by K. A. Tucker
I dove for the nearest couch, hanging over the arm to watch Leo work. He sat completely still, his eyes closed, appearing deep in thought, or as if he were meditating.
Max settled directly beside me, and the other dogs appeared out of nowhere to investigate the situation as well.
“Magic?” I whispered, intrigued.
Yup . . . You know, I could have left him out there. Max began in a gruff voice. When I caught his scent, I went out of my way to find him. I figured you’d want to help him out. I glanced over to see his ochre eyes staring at me, brimming with something I rarely saw in them—anxiety.
My guilt-ridden werebeast was trying to make amends. I reached over and scratched behind his ear. “You did good, Max. Thank you.”
Not that he deserves it, Max said, earning a flat look. But I did it for you, he added quickly, leaning over to nestle against my neck.
“Do you think Julian will die?”
Max didn’t answer.
We sat. We waited.
I woke up to something warm and wet sliding across my cheek. Max’s tongue. Lifting my head from the arm of the couch, I groaned at a kink in my neck left by the awkward position. A colorful afghan draped my body. At some point, someone had tucked me in. I was thankful, given the draft that crept in from somewhere. I rolled my head to peer at the fireplace and saw only embers. The fire was Leo’s department. Where is he? I wondered, rubbing my eyes with my palms.
“How’d I end up back here?” a male voice croaked, startling a gasp from me. Julian was propped on the opposite couch, his face paler than normal, but alive. And he wasn’t scowling for once, which made his face pleasant to look at, his features dark and masculine.
I sat up to face him. “Max tracked you down in a deep snowbank.” I made sure I emphasized who his savior was. “He brought you back and Leo helped heal you. The lunatic butler and the freak mutt,” I added, repeating his words from yesterday.
Julian had the decency to look sheepish as he glanced over at Max.
“Are you stupid?” I blurted before I could stop myself. But then, after thinking about it for all of five seconds, I silently praised myself. He deserved it.
Julian smirked before dropping his gaze to his hands. “Yes, I suppose I am. I don’t know where I am, what is going on, why I’m here. I don’t know anything except that my parents are dead and I’m surrounded by . . . ” He didn’t finish, either because he lost his train of thought or he’d been about to drop another insult and decided against it.
I turned to look at Max. “Where’s Leo?”
Resting for the day.That much magic drained him.
“Okay.” I turned back to see Julian’s wide eyes and the same “Is she crazy?” look his sister had worn the day before. “Yes, I can talk to him telepathically,” I supplied. “I have no idea how. It just happened.”
Julian’s brown eyes shifted between Max and me. “Well,” he said after a long moment, “tell him thanks for me. It was colder than I anticipated.”
“You just did. He understands you,” I said. I glanced down at the floor to see my pictures scattered everywhere. I must have dropped them when Max came in with Julian. Rolling off the couch to my knees, I started gathering them.
“Are those your . . . friends?” Julian asked.
Friends. That word again. It was sounding more odd as time went on. I only nodded.
Julian eased himself off the couch to crouch on the floor and help collect the photos. He held up a picture of Bishop wearing a goofy grin and one of Caden, his face typically pensive. “So which one are you in love with?”
I snatched the picture from his hand, heat rising in my cheeks. He chuckled and continued picking up pictures, pausing on one of Amelie and Fiona. I noticed his eyebrow arch. “Who’s the blonde?”
Despite my dour mood, I grinned. “That’s Amelie. She’s really cute, isn’t she? You’d like her.” Except that she’s a vampire, and she’ll likely kill you.
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he murmured wryly. I caught the fleeting look of disapproval before he consciously made it disappear. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “I’ve been a complete jerk to you. I deserved what Max did.” Max let out a small grunt of satisfaction. Julian glanced over before continuing, likely a little disoriented by the dog’s uncanny ability to understand him. “It’s just . . . I know my parents were mixed up with some bad things. But they were still my parents and now they’re dead. One minute I’m visiting them for a weekend trip away from med school and the next thing I know, I’m . . . I don’t know where and . . . ”
“Med school?” Julian, the son of a Colombian drug lord, saving lives? Sofie hadn’t mentioned that.
“Yeah, my first year. I fast-tracked my undergrad,” Julian explained.
I watched him obliquely as we collected the rest of the pictures in silence, wary of this new calm, polite version of Julian. Had Leo magically fixed him to be . . . nice?
“Why aren’t they here, with you, if they’re your friends?” Julian suddenly asked.
“It’s a long story,” I muttered. I had no idea where to begin.
He handed me the stack he had collected, then prompted as he climbed back onto the couch, “Well, I’m clearly not going anywhere . . . ”
I glanced at Max, who only shook his head. Not surprising. This world of secrecy was all the big dog knew. Lies and manipulation. Of course he didn’t trust a soul.
“Please?” Julian coaxed, staring back at me with earnest brown eyes that looked more like those of an innocent seven-year-old than a twenty-something med student from a corrupt family. It was probably the same look I had in my eyes when I begged for the truth from Sofie. For once I held the answers, and I couldn’t bear to leave an innocent person in the friendless darkness where I had dwelt.
For the next hour, I gave Julian the Cole’s Notes version of my life as I had learned it over the last month, much to Max’s mortification. Julian sat cross-legged on the couch and listened quietly, all signs of his previous offensiveness gone, replaced with a mixture of appreciation and sympathy. Once in a while he asked a question, querying the venom issue or where Veronique was hiding, but otherwise he just listened, seemingly absorbing my words. He was a wonderful listener, I had to admit. Once I started, I found it effortless to talk to him. It was easier than talking to Caden—but that was likely because I couldn’t focus on any thought for too long around that face . . . Though Julian was becoming more appealing with his new demeanor, it was different.
I spoke briefly about Caden, stumbling over my words and blushing furiously. I left out anything that sounded like “love” and “soul mate” but the knowing look in Julian’s eyes revealed that he’d quickly deduced what Caden meant to me.
At some point, a servant set a tray holding weak tea and lightly buttered toast on the nearest end table for Julian, which he accepted with a polite nod. “It sounds like you’ve forgiven them,” he said, his face incredulous as he stirred sugar into his tea. “After everything they’ve done to you?”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve forgiven them,” I began slowly, feeling foolish again. I couldn’t even answer that truthfully. I had in fact forgiven Sofie. Completely. And there was nothing to forgive on Caden’s end. “Being angry won’t change anything. It will only turn me bitter. Maybe it will surface later and I’ll go on a psychotic rampage.”
“But . . . ” Julian paused, searching for words, “they tried to kill you and you still call them friends. You don’t see there being anything wrong with that?”
“It’s complicated,” I mumbled, shrugging. “There’s plenty wrong with everything that’s going on. I hope that by the time I see them again, they’ll have learned to control themselves.”
Julian leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded. “And when will that happen? How long? Are you—are we—stuck here until then?”
“Not long. Hard to say . . . ” I worked hard to hide the lie from my face but, by the crestfallen look on his, I knew
I’d failed miserably. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the full truth, that Sofie, an over-protective, borderline stalker, had locked us up here to keep me safe from a pack of vampires until they could be trusted around my blood.
We could die here.
3. The Sentinel
“Soon,” I murmured softly, sliding my hand over the smooth white marble of my baby sister’s tomb, knowing my promise was a blatant lie. One hundred and twenty years ago, she accompanied me, hand in hand, into a dank, dusty room in this very building—then a factory of sorts. One hundred and twenty years ago, I had stared straight into her anxious green eyes and sworn that I’d release her the second I fixed my magical blunder. As tears rolled down her rosy cheeks, I’d chanted the freezing spell, my voice masking her last sobs until the spell paralyzed and preserved her body, and I felt my heart break. I witnessed the magic marble winding around her body, encasing her in her glorious tomb, swallowing her beautiful, curly brown locks. And here she was, tucked away inside the atrium’s focal point when she could be free. All it meant was that Evangeline had to die. Damn the Fates and their twisted sense of humor.
No. While Veronique was locked in her magic-induced coma, my lies couldn’t hurt her. They would torture me, but I’d endure. I would keep her under this spell for as long as it took to outsmart the Fates. Just as Evangeline would remain in her own protective cocoon—for years, decades, a lifetime. I would keep her safe.
“I guess the others are in the cellar?” I said to no one in particular as I strolled away from the statue, my eyes drifting over the twenty or so Ratheus inhabitants who lingered in the ruined atrium, huddled in circles, whispering amongst themselves. Likely still in shock over this otherworldly transportation. The other half—including Caden and his posse—were busy gorging themselves on blood bags in the cellar. Like unruly teenagers, they had broken into Viggo and Mortimer’s stash within an hour of arriving and had stayed there since, satiating their thirst, dooming their previous moral convictions. All of the Ratheus vampires had spent a considerable amount of time in the cellar, but it seemed Evangeline’s friends couldn’t get enough.
Those four had also foiled my desperate plan to corner one and dissect their intentions. I needed to isolate one of them just long enough to infiltrate their souls and minds. Only thirty seconds, someplace where I knew I wouldn’t be attacked by Mage for using magic or by Viggo for appearing to conspire against him. I would be breaking two parts of the truce by doing this and therefore would likely earn the wrath of both ancient vampires. I had no idea what Mage’s wrath entailed; I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
But it didn’t matter because I could never get close enough. If Viggo wasn’t around, then Mage was. Since she had some uncanny ability to sense my magic, I couldn’t try anything with her in arm’s reach. And if neither of them was around, then that bitch, Rachel, was—hovering, watching, poised to report back to Viggo and Mortimer. It was clear she had chosen to side with them in this power struggle, and appointed herself Viggo and Mortimer’s eyes and ears. So I waited impatiently, and each hour that passed saw Caden and the others committing themselves more and more to their blood lust. My hope for something good to come of this charade was quickly thinning.
“Damn it!” I heard Viggo mutter, voice low. I whipped my head around in time to see him tucking his cell phone into his Armani suit pocket, his jaw clenched. Bad news? I felt a small smile curl the corners of my mouth. I knew exactly what that message was about. One of his compelled minions had informed him that their search for Evangeline had come back empty. No doubt there were a hundred such packs running loose around the world at this very moment, the brutes storming every location tied to my past. Both Viggo and Mortimer had been glued to their text pads, sending directives out to their vultures. I had expected as much.
His steely blue eyes locked on mine when Viggo realized I was watching. The hard look of frustration instantly vanished, replaced by his typical smug grin. “So Evangeline’s little ‘friends’ refuse to pry themselves from our blood reservoir.” He sauntered over to stand beside me, a smile of satisfaction tugging at his lips. It was just like him to find that amusing. But he didn’t wait for me to answer, instead changing the topic completely. “Do you really believe we’ll see Ursula again?” He added with thick sarcasm, “Assuming you were telling me the truth before.”
I realized we were standing in the exact spot in the atrium where my nemesis had fallen to her death—or her host body’s death. Good question. One I didn’t have an honest answer to, other than what I had already told them—the death was too clean, too calm, to be permanent. I had no idea how that jealous witch had reincarnated herself once, let alone over and over again to stalk me through the years. She had no doubt made her own deal with the Fates. Of course, telling Viggo any of that was useless. He wouldn’t believe me. So I simply shrugged. Ursula was the least of our worries.
The sound of a lock clicking set the tiny hairs on the back of my neck on end, erasing all worries. The exterior door release. Someone was entering. My shoulders tensed. I had sent every staff member away from here, with no hope of finding their way back! So who could . . . My nostrils caught a whiff of human blood. “Mortimer!” I hissed, my eyes glued to the gaping hole where the first security door had once existed.
“It’s Monday. The gardener,” Mortimer whispered in response. Not that there was any point to secrecy. The twenty Ratheus vampires in the atrium were well aware of the small Portuguese man entering to prune and weed the urban jungle as he did every Monday and Thursday. By now his blood was tantalizing their nostrils.
“What do we do?” I asked, hearing the panic in my voice. The words sounded foreign, coming from me. I wasn’t used to asking Mortimer—or anyone—for advice.
But it was too late. Like a pack of super-speed bees—Rachel in the lead—twenty vampires swarmed toward the door to ambush the quiet, polite gardener the second he stepped through the gaping hole, the horror of the atrium’s present ruin distracting him from his impending doom. He didn’t even have time to scream.
I averted my eyes, unable to watch the massacre of the gentle, innocent man with whom I had shared a laugh on several occasions. How could I have forgotten about him?
“That’s too bad . . . He knew how to prune Veronique’s azaleas in just the right way,” Viggo murmured with the empathy of Hannibal Lecter. I turned to see the hunger in his eyes, an arrogant smile of satisfaction on his lips as he witnessed the innocent man’s death eating away at my core.
I dug my red-painted fingernails into my thighs as I fought the urge to gouge Viggo’s eyes out, my promise to my baby sister becoming harder to keep by the second. I needed to distance myself. Spinning on my heels, I stormed toward my haven, throwing back over my shoulder with spiteful satisfaction, “The only way you’ll find Evangeline is if you pry it out of my head.” And that will never happen.
Evangeline’s delicate human scent lingered everywhere. The same delicate human scent that had enticed me for eighteen years, since the day I’d first laid eyes on her tiny pink form, swaddled and asleep in a bassinet. She had barely lived in this hideous blood-red room—the décor a twisted joke of Viggo’s—and yet I could find traces of her on every surface. On the crimson silk bedding of the four-poster king-sized bed; on the taffeta drapery; clinging to the crystals of her nightstand lamp where her wrist had grazed them while switching on the light. Everywhere. It was why I had spent most of my time here, since the Ratheus vampires’ arrival. It was why I warned everyone to stay out or suffer my wrath, truce be damned. So far, no one had tested me.
I wandered around the room now, clutching Evangeline’s pink sweatshirt to my chest. She’d been wearing it the night of Ursula’s attack. I shuddered, thinking back to that night, the raw pain visible in her eyes when she first learned the truth behind her mother’s death. I’d wanted to run to her, to hug her, to protect her. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t allow Viggo and Mortimer to comprehend the depth of my love for that s
weet girl. They would have used it against me. In the end, Ursula’s attack was a blessing. Evangeline finally saw Viggo for what he really was: a conniving monster.
Passing by a full-length beveled mirror, I faltered. Sallow green eyes gaped back at me. My hair, naturally smooth and silky, drifted in disarray. Awkward creases riddled my fitted black and silver tube dress. Strange, for me. I didn’t need to work very hard to turn the awed heads of every man, woman, and child I passed. I never looked like this . . .
I sighed. Evidence of my current frazzled state over being separated from my girl. For eighteen years, until the first night her curse sent her to Ratheus, she was always within a minute’s reach, always under my careful watch. And now she was thousands of miles away.
I hated it. I hated Viggo and Mortimer for making me do it. All I have is a picture, I thought bitterly as I pulled a folded four by six from the only pocket in my dress. I had swiped it from the stack of prints I developed for her. In it, she was sitting on a bench, gazing off to her left and smiling. Likely at Caden. My finger traced the lines of her face, memorized long ago. How much like her mother she looked, with her blonde hair and dimpled smile. Longing tore at my insides. If I was honest with myself, I missed her more than Nathan. I missed her more than my sister.
I sensed his entrance a split second after he appeared in the corner of my eye. “I thought I made myself clear,” I began, taking time to fold the picture and slide it back into my pocket. “No one is to enter this room.” I turned to level Caden with a flat gaze. Perfect. We’re alone. Finally. Now’s my chance. Except he’s too far away. I took one step forward, then another, slowly edging in without rousing suspicion. He wouldn’t take kindly to being violated like this if he knew what I intended to do, I was sure. I just needed him to remain unaware for thirty seconds so he wouldn’t bolt or attack me. And, if his motives for Evangeline proved wicked . . .