Bloodcraft (6 page)

Victoria bristled at the blunt reprimand.
He loves me, Leto. And I love him. I am going to find a way to make this work, with or without you.

They stared at each other in silent standoff. She knew he didn’t approve of her relationship with Christian, even if he’d reluctantly come to accept it, but he was out of line. It was
her
life, regardless of her stupid bloodlines or his unsolicited opinions on the matter.

Leto’s moods had become unpredictable since they’d arrived in Paris. One minute, he was the normal snide cat she knew, and the next, he was a stranger condemning her with blazing, unfamiliar eyes. She figured that it had to do with Gabriel’s torture and its effect on him, but the erratic behavior unnerved her, which was one of the reasons why she hadn’t pushed him earlier with Aliya and Dante.

Someday you will learn that there are greater things than this childish infatuation,
Leto said and stalked off. She stared after him in disbelief even after he had rounded the corner to the living room.

“Childish infatuation?” she repeated in an aggravated mutter. “What does that even mean? Why doesn’t the talking animal make sense?”

The talking animal can still hear you.

Then do me a favor and talk to your familiar friends so we can figure out how to stop my rogue blood from trying to get my boyfriend to kill me.

FOUR

The Art of War

Lucian crashed his fist into the glass countertop in a rage, watching the glistening cracks shatter outward in a concentric shape. He wanted to smash the whole thing to pieces. The Council was treading way beyond its authority, and if they thought that antagonizing him or the House of Devereux was the best course of action, then so be it. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have let Enhard die—arguably, he’d been one of the few more rational influences over the Council, and many of his colleagues had followed his lead in his respect toward the House of Devereux.

His House was powerful in its own right, but noble blood remained noble in the vampire realm, and Lucian took full advantage of it, just as he had in his human one. Still, he wasn’t naïve. He knew that despite his aristocratic lineage, squaring off against any Elder would be suicide. For such mature vampires, their age gave them considerable advantages, like strength and speed, infinite regenerative powers, and invulnerability to most forms of damage. Another Elder could kill an Elder, but that was unlikely. The only vampire immortal stronger than an Elder would be the Reii, the original vampires. But it wasn’t like Lucian knew any of them.

Like most modern vampires, he was skeptical about their existence. The Reii were more myth than reality. Choosing to slumber the centuries, it was said that they remained in seclusion because the weight of immortality had become too much to bear. Lucian snorted. He would never tire of power and immortality. If he were Reii,
everyone
would know of his presence. He thirsted for power so much that it consumed him.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes?” he said, pouring himself a brandy. A tall, thin vampire walked in, Kristos, one of Lucian’s most trusted advisors. He looked at him expectantly. “What is it?”

“My lord,” Kristos said, bowing. “We have found the girl you’ve been looking for.”

“What girl?”

“Le Sang Noir
, my
l
ord.”
Lucian’s eyes jumped to Kristos’s face, a muscle beginning to twitch in his jaw. He was sick of their incompetence. He’d already found the witch from the prophecy—Christian had taken Victoria from right beneath his nose and she remained under his protection. It was over. He gritted his teeth, suppressing his desire to heave Kristos across the room.

“Le Sang Noir is finished,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t exist. It’s a myth, a fable, a
lie
.” Spit flew from his mouth as his fury echoed in the room. He would rather them believe it was an urban legend than discover that his brother, Christian, had been the one to find and wield the power from the prophecy. Kristos shrank back from Lucian’s anger, but stood his ground.

“I insist, my lord, you need to see this witch,” he said even as Lucian glared daggers at him. His black eyes glittered in response and Lucian paused. The urge to inflict damage hadn’t gone away, but killing Kristos wouldn’t solve anything and would leave him without allies. He massaged his brow and studied the contents of his glass.

“Kristos,” he explained. “Le Sang Noir has already been found. The power is useless. No one can harness it. It’s too late. The witch you found is not the one from the prophecy. This, I know. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

Kristos remained wary, as if he didn’t want to antagonize Lucian. “Perhaps not, but I have not seen this level of power in a long time. Her magic could be useful if she is rogue. No coven, no family.” He pressed on. “She kills without words. I saw her slay a handful of dark creatures with a single look. Her face was so pale and her blood as black as her eyes.”

“What did you say?” Lucian said, spinning in a reaction so quick that he had Kristos’ neck in his hand against the wall in a heartbeat. His snarling face was inches from his. “What did you say?” His voice was deadly soft.

“I saw her slay—”

“No,” Lucian interrupted him. “About her blood?”

“She had a wound,” Kristos choked, barely able to speak from Lucian’s death grip. “Her arm was dripping blood. It was black.”

“Could it have been a trick of the light?” Lucian said, loosening his hold on the vampire.

Kristos rubbed his bruised neck with one hand. “Maybe. The hour was late.”

“It had to have been a trick,” Lucian muttered. Victoria was the witch from the prophecy. He had seen Le Sang Noir in action, seen it take control of his brother. Kristos was wrong, he had to be. But … what if he wasn’t?

The niggling thought wriggled its way into the folds of his mind. Could Le Sang Noir appear simultaneously? Could this witch be part of the same family? He shook his head. No, the prophecy had never spoken of another, and after all his years of research, he would have known if there was a chance there could be more than one manifestation of it. It was too sporadic, too rare.

But even if it weren’t possible, Lucian didn’t want to take any chances. He needed to amass an army. And Kristos was right. A powerful witch as an ally could be just what he needed. A forgotten whiff of Victoria’s seductive blood assailed his memory and he stifled it with brutal force. He needed to put Le Sang Noir out of his head once and for all—that part of his scheme was over. Victoria would never leave Christian’s side, nor would she put her lot in with Lucian. Resentment simmered in his bones, and that was the only basis for his decision.

“Where is this witch?”

“Montmartre.”

Lucian stared at Kristos. “No coven, you said?”

“We’ve been tracking her for six weeks, my lord. She’s alone.”

“You’re positive.” It was not a question and Kristos nodded, his black eyes unfaltering. Lucian walked over to the window. He could smell the earthy summer scents of the wind and the colorful wafts of people floating within it. He felt the hunger stir in his throat at the sight. His desires—power, blood, immortality—overwhelmed him, merging into one single writhing mass. He blinked, silencing the clamor in his belly, and turned to Kristos.

“We can’t take her by force if she is as strong as you say,” Lucian mused. “We need another strategy. Does she have any friends?”

“No. She lives alone. I must warn you, my lord, that she seems quite demented, talks to herself.”

“An exile?”

“It’s possible. We’ve seen her kill others of her own kind, completely without conscience or motive.” Kristos paused, looking puzzled for a second. “Her magic is strange, not like we’ve ever seen, which is why I think you should see her for yourself. She’s powerful, but raw. Perhaps she can replace the one who died.”

Lucian glared at him. Victoria had dispatched her easily. Too easily. A surge of anger ripped through him at the thought of all that power at his undeserving brother’s fingertips. His fingers curled at his sides. He hated to be reminded of Victoria’s power, and the fact that she had so effortlessly killed a witch loyal to him made his blood boil. He was just about to tear into Kristos as the door opened, distracting him.

“Get out,” he said instead.

Lena entered, the scowl on her face deepening as it centered on Kristos. She glared at him with a dispassionate look as he walked past her. Lena didn’t care much for him, Lucian knew. She thought him slippery and shifty. She bared her teeth at him, hissing under her breath as he raked her body insolently from head to toe.

Her eyes narrowed. “One of these days, you’ll be out of Lucian’s favor and you’ll see just what happens to anyone who stares at me that way.”

“I look forward to it,” Kristos taunted and walked away.

Lucian grinned, forgetting his anger. Lena would make quick work of Kristos, but for now, he needed him. He would enjoy watching her rip the vampire to pieces once he’d served his purpose.

“News?” he asked Lena.

“Nothing new from the Council,” she said, draping her lithe form on the arm of a black chair. Her lips were blood red and her color was high. Lucian’s scowl returned. “What’s the matter? What did Kristos have to say?” she asked him.

“He claims to have found an exiled witch,” he said. “He insists that this one is alone and powerful.” He shrugged. “I suppose it bears looking into.” Lucian sat on the sofa across from Lena, tapping his hands in agitation against his leg. “With the Council making these changes and trying to entrap me at every turn, things are going to be more difficult than we anticipated. They are cutting us off at the legs, leaving us weak and useless.”

Lena remained silent, watching him. He knew that with all the unwanted attention from the Council, things had indeed become more precarious for her in the last few weeks. They were keen on his execution, and Lena remained one of three vampires in opposition. By law, execution required a unanimous vote, and the first time the Council had brought it to the table, there’d been at least ten against the execution. Now, there were three. It wouldn’t be long before she was the only one standing in the way. The Council could move for a vote of no confidence given her loyalty to the House of Devereux and that would be the end.

“Lucian,” Lena said, interrupting his thoughts. “I met with Christian.”

“And?” His voice was ominous, despite his shaking fingers. “Did he agree?”

“No,” she said. “Not directly. He wants you to ask him.”

“Of course he does,” he seethed, the corded muscles in his neck bulging from irritation at the foolish burst of hope he’d felt. He wanted nothing from his brother. “I don’t need his help. I would rather face execution than beg for anything from him. Is that what you told him? That I would plead for his assistance?”

Lena recoiled from his fury, but held his gaze. “No, I did not. And I know you would rather die than ask for his help. But I would rather you didn’t,” she said, pulling herself to her feet and walking towards him. She took his hands in her own. “You’re all I have. If we have to beg Christian’s power to save you, then we should do so without a second thought. The Council is too close. I fear the next vote will be the deciding factor. We need him.
You
need him. You need to forget your pride, Lucian. Please.”

Lucian looked at her earnest elegant face and stroked her cheek. His hand drifted to her neck and he caressed it lightly before grasping it between his fingers, throttling her sudden gasp. Her eyes widened at the rage barreling through him. His mouth pulled tight as he leaned forward. “Don’t you ever presume to represent me in such a manner. Do you understand?” he whispered, his face scant inches from hers.

Lena didn’t flinch. Instead, she ignored the grip of his ruthless fingers and tipped her chin in defiance. “I’ll do what I have to, to save you from yourself. Even die at your hands.”

She never cowed before him, but in this moment, Lucian wanted to snap her pretty little neck. His voice was silky. “That can be arranged. I told you before, Lena. I don’t need saving, by you or anyone else.” His other hand brushed the fullness of her lower lip. “You really should not have gone to Christian,” he said, moments before his lips descended, capturing hers in a brutal kiss. He wrenched her neck to the side and sank his fangs into her skin, feeling himself calm as her cool blood flowed over his tongue and into the back of his throat. She didn’t struggle and after several minutes he pulled away, his lips rimmed in red.

He lifted a careless eyebrow, releasing her. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Lena’s eyes flashed venomous fire as her palm cracked across his face, snapping his head back. He eyed her, but made no move to strike back. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said mildly.

“If you ever touch me like that again, I promise it will be the last time you
ever
touch me,” she erupted, her voice shaking with vitriolic rage.

Lucian stared at her and inclined his head in the mockery of a bow. Strangely, he was as disgusted as she was. He was furious over her suggestion that he grovel before Christian, but he knew why she felt it was necessary. Soliciting his brother’s help was the last thing he wanted, especially after their previous encounter, and
especially
after his bold last words that one of them would die at their next meeting. The plain truth was that if the Council did agree on his death, Christian would be the only one who could veto it.