Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1)

by Delia E Castel

  The Magus shakes her head. “There is none.”

  “Then bring the girl,” she snarls.

  The Magus nods. “I’ve already sent one of the security staff.”

  Several agonizing minutes later, Maeve dashes out from behind the pillar, but Alaric grabs her wrist, spins her around, and places his face over hers. My hand rises to my mouth. I don’t need a zoom lens to know that he’s kissing her.

  Alaric draws back, allowing Maeve to escape. The screen zooms to his face. He daps a spot of blood from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief and strides toward the doors of the ballroom.

  I shake my head. He doesn’t drink human blood.

  The rest of the footage is the ballroom’s interior. Grandma sneers at the students lying on the ground, and I can’t bear to look any more. Despite what I’ve seen, my faith in Alaric hasn’t wavered. He’s still the person who saved me from transforming into the monster, he still anchors my humanity to his heart.

  A sharp knock on the door makes me raise my head just as the screen displays our kiss. I snatch my gaze away from the sight to find the Magus letting Maeve into the room.

  She stands in a dressing gown that looks more like something a sister of servitude might wear to bed. Her gaze darts around the room and lands on me, the only friendly face. The knots in my stomach tighten, making me grimace.

  “Acolyte Morann, we brought you into the security of the convent in good faith,” says Driver, her voice gentle considering the circumstances. “We would like to ask you some questions about the man you kissed tonight.”

  Brows drawing together, Maeve skitters toward the exit and nearly bumps into Uncle Fred.

  “Is she still not speaking?” asks Grandma.

  I twist around and peer at Grandma’s screen, struggling over the thoughts tumbling through my mind. How would someone retired from the Order know about Maeve’s condition?

  Maeve shakes her head, but I don’t know if that means she’s refusing to cooperate or doesn’t know what on earth they’re talking about. I hope it’s the latter.

  “Magus,” says Grandma. “This is a matter of Order security. Do what is necessary to extract the truth.”

  The Magus walks around the table to a confused Maeve and places a hand on the girl’s head. She’s so powerful that she doesn’t even have to incant. Maeve’s eyes turn glassy.

  “What is your connection with Alaric Severin?” asks Grandma.

  Instead of the white light of truth that spilled from Evangeline, red fluid trickles from between her lips and stains her gray dressing gown. Her eyes unfocus, and she sways on her feet. The Magus incants out loud, and blood pours from Maeve’s nose.

  My heart lurches, and I bolt out of the leather stool. “You’re hurting her!”

  I turn to Uncle Fred, who jerks his head away, anger and exasperation warring on his features. Presbytera Driver wraps her hands around her middle, and I want to shake the woman for giving Grandma so much control.

  “Keep going, Magus.” I’ve never heard Grandma sound so cold. “The curse that tied her tongue will—”

  Maeve falls to the ground and hits her head on the marble. She doesn’t even twitch. Presbytera Driver kneels at her side, but I can’t tell if her intention is to check on Maeve’s wellbeing or to pull her up for another round of psychic torture.

  “Enough.” Grandma employs the tone of voice she uses to criticize Uncle Fred. “Try the enchantment on Gabrielle.”

  Chapter 22

  All the air leaves my lungs in a shocked breath. The stool clatters to the marble floor as I step back on trembling legs, wondering how on earth I could be related to this cold-hearted woman on screen. My heart beats so hard that its vibrations reach my fingertips. I glance from Grandma to the floor, which is still splattered with Maeve’s blood.

  “Grandma?” My voice shakes.

  She bares her teeth. “I gave you one thing to do, study hard and take Theodora’s Blessing. Now you’re associated with either a dangerous warlock or a vampire. You brought this onto yourself.”

  The Magus strides toward me, dressed like the grim reaper with her eyes as hard as onyx. “Do not struggle against the enchantment unless you wish to suffer permanent damage.”

  Uncle Fred steps forward, his palms out. “Michaela, you can’t—”

  “Silence,” Grandma roars.

  My pulse flutters in my throat. “I’ll tell you everything. Just ask me—”

  Before I can finish my sentence, a band of magic wraps around my arms and spreads down to my ankles. My lungs expel a gust of air as the magic pulls my limbs together and encases me like a full-body corset. I rock back and forth on my feet, but the enchantment forces me to stay upright and in place for the Magus and her outstretched hand.

  “Uncle Fred?” I turn to the man who raised me, who stands between me and the door.

  “You’re going to push Bree away with this torture,” he shouts at the screen.

  Grandma purses her lips but doesn’t reply. I turn my gaze to the desk, where Presbytera Driver sits at the leather chair with her arms folded on her lap. The only sign that she isn’t comfortable with what’s happening is the trembling of her lips. At her side, Doctor Shevette stares at me with the same, red-rimmed eyes, only they’re wide with disbelief.

  “Please,” My voice strains with oncoming tears. “Don’t do this.”

  “Magus,” says Grandma.

  The Magus places her thin hands on my head, and a palm-sized bolt of magic shoots straight into my brain. My stomach lurches, my eyes roll to the back of my head, and every muscle on my body stiffens. Shallow breaths graze the tops of my lungs, and my head spins. The thud-thud-thud of my frantic heart fills my awareness along with the hopelessness of my situation.

  I’m trapped. Trapped to betray every secret to a woman I’ve loved my entire life but now barely know.

  “Now.” Grandma’s voice burns through my consciousness like acid. “Is Alaric Severin a vampire?”

  The force that impels me to speak is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can only describe it as the urge to sneeze mingled with the all-consuming, unstoppable spasm the diaphragm makes to vomit. Fighting against it would be like trying to make my heart stop beating.

  “Yes,” my body says.

  Silence spreads through the room, broken only by the roar of blood through my ears. I’ve just signed my death sentence or at least earned a punishment that will last years.

  “How old is Alaric Severin?” Grandma asks.

  The sensation overtakes me again, and I say, “A thousand four-hundred years old.”

  Everyone hisses through their teeth, and my heart shatters. I don’t need to read minds to know what they’re thinking. That he’s as ancient and as deadly and as much of a powerful enemy as Justinian.

  Grandma’s disapproving huff whistles through my ears like a gale. “How did you come to meet this vampire?”

  The Magus’ fingers squeeze my skull with the same ferocity grandma uses to juice oranges. The truth floods from my lips and I tell her the story of finding him on the plane from London to Jaeger.

  A small part of me that pushes against the intrusion guesses that they’re placing him in Ireland, which is only a short flight away. They probably think he coerced Maeve into burning down her own convent then moved onto me. That’s what it looks like from the outside, but they don’t know Alaric.

  Every word I tell is the truth, but Grandma asks the wrong questions. She doesn’t want to know if he has fed from me, doesn’t care that he has demanded nothing of me yet saved my humanity and life. It’s all rapid-fire questions about his strengths, agility, hiding-places, artillery. She wants to know if he has an army of vampires, werewolves, warlocks. I can’t answer most of the questions, but they still keep coming.

  “Does Alaric Severin control the creature?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.” My heart lurches at that answer. Deep in my soul, I know he didn’t send the monster after me, but the spell isn�
�t about belief but about the absolute truth. And the truth is that I don’t know who is behind the monster.

  “Did Alaric Severin send the creature to murder Sister Shevette?”

  “No.”

  Everyone falls silent. I guess they’re not expecting me to say that.

  “Who killed my wife?” Doctor Shevette asks with a sob.

  Despair digs its claws into my heart, and I blurt, “Alaric.”

  “Why are you protecting him?” snarls the man. “How could you let him murder a good wo—”

  “Doctor Shevette,” Grandma snaps. “If you cannot control yourself I will ask you to leave.”

  The questions war in my mind, and my brain twists into knots. Which do I answer first? I didn’t let Alaric kill a slayer. He killed the monster. Icicles of pain lance through my skull, and warm blood trickles down my nostrils. There are too many answers to those questions, too many nuances, and no absolute truth.

  “I… I don’t know.” My voice rings through my ears, and alarm rings through my chest. If this interrogation continues, they’re going to rip my mind apart, and there’ll be nothing left.

  “Doctor Shevette,” says Grandma. “May I remind everyone that this enchantment only works for a limited time and not to waste this opportunity with questions that do not serve the Order?”

  The man’s sobs pluck at my tightly-wound nerves. I want to sob with him.

  “Has Alaric Severin slept with you?” asks Grandma.

  My chest tightens. The question is so imprecise. We slept side-by-side but that’s not what she’s asking. “Yes.”

  She hisses through her teeth. “Did you drink his blood?”

  “Yes.”

  Grandma pauses, and the pressure around my chest increases. Inside, I’m screaming at her to ask how, why, when, anything to prompt me into explaining that his blood was the only thing that stopped me from transforming into that monster, but her silence is almost as crushing as the magic.

  “Are you loyal to Alaric Severin?” she asks.

  “Yes.” My heart clenches. This is news to me, too.

  “This acolyte has been compromised,” mutters a voice from far away.

  The pulse between my ears pounds so loud that I can’t tell if it comes from the Magus, Presbytera Driver, or Uncle Fred. Inside, I’m thrashing to break free. They’re getting the wrong version of the truth.

  “Acolyte Augustine is reaching her limit.” The voice of the Magus resounds through my skull.

  “What are the plans of Alaric Severin for attacking the Order?” Grandma’s voice also echoes.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did he attack Malone Convent?”

  “I don’t know.” Blood trickles down my right nostril.

  “What has he commanded you to do?”

  Everything Grandma says is amplified and it takes all my concentration to decipher her words. The Magus’ thin fingers dig into my temples, somehow anchoring my senses, and the question sounds more coherent when Grandma repeats it.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Did he ask you for information about the Order?”

  Now the left nostril bleeds. “Yes.”

  My ears fill with the sound of tearing. I don’t know if this is my limit or if it’s because my answer has unfairly condemned Alaric. It was only an innocent question about the sisters of servitude, which I didn’t answer. If only this enchantment would let me elaborate.

  “Is he working with the House of Severin warlocks to circumvent the Order’s wards?” she asks.

  “I don’t—”

  Pain explodes across my skull, blood spurts from my nose, and warm liquid trickles from my ears.

  “You’re killing her,” someone shouts in the background.

  “When does the vampire intend to attack the—”

  Everything goes black before I hear the rest of that question.

  I wake up on a flat surface, and the harsh light stings my retinas. After several moments of blinking, my eyes focus, and I stare up into the stern eyes of the Magus and the frightened eyes of Presbytera Driver.

  My head feels like the smoldering ruins of a fire, with the scent of burned flesh clinging to my nostrils, and my sinuses throb in sync with my pounding pulse. Grandma forced the enchantment well beyond the safety limits.

  “Identify yourself, Acolyte,” says the Magus.

  Hatred burns in my chest, and I form a tight line with my lips. A groan reverberates deep within my lungs, and the dry membranes of my throat grind against each other like rusty gears.

  “She needs medical attention,” says Presbytera Driver in a small voice.

  “Report,” barks Grandmother from the other side of the room.

  A cold fist clenches my insides, and my hatred turns to horror as I realize she probably wants a second round of interrogation.

  “Awake but unresponsive.” The Magus stares down at me with dispassionate eyes.

  “Ask Frederick to return,” says Grandma.

  I clench my teeth and close my eyes. Right now, I don’t want to see anyone. Not Uncle Fred, who didn’t trust me enough not to follow me to the weaponry, not Grandma, who has always been a cold monster, and not Poppy, who didn’t warn me of Madoc’s plan to expose me as a traitor to the Order.

  After a lot of scuffling, the end of the sofa dips. The only person who would sit so close to me right now is Uncle Fred.

  His warm hand lands on my ankle. “Bree.”

  It’s childish, but I refuse to look at him.

  “It’s time you learned the truth about Raphaella,” he says.

  I crack open an eye. A bruise marrs Uncle Fred’s left cheekbone, and his top lip is also swollen. Concern clenches at my heart, but I can’t move or speak with the pain coursing through my head.

  His eyes soften. “As you know, I was her conciliar. Raphaella was my best friend, and I loved her very much.”

  My throat thickens at his use of the past tense. Has someone discovered her body?

  “She had a big heart and often commented on the treatment of the vampires in Malone Convent.” Uncle Fred’s gaze unfocuses, and it seems like he’s far away. “Raphaella wanted to know why we didn’t just slay them and free their souls instead of keeping them to suffer.”

  I gulp, wondering how such a reasonable-minded person coped with having Grandma as a mother.

  “Enough preamble,” says Grandma from the screen. “Raphaella allowed herself to be seduced by an ancient vampire. We never learned his name or his identity, but it’s safe to assume that this Alaric Severin is preying on you because he was successful with your mother.”

  The words are a jab to the heart. “What?”

  Uncle Fred's face tightens. “Nobody knows this for sure.”

  My head shakes from side to side. “Alaric wouldn’t—”

  “Gabrielle!” Grandma roars. “Every time you defend this monster, you convince me of the depth of his hold on your soul. It started from the moment you drank his blood, and it will consume your sanity until you are subject to his will.”

  “Michaela,” says Aunt Clarissa’s voice.

  Anger surges through my veins. I never heard her speak up once during the interrogation. Never heard her utter a protest or even a gasp. But she’s warning Grandma now when the old woman is sharing information for once?

  I twist around on the sofa and tilt my head toward the screen. Grandma leans forward with a vague interest in her eyes.

  “Vampire blood?” I snarl. “From what I’ve heard, I’m not the only one who has consumed it.”

  Her face hardens, but she doesn’t respond. Grandma has been like this forever. If I react in a way she feels is unbecoming of an Augustine, she erects a wall of silent disapproval that might last the entire few days she visits the family home.

  When I was younger, this reaction would send me into panic mode, and I would scramble to earn her approval. Now it makes me burn with resentment.

  “You received Theodora’s Blessing,” I push myse
lf up to sit. “Inhaled the blood of a vampire. Maybe the influence of another ancient vampire is what makes you so heartless.”

  “Bree,” Uncle Fred says with a warning in his voice.

  Grandma’s cold mask cracks, and her lips part. “Who told you that?”

  “You’re a hypocrite.” Hot anger sears through my veins, powering me up for a rant. “Saint Theodora is nothing but a vampire who wants other vampires dead. How does she feed? Why does she give out her blood to the strongest young slayers? To control us so we don’t slay her?”

  “This is heresy,” Grandma’s nostrils flare.

  My chest flares with satisfaction. I’ve finally broken through the old witch’s crust of cold contempt.

  “You’re just like your wretched mother,” she snarls. “Raphaella was also foolish enough to fall under the thrall of Alaric Severin.”

  I clench my teeth. “How do you know it was him and not some other ancient vampire?”

  “Keep her in the catacombs,” says Grandma.

  The Magus crosses the room. A reluctance in her eyes tells me that she knows the secret of Saint Theodora and doesn’t approve of what’s going to happen next.

  My heart flip-flops. I cast a frantic glance at Presbytera Driver, who huddles against the wall with Doctor Shevette. “Why are you all listening to her? She retired.”

  Uncle Fred rises to his feet and spreads out his arms. “Calm down. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbles from my chest. “Did you not see the blood pouring from my ears and nose? Look at what they did to your face.”

  Blinding light encases my body. This time, I don’t black out because everything goes white.

  Silence stretches out in an infinity of white. I feel nothing, not even a heartbeat. The beginnings of a scream form in my mind but it dissipates. I don’t know if I’ve been in this void for minutes or hours or days. I have no mouth with which to scream, no arms with which to struggle, no eyes with which to block out the incessant white. I don’t know if I’m alive or dead, conscious or comatose, or if this is my punishment or the rest of my life.

  My mind floats through this nothingness, with no words to articulate this situation, only emotions. I have nothing left but regrets. Regrets at having spent my first three years at Agia Convent enslaved to Jude. Regrets at having joined the Order when I might have gone to a native school. But one thing I won’t regret is having met Alaric.