Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1)

by Delia E Castel

  Even if my body has been destroyed, he has freed me from becoming a monster. Because of him, I won’t sprout teeth, and because of him, I won’t inhale the blood of Saint Theodora.

  A dot of black appears, and I will it to expand. It spreads across the expanse of white, and I drift to what could possibly be my escape.

  When I step out, the cold penetrates my skin and chills my bones. My teeth won’t stop chattering, and my extremities are unmoving and numb. I glance around the dark, looking for any clues to my surroundings.

  “Awake, are you?” says a sneering, male voice.

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  “You’ve forgotten me already?” Now he sounds offended.

  I would tilt my head to the side if only my body would let me move. “Fortescue.”

  “Why didn’t you slay me?” Fatigue slows his voice.

  “I…” My throat closes. Why didn’t I just kill the vampire? Because I was competing with Evangeline for Theodora’s Blessing. Because I didn’t consider that Sister Anning would torture the vampire. Because deep down, it had never occurred to me that vampires deserved the dignity of a swift death. “I don’t know.”

  “The proverbial shoe is on the other foot.” He snorts. “Let’s see how you enjoy being dissected.”

  My heartbeat accelerates, sending warm blood to my limbs. “Is that what they said would happen?”

  “I heard one of the mages say you would stay here until the Arch Mother Superior arrives.”

  A disappointed groan reverberates through my chest. She probably wants to torture me herself.

  I want to dip my head, but magic keeps me pinned against the wall. Someone moans from the other direction.

  “Who’s there?” I say.

  “That’s Mitchell. Would you believe he’s been here for seventeen years? They’re amputating his limbs to see how long they take to regenerate.”

  If my shoulders could slump, they would be halfway down to my hips. The old me would have considered the possibility that Fortescue was trying to stir up discontent, but I saw Sister Anning’s sadistic biology lecture, saw the books with photos and illustrations of gruesome, past experiments.

  My mind goes back to Galla, who told me that shooting the monster with ammunition enchanted to burst into flames would slow it down long enough for me to cut off its head. That was about survival, making a quick kill, but these experiments are just to satisfy someone’s sick curiosity.

  The sound of stone scraping against stone makes my breath catch in the back of my throat, and a shard of light slices through the darkness. It illuminates a wall of skulls and bones. As the stone door opens and the light spreads across the chamber, terror makes the fine hairs on the back of my mind stand on end.

  Catacombs weren’t a code word for a special detention room within the convent. We’re inside an underground storage space for dead bodies, complete with recesses. More light fills the room, illuminating a recess that holds a headless, scorched body.

  Grandma’s heels click across the stone floor. The light coming from the chamber behind her colors the ends of her hair golden, but I still can’t see her expression. Behind her and her left is Aunt Clarissa, who walks alongside the Magus. Two smaller figures scurry behind them like rats, who I suppose are Presbytera Driver and Doctor Shevette.

  I glance over their shoulders for signs of Uncle Fred, but he isn’t there. I hope they haven’t done something terrible to silence him.

  “Good evening, Gabrielle,” says Grandma.

  I don’t respond.

  She huffs an irritated voice from her nostrils. “Studies have indicated that once a slayer ingests the blood of a vampire, it can take up to ten years to remove his influence.”

  My throat thickens at the thought of being kept alive in this freezing tomb for a decade.

  “The other way to save the foolish slayer is with the vampire’s death,” she adds.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I can’t look at her, but I also don’t want to look at Aunt Clarissa. She was supposed to be the kind grandmother, but she acts like she’s also had a taste of Grandma’s blood.

  “The Augustine line ends with you.” She places a cool hand on my cheek.

  I flinch away from her touch. Grandma withdraws her hand with the nerve to look hurt.

  “You have committed the worst acts of heresy,” she says.

  “Haven’t you retired from the order?”

  “I’m on an extended sabbatical. I will resume my duties once I have cleansed your mother of that vampire’s taint.”

  I drop my gaze to the stone floor. Now Presbytera Driver’s groveling around Grandma makes sense. Nothing in her words says Grandma’s going to forgive me for being with Alaric. The cynical part of my mind says she wants me to birth some more slayers before my final punishment.

  “Save yourself,” says Grandma. “Help us lure Alaric Severin to the convent. Help us capture the vampire who has made you his slave.”

  “Then what?”

  She sweeps her arm at Doctor Shevette. “You will serve the Order under a strong conciliar.”

  Footsteps echo across the catacomb. It’s Madoc, wringing his hands. “Arch Mother Superior. You can’t—”

  “Do not interrupt,” she snarls.

  Madoc falls silent, and I wonder if he’s trying to help me because Poppy discovered what he did.

  “I will make you an offer. Cooperate in our plan to kill the ancient vampire or be executed as a heretic.”

  I clench my teeth. “Alaric doesn’t drink human blood—”

  “Help us kill Alaric Severin or face execution.”

  Angry tears spill down my cheeks. Why can’t she realize she’s a slave to another vampire?

  Grandma deflates. “No matter.” She holds up the phone Leo gave me. “We’ll just call him to come to your rescue.”

  Chapter 23

  The magic surrounding my body loosens, and I drop straight to the floor like a scarecrow in the wind. Grandma catches me by my arms and sets me on my feet.

  “Don’t touch me,” I snarl.

  “Don’t be such a child.” She smooths down my hair and brushes her hand down the front of the charcoal tunic someone has placed over my body. It’s the brisk movements she made when I was little, and I would think that I was never smart or pretty or neat enough to please Grandma.

  If I had enough sensation flowing to my limbs, I would grab her by the leather jacket and slam my head into her face.

  I can’t believe I was blind to the monster behind the cold facade. There were always traces of it, which I chose to ignore. She subjected Evangeline to the truth enchantment when a lie detector would have given her the same result. She undermined Uncle Fred for not bringing me up exactly the way she wanted, instead of appreciating that he had sacrificed his life for me.

  My gaze rises to Aunt Clarissa, who glances toward the skeletons laid out on stone shelves. I snarl, “How could you stand by and watch her treat me lower than dirt?”

  Aunt Clarissa sighs. “It seems harsh, but rogue slayers are some of the most dangerous supernatural beings. Once Michaela has cleansed you of the vampire’s blood, you’ll take the blessing—”

  My laugh fills the chamber. It’s part scream, part-hacking cough, and all hysteria. It echoes back to me like the wail of a banshee. “You people are deluded. I’d rather die than inhale that curse.”

  Grandma’s hand tightens around my arm. “There are ways to continue the Augustine line without your participation.”

  A shudder runs down my spine, and my knees collapse onto the stone floor. Grandma releases me, and my arms shoot out to catch my face from smashing into the hard surface.

  “Did I say deluded?” I scream. “You’re sick.”

  “Clarissa?” says Grandma.

  A cushion of magic lifts me off my knees, and I float through the catacombs, past the wall of human skulls, and toward the open door. Grandma and the Magus walk in front with Doctor Shevette and Aunt Clarissa at my sides.


  “Good luck, slayer,” Fortescue mutters, and it’s the first time anyone has shown me an ounce of compassion since I awoke in this creepy hell.

  We move into a bright hallway which looks like the vestibule of a medieval dungeon. Wall sconces illuminate the space, highlighting the stone walls’ rough texture. The floor here looks like tamped earth, but it’s the color of oxblood instead of brown.

  An elderly sister of servitude I’ve never seen before bows as Grandma passes with the Magus, and I raise my head to shoot her a filthy glare. How can she look serene knowing that a fellow sister has spent goodness-knows how long in a crypt full of blood-drinkers and bones?

  I turn my gaze to Aunt Clarissa. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  She tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing much if you cooperate.”

  “What was the point of making those quilts and pies when you’re helping her torture me?” I say, bitter lacing my voice.

  Aunt Clarissa’s pink lips tighten. It’s always the same with her. She’ll agree to anything Grandma in a firm voice. It’s another example of conciliars falling too hard for their slayers and forgetting their duty to police their activities.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I mutter.

  She floats me through an archway and into a room about fifty by fifty feet in size. Its walls are similar to the hallway we passed, but the floors are made of clay. It’s a ritual room of some sort. Someone has etched a circle of about thirty feet in diameter with runes and glyphs forming patterns.

  A line bisects the circle and three smaller circles run through that line. Then a larger circle engulfs two of the circles at one and two of the circles at the other. In the middle circle is a cross that resembles more of a plus-sign than a crucifix.

  Doctor Shevette stands at one end of the line on a floating plank, and Madoc stands at the other. They both wear white robes and hold golden sickles.

  Panic rises to my chest, but I can’t even scream because terror has a choke-hold on my throat. This looks like a ritual sacrifice, but that’s the realm of warlocks.

  Aunt Clarissa raises me over the circle of glyphs and uses her magic to arrange my wrists on the arms of the cross.

  “What are you doing?” My voice breaks.

  She doesn’t answer—she can’t. Because if she voiced the fact that she was going to perform some kind of dark magic on the girl she helped to raise, she’d have to admit that she’s just as wicked as Grandma.

  Madoc floats his plank to my right. “You have to know,” he murmurs low enough so only I can hear. “I never thought they would take your punishment this far.”

  “Yet you’re holding a sacrificial sickle and wearing sacrificial sackcloth,” I say from between clenched teeth. “What’s Poppy going to do when she finds out you used me for vampire bait?”

  Confusion crosses his features, but he shakes off the expression and pulls his brows together. It’s a pathetic attempt to appear earnest, and I’m not buying it. “Just play along until I can fix this.”

  I turn my head away. At any time on Halloween or the day after, Madoc could have taken me aside and voiced his suspicions. What did he think would happen to me when he blurted it out to a room full of powerful and dangerous people?

  He sniffs. “Brielle…”

  “Don’t use my nickname,” I snap. “We’re not friends.”

  He grabs my wrist and slashes it with the sickle. Pain jolts across my tendons, and blood pours from my wound.

  I gasp. “What are you—”

  He cuts me off with an incantation. Doctor Shevette takes my left wrist and presses the blade into the vein in a move so painless, it makes me wonder how he’s so well-practiced.

  My blood arcs through the air and settles into the grooves etched around my feet. It spreads across the clay floor and fills the engraved glyphs. My heart gallops across my chest and pumps even more blood to my wrists, I slow my breathing in an attempt to slow my heart rate, but it only increases the flow.

  Footsteps resound toward the room. I glance up to find the Magus at the door about to speak to Grandma and Aunt Clarissa.

  “What is this?” I rasp.

  “A vampire trap.” Grandma smiles, baring whitened teeth. “Alaric Severin made a mistake when he fed you his blood. Now, that same blood will rise to ensnare him when he comes to your rescue.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” I snarl.

  She tilts her head to the side, and the look she gives me is as hard as stone. “Then he will watch the blood rise and suffocate you.”

  Cold shock hits me in the chest, and I fall back onto the cross. Grandma doesn’t joke and it’s rare that she ever bluffs. All my attempts to breathe slowly and reduce my heart rate evaporate.

  I can barely speak the next words for fear of the answer. “Doesn’t our relationship mean anything to you?”

  Grandma walks around the perimeter of the circle with the Magus at her side and inspects the runes. Without looking at me, she recites, “In the glory of Saint Theodora, all blood connections are as water.”

  “But we’re also connected by name,” I say. “That’s important to you.”

  She glances up. “I won’t let you die.”

  Grandma leaves the rest of her sentence unsaid. She won’t let me die until I’ve given her another slayer great-granddaughter or two. Since her daughter and granddaughter fell for vampires, she’ll probably take more of an interest in the next generation’s upbringing.

  She exits the room with the Magus and Aunt Clarissa, leaving me alone with Doctor Shevette, who is still directing my blood from the floating plank on my left. Madoc kneels at the circle’s outer edge, using his fingers to color some of the etchings with my blood.

  I stare out of the arch to where the three women gather in a tight circle. Presbytera Driver stands at the farthest end of the hallway with her arms wrapped around her middle. She’s the only person I don’t hate. I pity her for being too weak to stand up to Grandma or to at least make an effort.

  A frustrated breath huffs from my throat. I hope his family beat some sense into Alaric before he decides to come to my rescue and get himself trapped. Thankfully, Grandma only asked about his underlings.

  The theory is that master vampires create their own nests as they don’t trust others of their own strength not to stab them through the heart and take all the minions and the millions for themselves. Alaric might be a prince, but he considers Leo and Thoris his brothers.

  If he doesn’t come, then I’ll choke, pass out, and get revived. A new bout of terror skitters down my spine, but I clench my teeth. It’s better than letting Alaric die, and if Grandma hands me to a powerful conciliar to supervise my actions, I will bide my time before making an escape.

  “Is this because of Evangeline?” Doctor Shevette’s voice breaks me out of my musings.

  I turn and meet his red-rimmed eyes. “Sir?”

  “Your vampire killed my wife and attacked my daughter because she left you on that beach with that creature,” he says.

  “The monster came after me last week. Alaric decapitated it and burned its body. Neither of us knew it was Sister Shevette until Presbytera Driver mentioned the details of her death.”

  “It couldn’t have been her.” He shakes his head. “She was with me the entire evening of your first mission.”

  My throat convulses. “Then there’s another monster—the one who attacked me and infected her.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and confusion wars in his eyes.

  “Focus on the incantation.” Grandma walks into the room. “You’ll have ample time to question the girl when we’ve killed her vampire.”

  The older man bobs his head and waves his arms to direct my blood into the glyphs . After several minutes, Madoc steps back from the circle’s perimeter.

  Doctor Shevette surveys his work. “It is done.”

  Grandma reaches into the pocket of her tactical jacket and hands the phone to the Magus. “Let’s make the cal
l.”

  The Magus floats it above the circle of blood glyphs. A large screen appears behind the handset, which I suppose will project Alaric’s face.

  Buttons light up on the screen that indicate she’s making a video call.

  My pulse accelerates, and I clear my dry throat.

  Alaric sits in the shade of the wisteria plants, and the clink of silverware on plates stops. His black hair falls over his brow and curves around one high cheekbone. The color in his cheeks tells me he’s either fed or is in the middle of feeding. Despite being bled like a sacrificial goat and about to be suffocated, my heart flutters in my chest like a dying moth.

  I force a deep breath into my lungs and exhale my relief. At least he isn’t shirtless and exposing the conciliar bond etched into his skin.

  “Gabrielle, I thought you would call soon—” His face drops. “What’s happened?”

  I shake my head. “Remember how you trolled me on the plane? My grandma’s trying to trick you into coming to my rescue, but it’s a trap made of my blood.”

  Grandma snarls and orders the Magus to do something. The phone disappears around the other side of the screen and faces Grandma.

  She folds her arms across her chest and stands with her feet apart. “Alaric Severin. If you don’t present yourself within twenty minutes, I will kill Gabrielle Augustine.”

  “Michaela, isn’t it?” he says.

  She narrows her eyes but doesn’t confirm her identity. “Come and face us, or Gabrielle burns.”

  “You’re bluffing.” He doesn’t say this with his usual confidence. Maybe he knows more about Grandma than I thought.

  Grandma’s cold smile covers my heart with frost. She’s about to prove him wrong. I clench my teeth and press my lips together. Whatever she does to me, I won’t make a sound. I won’t make Alaric charge into a convent full of slayers and conciliars just to get himself killed.