me.”

As the significance of what was happening began to sink in, I could only nod. My only choice was to move forward.

“I do.” Every fiber in my being screamed against obeying—not because it was the wrong thing to do, but because I hated submitting to anyone or anything. But sometimes, in life, we had to relinquish control to a greater force, in order to bring about a greater good. And I knew in my heart this was the right thing to do, even though I rebelled against the idea of supplication.

Without another word, Roman led me to the doors, and two guards bowed low when they saw him. We walked through, into the throne room.

The chamber was tremendous, as big as our entire house
at home, and it was filled with seats lining the sides, like a university auditorium. At the center and back sat a raised dais and upon that dais, a throne. The throne was built of black marble, and on the throne sat a woman dressed in gold with crimson accents. She was stately, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a face lightly marred by time. She’d probably been turned when she was around fifty, and she had been in good shape, from the way she looked. Her eyes were the same pale frost as Roman’s, and his facial features mirrored hers.

Blood Wyne stood, her dress billowing around her, form-fitting on the top and spreading like a princess gown at her hips, shining gold threads interwoven with sparkling rubies that had been beaded in swirling designs. Victorian in design, the dress had a low-cut sweetheart neckline and a gothic collar that shrouded the back of her neck. Blood Wyne’s hair was swept up into a high chignon, accentuated by a diadem of rubies and diamonds inset into gold.

Pale as the mist. Pale as cream, with no color to mar her lips or cheeks. Blood Wyne, Queen of the Crimson Veil, was as cold as a sculpture formed from ice and snow.

She waited for Roman to bring me up the steps leading to the throne, and as he knelt before her, I did my best to drop into a low curtsey without disgracing myself.

Blood Wyne gestured for us to rise. Roman let go of my hand and—motioning for me to stay where I was—lightly ran up the stairs to place a kiss on his mother’s outstretched hand.

“Your Majesty…thank you for seeing me.”

And then, the marble of her face cracked—just a little—and she smiled at her son. “Roman, we are alone with the girl. Don’t stand on ceremony.”

Startled by her forthrightness, I jerked my head up to stare at her. She gave me a wolflike smile. “What? You do not expect ancient queens to be understanding of the modern world? Your Fae Queens seem to be. Do not underestimate me, girl.”

“Never,” I said automatically, before remembering I should probably wait for her direction to speak.

But Blood Wyne just chuckled and sat back on the throne. “Rise, Menolly. So…you are my son’s chosen consort. Turn and let me look at you.”

Feeling like a prize cow, I turned in my simple white robe, wondering what she must think of me. I wasn’t cut out for the court, and I wasn’t about to wear billowing ball gowns or jeweled tiaras unless it was an official function for which Roman needed me to dress.

“Interesting. I like the fire in her eyes, my son.” She spoke to Roman as if I weren’t even in the room, but I wasn’t feeling much like contradicting her. She turned back to me and held my gaze. I felt like a stake was piercing my soul and I couldn’t move. I had a feeling she could hold any vampire hostage with her gaze, which meant her power was very real and very great.

After a moment, she let me go. “The eyes speak volumes, to mouth banalities. But cliché or not, it is a truth that we can read much by reading another’s gaze. And I can read the truth in your soul, Menolly. You do not love my son, but you are fond of him.”

I stammered. “I…I love him as much as I can, Your Majesty.”

Blood Wyne shrugged. “Love is overrated. My son seeks it, but love leads only to tragedy and loss. Fondness, loyalty are much better emotions to nurture. And I see that you have loyalty—but to whom? To whom do you bind yourself, Menolly?”

I swallowed, not wanting to tell her about my family. Vampires could make terrible use of emotions and bonds to control others. But one look at Roman and I knew she already knew the answers. He was her son. He owed her loyalty and he probably told her everything.

“My sisters hold my oath, first and foremost. My family and friends. My oath to the elves and to my home city-state. My beloved. I will never betray them. And…I have a loyalty to your son, yes. As long as it does not interfere with my other allegiances.” Sometimes, it was better to just have the facts out in the open.

Blood Wyne nodded, somberly. “I do not take oaths lightly, my young vampire. And neither do you, I see. I admire that. I would rather you placed my son first, of course, but breaking one oath to forge another is tantamount to being warlock,
and I will not tolerate broken vows in the Crimson Veil. Best now you understand this.”

“I do, and I agree.” Relieved that she wasn’t going to attempt to supersede my loyalties with her own, I began to relax, just a little.

“My son told me he was performing the ritual of re-siring with you, and why. Did he also tell you that at this point, I must accept you into our line in order for it to fully take? And that if I don’t, you will be killed?”

I gasped, turning to Roman. “You didn’t—”

His face a blank mask, he stared solemnly at me. “I did not know.”

I wanted to rail at him, to send him flying down the steps in a fury, but this was not the best place to go postal. His mother could pick me off like a fly. Glaring at him, I turned back to Blood Wyne.

“He did not tell me about the latter part. He guaranteed little pain.”

“Little pain does not mean the same thing as not being hurt. But do not fret. He did not know, either, because I chose not to tell him.”

As she stood again, she seemed to grow taller, towering over me. I felt fear for the first time in her presence. I went down on my knees, as did Roman. “You have no clue what it means to be in the presence of the Crimson Veil.”

Her voice echoed through the room, rebounding off the walls. As I peeked through my fingers, she aged, not in body, but in spirit, and her power reverberated through me. She was no figurehead, but truly a queen.

“Do you even
know
what the Crimson Veil is, my girl?” She leaned down and reached for my hand, and—unable to resist—I gave it to her. As she drew me up, I shook my head, stupefied into silence.

“Then come with me, and learn.”

The throne room vanished and I found myself standing beside Blood Wyne in a crimson haze, a flurry of smoke and fog rippling like some bloody aurora borealis. The bloodlust raced through my body. I let out a moan, trying to stifle my instincts, trying to push the predator within back into the closet.

“Welcome to the Crimson Veil. It is the place all vampires come to, in the end. It was created when Kesana turned the world into her playground by accepting the demons into her soul.”

The winds shrieked around me, calling me to feed, to hunt, to tear through the world and rip it to shreds.

“What is this place?”

“This is the core of the bloodlust, the source of our power, the only memory we have left of Kesana. This is the primal power of the vampire. Some say this is what remains of Kesana’s soul.”

“Why didn’t I feel it when Dredge turned me? Does every other vampire know about this?”

She shook her head. “No, only those who’ve reached a great age and choose to end their life, or those brought as a guest. Menolly, you repress yourself. You spend enormous energy denying your nature, and that is more dangerous than accepting who you are.”

As she whispered in my ear, a sweat poured over my body, and I hadn’t sweated since I was turned. I glanced at the beads of perspiration and they were bloody drops, saturating the white gown that I wore.

“I cannot give in. It’s too dangerous. I will not turn on my friends. I will not become a mindless hunter in the night.”

“You do not have to,”
she whispered. “But you must accept what you are, fully, and embrace it. Any lingering shreds of doubt and regret must be swept away if you are to fully become the vampire you’re destined to be. You are half-Fae, yes, and half-human, but you are
all vampire
. You feed on animal blood instead of keeping bloodwhores. Why?”

“Because it’s vile—I do not want the responsibility for their lives in my hands. What if I make a mistake? What if I can’t control myself? What if I hurt someone I care about?”

“A bloodwhore lives to serve.”

“I will not keep a stable.” I began to cry, bloody tears streaking down my cheeks. “I hate the very thought of it. I hate that Roman does it. I find it…”

“You find it an abomination? But you
do
feed on humans. You are no saint.”

I wanted her voice to stop. Clasping my hands to my ears, I shouted back at her. “I feed on the scum—those who hurt and harm and maim…those who will never be redeemed because they are beyond all repentance.”

“Then you are their judge and jury, Menolly, and yet you pass judgment on those who willingly give of themselves that we might live?” Blood Wyne grabbed me by the wrists and turned me so I faced the veil that rippled in front of us. “Very well, you do not wish to keep bloodwhores. But until you can plunge yourself into the veil and understand your true nature, you will always be running from yourself. Until then, you can never be a part of my lineage.”

I understood then. She would kill me unless I walked into the veil. Terrified—
what would it do to me? what would I become?
—I tried to look away, but she shoved me forward.

“Step into your nature and learn. Or be destroyed. It is your choice.”

Weeping as she ripped my robe away, leaving me naked, I stumbled forward. There was no more leeway. Either I stepped into the veil—embraced the unknown—or I let Blood Wyne destroy me.

“Promise me one thing.” I turned to her, straightening my shoulders.

“You ask for favors, girl? Well, what do you want?” She did not flinch as she looked over the scars that shimmered on my body.

“Promise me that if I turn into the predator I fear, you will instruct Roman to stake me, and that my family will be informed.” I held myself straight, looking her in the eye. Against protocol or not, I didn’t care.

Blood Wyne nodded, slowly. “Deal.”

I turned back to the Veil. It rippled like a waterfall, and, feeling like a dead woman walking, I held out one hand to touch the shimmering field. My fingers touched the edge and then, as I walked into the Veil—

—The world fell away.

Everyone and everything was gone, and there was only me standing in the midst of the energy as it undulated around me. I’d expected to lose my mind, to be held in the grips of
the blood-hunger, but instead, my mind cleared and I shivered, suddenly feeling the cold for the first time in a long, long while.

A shower of cool rain washed over me, except the rain was as blood, and it trickled down my body in rivulets, finding the channels of the scars that lined my body. I watched it flow, and for once, the smell didn’t set off the thirst. I was able to take it or leave it. I turned back, to ask Blood Wyne what this meant, but she was not there. Only the static of the Veil.