The Slayer (19 page)
Authors: Theresa Meyers
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Fantasy, #Romance, #Paranormal
The tension twisting Winn's belly into a sickening knot eased some. At least someone knew what to do, and for that he was profoundly grateful. She took two of the small glass bottles, pulled out the stoppers, and took out pinches of dried green herbs, placing them into a chipped pottery cup.
“You lucky she's vampire. Had your lady been human, she'd be dead. Wolfsbane is a powerful poison that can go right through the skin.” The old gypsy whispered to the contents of the cup as she poured boiling water from the spigot of an odd teapot over the herbs and stirred them counterclockwise with a silver spoon. The fragrant steam drifting up from the cup smelled both minty and lemonlike at the same time as it steeped.
“What's it do?” Winn asked, curiosity getting the better of him as he leaned against a nearby wall, out of the way, but close enough to prevent any physical harm from coming to Tessa. He folded his arms, watching every move the old woman made.
Her green eyes pinned him with a stern, penetrating gaze. “It helps.” She carefully washed the powdery substance from Alexa's face with a clean rag dipped into a bowl of water she poured from the kettle, then spooned a bit of the golden-colored liquid between her parted lips.
Winn held his breath and waited. He shoved away the bitter taste at the back of his mouth and doubts about what would happen if it didn't work. Alexa lay so perfectly still, almost death-like as the old woman continued spooning the tea between her full, unmoving lips. His gaze skimmed over the curve of the contessa's cheek, down to the smooth expanse of her neck just below her ear where he'd kissed her. Hell, she didn't even have a pulse, and while that was normal, her being a vampire and all, it still unnerved him.
Winn stared hard at the old woman, willing her potion to work, and work fast. His throat closed as he waited for a sign of life. “I need her,” he murmured, almost absently, hardly aware of what he was saying. Yes, he needed her. Needed her to be “alive” and viable and capable of escorting him where he needed to go. But he realized as the words slipped from his lips that he needed Alexa on a different level altogether. She was a world of possibility untapped. He wanted that chance... . “She has to wake,” he finished simply, even though his thoughts were anything but simple.
“Patience,” the old gypsy admonished him, as she handed him a wet cloth to wipe his own face and hands. “Wash yourself. Wipe your clothes. Get rid of any of the powder that lingers.”
He did as he was told, but with each passing second an icy chill slipped farther through Winn's veins, aching as it went until it turned him numb. He closed his eyes. Visions of her gaze sparking with intelligence, of the allure of her lips when they curved into a subtle, seductive smile, and of the way the wind stirred the hair across the pale silk of her nape skated across the insides of his eyelids.
The rustle of fabric caused Winn to snap his eyes open. She'd either moved or Mama Zinka had moved her. He stared unblinking at her just to be sure which it had been. Alexa's long, tapered fingers twitched slightly and her lashes fluttered, but her eyes didn't open.
Was it his imagination? His heart beat hard and thick in his ears. No. She was responding to the draught Mama Zinka had given her. He gripped the edge of the bed, leaning close to her. “Come on, Tessa,” he whispered fervently. She still didn't open her eyes.
“Takes time,” the old woman muttered knowingly. “You very lucky she's already undead. Saves me time having to raise her from the dead.”
He threw a glance at the old gypsy, who had a pipe now in her mouth and was sucking hard on the stem, her cheeks caving in as she attempted to light it. Surely she didn't mean she could have created the living dead from Alexa? His gut twisted in upon itself at the thought.
Winn grabbed one of Alexa's hands, rubbing and patting it between his. He didn't know if she was as cold and numb as he felt, but it gave him something else to focus on besides her slow progress.
Chapter 15
The problem with wolfsbane was that it acted as a powerful paralytic in vampires. Werewolves, who were immune to it in that manner, knew it. The entire time she'd been in the gypsy camp she'd been unable to do so much as blink an eye or twiddle her thumb, but she'd been fully cognizant of what was going on around her.
From the odd mixture of herbs, the whicker of horses and the scent of the wine they favored, she'd been able to tell they were in a gypsy camp. The colloquial speech and heavy Romany accents, which slipped now and again into Latin, only confirmed her supposition. She struggled against the heaviness encasing her limbs like hardened wax. Her eyelids were the first things she could finally move. She opened them to find Winn sitting at her bedside, worry creasing his brow and casting shadows beneath his eyes.
The instant her gaze connected with his, he seemed to relax, the blue of his eyes lightening a degree. “You're awake,” he said softly, but the relief in those two words confirmed she hadn't imagined what she'd heard him say while she'd been paralyzed.
I need her.
I need her.
With effort, Alexa found she could turn her head and shift her limbs. They ached and were heavy, but at least she had control of them now. She tried to sit up, and Winn's strong arm wrapped around her back, helping her. She attempted a smile but found her lips were still not responding well. She stretched her face, opening her mouth wide and pursing her lips to regain feeling. Then she gave Winn a barely manageable smile. “If you hadn't brought me here, I would have remained frozen.”
“Frozen?” He quirked one brow. “Nearly dead is more like it.”
Alexa didn't argue the point with him. Undead was as nearly dead as one could be, after all, but she didn't want to have to explain that she'd heard everything he'd said. Mama Zinka patted her hand, and Alexa turned to the old woman and bowed her head and chose her next words very carefully. “You are very kind.”
Mama Zinka smiled in return and motioned Alexa to come and sit beside the large, scarred wooden table. “It's not often I get to meet a vampire this close to the border. Now that you are feeling more yourself, I will read your future.” Winn helped Alexa to a chair opposite the old gypsy across the table, and Mama Zinka held out her hand. Alexa hesitated. She knew the future. Kostick had foretold centuries ago how her future would unfold.
It would take all three of the Chosen to keep the Gates of Nyx closed. To seal the Gates, one would have to make the ultimate sacrifice, giving up his own life to spare them all, and the Chosen would never be whole again. Just the thought that it might be Winn made her stomach shrivel into an uncomfortable knot.
But there was more of the prophecy. And the knowledge inside her grew, swelling and heavy, making her chest ache. Kostick had also prophesied that Alexa would be the downfall of the Chosen, a traitor to her own kind, and would ultimately find herself destroyed by her heart's desire. This aspect of her future he'd told Alexa alone. The knowledge weighed heavy on her.
Until she had met Winchester Jackson, the Chosen were to her merely some future mortals of mythological proportions. Until the Chosen had surfaced, the vampires had had no reason to separate themselves from other Darkin to survive. And it was becoming abundantly clear to Alexa that Winchester Jackson was more than capable of destroying her if she did anything so foolish as to fall in love with him.
Alexa turned back to the elderly gypsy. It would be the height of poor manners to deny her request, especially when she'd been so helpful and kind to them as outsiders. She held out her right hand.
Mama Zinka ran her fingers over the ruby ring, a glint in her eye. “And I will take this as payment for helping you.” Alexa pulled her hand back, clenching it tightly. The ring was certainly not hers to give. It belonged to Vladâto the vampire royal family, actually. The weight of a heavy masculine hand pressed upon her shoulder.
“Give her the ring, Tessa.” He said it with such calmness and authority that her hand seemed to open of its own volition. And there it was. The moment of choice. Two paths lay open before her. To rage against the prophecy, or to throw caution to the wind and let the fates take their pound of flesh and ounce of bone.
Alexa stared for a moment at the large ruby. It represented many things. Her duty to her family, the court, and her emperor. Her life as a noble. Her tangible link to her life as a vampire. And all of it was going to come abruptly crashing to an end if they didn't get the Book. The heat of Winchester's hand penetrated her clothing, making her very aware of the man beside her and the danger he presented to her. With trembling fingers, she pulled the ring off and offered it to the gypsy.
The moment the old woman plucked the ring from Alexa's palm, Alexa felt somehow lighter, as if an invisible weight had been lifted from her back. But Winchester's hand on her shoulder still remained. He gave her a light squeeze of reassurance, then pulled back and rested his shoulder against the wall of the wagon. In his severe black clothes, he looked so at odds with the bright colors and flamboyant interior of Mama Zinka's wagon.
The gypsy took Alexa's palm in her soft, weathered hands once more, and Alexa turned her gaze back to the old woman.
“Now we will see your future.” She ran her fingers along the lines that stretched in spider-web fashion across Alexa's palm. She moved her mouth as if chewing on something and uttered a series of ahhs, ohhs, and umms. While part of Alexa thought it mostly theatrics, the gypsy had been right about the vervain and mint. She might know other arcane arts as well.
The woman's pale green eyes gazed deeply into hers. “What is it you seek?”
“Something valuable that has been taken from us.” There was no point in telling her more. Either she was authentic and would know, or she was a charlatan who was good with herbal remedies whose predictions wouldn't support Kostick's prophecy at all.
The gypsy grasped Alexa's hand. A slight tingling started in her palm and spiraled up her arm and into her chest, then grew quite hot. Alexa stiffened. To find someone of true power was an astonishing thing. The gypsy held Alexa's hand between her own soft, knobby fingers. “The object you seek is hidden away from the wolves, with the bones, deep in the earth. An empire of the dead guards its secrets. The skull with tears of blood is the door you seek.”
Alexa tried to reach into the gypsy's mind and read her thoughts. The gypsy leveled her with a pale green stare.
Go back, vampire. I know you are here, and I will tell you all I know.
Go back, vampire. I know you are here, and I will tell you all I know.
Alexa sucked in a startled breath. Perhaps she was losing her touch. First Winchester and now this gypsy had foiled her skills. Fortunately for her and Winn, Van der Hoff had been easy to read. He had wanted the Book. Correct that: Her Majesty the Queen of England wanted it and would use all means necessary to ensure that the English Empire remained at the height of its glory.
“Where are the bones?”
The gypsy closed her unusual eyes and took in a deep breath, holding it. The very air about her vibrated with the hum of power that flowed around and through her. Slowly she opened her eyes. “Paris.”
“Paris?” Winn said, standing straight. He turned, his gaze piercing Alexa. “I thought you said it was in Brittany.”
“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Kostick just meant that it was the werewolves that took it and maybe he was using Herve as a link to them and to France.”
Winn grunted. “Didn't make much sense to me. In Hunter lore the youngest brother Haydn was said to have taken the Book to the farthest reaches of the known world. He took it to the Byzantine Empire.”
“And it ended up in Transylvania.”
“Last time I looked at a map, Transylvania isn't exactly the same as France.”
“Ah, but the wolves took it from Transylvania,” Mama Zinka said, her mouth twisting into a wry grin. “And on their way to Brittany, our people took it back. We put it into the hands where it belonged.” She gave a meaningful look at Alexa.
The gypsy released Alexa's hand. She jerked her small pointy chin in Winn's direction. “It is your turn.” With a wave of her weathered hands she beckoned him to her.
Winchester put up his hands, but it was no defense against the agile little gypsy who stood up and grabbed one of them, pulling him down to sit at the table beside Alexa. Like she had done with Alexa, she held his hand between her two far smaller ones.
Alexa scooted back, watching the moment unfold. Winchester was a large man, and he positively dwarfed the little gypsy, who looked like a wizened little monkey holding a lion's paw, but she held him captive nonetheless.
The old woman closed her eyes, drawing the power to her again. It raised the hairs on Alexa's skin. When Mama Zinka opened her eyes, they were glassy and unfocused as she spoke in a wheezy monotone.
“You will find what you have lost, but it will not be what you think. In the end, one will sacrifice to save them all.”
She slumped forward, and Winn caught her before she hit the table. He shook her lightly. “Mama Zinka?”
She raised her head slowly, rubbing and blinking her eyes like a sleepy toddler. “Did I fall asleep again?”
Alexa and Winchester looked at one another, unsure if this was a consummate con artist at work or a true mystic.
“You just drifted off for a bit,” Alexa said. It wasn't a lie. She had drifted off after her prediction.
Winn began to speak. “Thanâ”
Alexa cut him off with a swift kick to the shin. There were two things one did not do in a gypsy camp. One was to thank them, as it was considered a grave insult. The other was to refuse their hospitality if it was offered. He glared at her and she glared back at him, telling him with her eyes to follow her lead and keep his mouth closed.
The old gypsy waved her hand. “You must be hungry. We should go to the campfire, and Boris will find us something to eat.”
Alexa aided the gypsy as she rose from her chair with difficulty. The old woman gave her a nearly toothless smile. “My children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will want to meet you. But do not tell them you are vampire. They will not understand as Mama Zinka does that there are Darkin we do not have to fear. Come, I will feed you and introduce you to them.”
A twinge hit Alexa just below the sternum. Not sadness, but more of an empty ache. She really had no family to speak of other than her more distant relations. Certainly she had her children by gift, but they, like all other adults, came into their own once they were no longer fledglings and went out to make their own lives. What she lacked was a true partner. An equal to share her burdens and joys with.
She glanced under her lashes at Winchester. He would have been nearly perfect if not for two glaring problems. First, he was a Hunter, so destroying Darkin was part and parcel of the very fabric of his being; second, she knew once they found the Book he'd return to America and she'd stay in the courtâand marry Vlad, and avoid ever giving her heart to anyone to keep from being destroyed.
The thought itself left an unpalatable taste in her mouth. Being offered the position of queen should have elated her. She liked Vlad. She just didn't ... she just didn't love him. In fact, it had been so long since something other than mild interest had touched her that being around Winchester was a heady aphrodisiac. He was more dangerous to her than any being she'd ever met.
The old woman led them outside, where everyone waited. She led them to a long table and pushed them both onto worn wooden chairs. Firelight danced red and gold against the overhanging branches, as someone played a mandolin, and a big-eyed child giggled nearby. The old woman introduced Alexa and Winn to one and all as enormous platters of roast venison and mugs of strong red wine were placed before them.
Alexa tamped down the urge to pass on the overcooked meat and put a piece of the venison on her plate along with a piece of the dark, thick rye bread. She nibbled at it, watching the gypsies with a keen eye.
More than once she caught Winchester staring at her intently, not with the caustic or haughty look of a seasoned Hunter, but with the hungry, curious gaze of a man that made her stomach flip and tighten.
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All through dinner, Winchester was very aware of every movement she made, of the heady floral scent of jasmine that clung to her skin and hair. The golden firelight played over her skin so fine, so smooth it could have been crafted of porcelain, but he knew from touching it how extraordinarily soft it was beneath his fingers. Everything about her was exquisite, refined, and feminine. Far too refined for the likes of him.
She looked pale, nearly ethereal. Not at all a confirmed killer who could wipe out the population of this little camp in less time than it took him to wolf down a steak dinner.
She seemed to sense his regard, and her amber gaze flicked up to meet his. Mingled in the depths of her eyes were attraction and worry. He felt the pull as well. A warring of lust with duty. As much as he fancied the contessa, they were bound to go their separate ways, and he refused to make a target of her when he deserved the bull's-eye on his own back.
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