by Rye Brewer
“That’s a wise decision,” I murmured.
I knew he had it in him to make the right decision. He simply needed a push from time to time.
I understood him so well. Still. After so much time.
“Besides, I only meant to comment on the unworthiness of the clan as a whole,” he added. “My lazy choice of words notwithstanding. It perturbs me to no end, knowing how they cast Anissa and Sara aside due to events beyond their control.”
“She spoke of that to me,” I whispered, my face turned to the side that I might not crack my nose on his back should he make a sudden stop. “It is vile. My stomach turned.”
“As does mine whenever I think of it,” he muttered.
It seemed as though we walked forever, the tunnel stretching endlessly on. Each step increased the tightness in my chest, the sense of dread which would not leave me be. Powerful though we might have been, we were about to walk into a situation neither of us was prepared for.
A map was not enough.
I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat just in time to bounce off Stark’s back when he stopped.
A startled cry escaped my mouth.
It disappeared behind his hand, which he clapped over my mouth after turning to catch me before I fell.
In the utter darkness, there was no way to see his face, but I felt how very near he was. The hand over the lower half of my face was slightly clammy, as if knew my nervousness and understood too well.
“I kicked the stairs,” he whispered, his breath hot on my cheeks. “We’ve come to the pantry.”
I could only nod, and he set me back on my feet before lowering his hand. I almost wished he wouldn’t before reminding myself once again of his betrayal.
He didn’t deserve the stirring in my heart at his slightest touch.
“Are you ready?” he asked, unaware of the battle raging inside me.
I nodded again. “I am. Let’s go.”
20
Stark
I pretended the touch of her skin didn’t still cause my hand to tingle, that the weight of her against my arm had been unwelcome. That I would not rather take her in both arms and hold her close, crushing her to me, shutting out the rest of the world.
That was not possible. Nor was it advisable. Instead, once she was safely on her feet, I turned back to the stairs and walked quickly and quietly up their length. There weren’t many. I soon reached a closed door which yielded to slight pressure.
“Ready?” I asked over my shoulder.
“I’ve already told you I am,” came her tart hiss.
I reminded myself how little she seemed to care for kindness or even the most basic concern—at least, when they came from me.
I pushed the door open, careful to watch and listen. The pantry was empty, a relic from bygone days when it might have been stuffed to overflowing with food and drink. There was no need for either in a vampire’s mansion, even one in which an entire clan resided.
Though they might have taken the trouble to store synthetic blood for the clan. But that would not have fit with Marcus’s need to rule every one of the clan’s actions.
In a pantry or a kitchen, anyone could feed at any time so long as they knew how to get in. He’d chosen instead to ration the blood among each family—all but ignoring Anissa and Sara.
I could almost understand how her mind had unraveled so.
We walked on silent feet, through that room, and into the empty kitchen with its wasted appliances and empty cabinets. According to the map, we were to look for a door beyond the kitchen which would lead down into the dungeons.
I held her back while I swung open the kitchen door. The house was quiet—silent, even, leading me to question just why it was so.
“Where is everyone?” Branwen breathed, close to my ear.
I shrugged one shoulder, eyes peeled for signs of movement.
Rather than answering—it wasn’t as if I had an answer—I found the door in the wall, so dark against an already dark wall.
She nodded when I gestured to it, and we were darted out from the kitchen like a pair of rodents running from the light.
Once we were on the other side, in an equally dark and deserted passage, I could breathe slightly easier. We’d made it this far without detection.
I took Branwen’s hand before descending to the dungeons.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, though she did nothing to pull away.
“Making certain we stay together.”
“You could not do that without grasping my hand and holding it so tightly?”
“Is there anything you will shrink away from complaining about? It’s difficult enough to keep track of where I place my feet.” The stairs were dark, in keeping with the rest of the mansion. Not a flicker of light to see by. Once again, I wished I might use my power to illuminate the passage.
There were torches along the dungeon passageway, which came as a relief. They burned low, emitting little more than a faint glow, but it was enough to see by for once.
The rooms—dungeons—on either side were separated from the passage by glass walls. I would have wagered a generous amount that the glass had been treated with magic, of one sort of another, rendering it impossible for sound to pass through.
Much like the magic I’d encountered while imprisoned on Shadowsbane.
“Hurry,” Branwen urged as we ran straight ahead. “I have a terrible feeling in this place.”
“It’s the energy. What’s been done here,” I whispered over my shoulder, wishing there was time to offer a smile of encouragement. Something. But I felt it, too, and that oppressive energy. What I imagined it would be like if an elephant sat on my chest. I could barely draw a proper breath, and not because I was running.
Which one was Sara’s cell? Where had she been tortured?
There was no time to think about it—not that I wanted to, not that it was something I longed to consider. The hall came to a dead end not much farther ahead.
The sound of an opening door halted me in my tracks, sending Branwen crashing into me once again. As I had before, I clamped a hand over her mouth before she had the chance to grumble at me for stopping. And before she had the chance to react.
I pressed myself to the wall, pulling her in with me, and we held our breath while waiting to see who or what had made the noise. Who had opened the door? Where were they? I didn’t hear a thing—not a footstep, not a voice, not even the door’s closing. Nothing.
It was almost enough to make me believe the sound had come out of my overwrought imagination. The ever-present, crushing energy which spoke of a great many evils had twisted me.
Then, a footstep.
And a blur as a vampire bolted forward from the half-open door, fangs bared and claws extended. Claws which tore through the air, seeking flesh. My flesh.
I forced Branwen behind me and shielded her while I bore the brunt of the vampire’s body. He was determined, his blood-red eyes revealing the desperation to tear us apart. His fury, his bloodlust. He would drain us dry if given a chance.
Branwen murmured something behind me, and the vampire flung himself backward as though I’d thrown him and crashed into the opposite wall. Before he had the chance to gather himself and charge again, I froze him in a block of ice.
“I could’ve handled that myself,” I muttered to the witch behind me.
“Yes. You were doing very well,” she said with a snort. “We have to be fast, now. Before another of his kind ventures down here and finds him.”
He raged against his confines, slamming his fists against the ice walls and shrieking. The sound died when it hit the ice, leaving the passageway silent.
“Come. We have to hurry.”
She was right, we had less time than ever. Rather than waiting until we were certain our fanged friend hadn’t been followed, I charged through the door and up the stairs to Marcus’s former chambers.
And I hoped they weren’t Will Carver’s current chambers—or, if the
y were, that he might be away from them at the moment. While it wouldn’t have bothered me in the least to freeze every single vampire on the property, there was no telling how many there were or how long it would take.
Perhaps I would simply encase the entire mansion and be done with it.
“There it is,” Branwen hissed, pointing to the door.
As Anissa had described, it sat flush with the wall in order to blend in.
I gave it a gentle nudge and held my breath as it swung open. This time, it was Branwen who took my hand, and the fact that hers was rather clammy registered on my consciousness just before we stepped into the chamber.
Dark. So dark. Heavy drapes pulled tight against the windows, blocking out even stray moonlight. Immediately, a musty odor greeted us. The bed appeared to be empty—a great monstrosity of a bed, intricately carved with images I couldn’t quite make out and piled high with silk pillows which shone with a peculiar luster even in the absence of light.
Old-fashioned, ornate wallpaper covered the walls. I crossed the room as quietly as possible, searching for a place on the paper that didn’t quite match the rest. If only there was better light. Branwen crept close on my heels.
“You ought to stand guard and warn me if you hear anyone coming,” I suggested, pointing to the other side of the room.
She did as instructed with no argument, which was a miracle unto itself.
The door was well and truly concealed. I ran my hands over the wall—a thin film of dust covered it, giving me added confidence that no one had used the bedchamber since Marcus left.
“Hurry!” Branwen urged from across the room.
A glance over my shoulder revealed her, pressed against the door with her ear to the wood.
“I’m doing my best.” I pressed my palms to the wall, hoping to activate the spring which allowed the door to open without the use of a knob or latch. I was beginning to despair—what if Will had known of the supply all along and had moved it? What if he’d sealed the room off?
Then, something gave under my hands. The door sprang open. I let out a long breath, opening it further as I did, almost afraid of what I would find behind it. If it was empty and we’d come all this way for nothing…
The room was chilled, as promised.
It was also fully stocked with bag upon bag of blood. Dozens of them, stacked floor to ceiling along metal shelves.
“Your bag!” I whispered, already emptying the shelves. “Hurry!”
Branwen dashed over to me, holding out the canvas bag she’d worn over one shoulder. We worked together to fill it to overflowing.
“Let’s go,” she breathed, and there was a smile in her voice. Elation, even.
She sounded like the Branwen I remembered so well. It had not occurred to me until just then that her joy had disappeared. She’d become a sedate, serene version of herself and I’d attributed that change to the passage of time.
That joy still existed. She’d simply taken to suppressing it.
“Branwen…”
In spite of the importance of escape without detection, I reached for her and brushed the hair from where it hung against her cheek. Her dark, soulful eyes widened—though not in shock. Surprise, perhaps, but I got the impression that it was not an unhappy surprise.
The unhappy surprise arrived at the bedchamber door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a female demanded, while another pair entered behind her.
We were outnumbered—but what did it matter, now that someone had surely sent up an alarm? There was no reason to avoid using our powers on them now, when escape was what mattered most.
“Get to the door!” I urged, pushing Branwen away from me before calling together the energy required to build a wall of ice in front of the vampires. They jumped back in horror at the sight of it before running straight for it, throwing themselves against the clear, glistening structure.
“Hurry!” Branwen waved her arms, urging me on.
I hurdled through the door and almost tumbled down the stairs but caught myself in time.
She was already halfway down, moving so quickly she seemed to float.
“Wait!” I shouted over the sound of my footfalls and of my racing heart. “Don’t get too far ahead!”
I could not allow her out of my sight, yet she was too far ahead. I saw nothing more than her shadow as she disappeared through the doorway and into the dungeon passage.
I was halfway down the second flight when a scream rang out and was quickly silenced.
My feet had never moved faster as I all but threw myself down the rest of the stairs and into the passageway which Branwen had just entered.
She was there still—but in the arms of a tall, dark, broad-shouldered vampire whose fangs hovered dangerously close to her throat.
“We don’t take kindly to trespassers,” he snarled. “Especially those who take what belongs to us.”
I glared at him, afraid to move lest he puncture Branwen’s artery. I couldn’t freeze him or, better yet, fry him, without causing her harm.
The vampire’s mouth curved upward in a sneer. “What should I do with this intruder, then? And when I’m through with her, what should I do with you?”
21
Branwen
“Go,” I breathed, trapped in the vampire’s embrace. He was so very strong, his arms like steel bands around me, trapping me against a body which felt as if it were carved from granite.
His words to me, hissed in my ear in those heart-stopping moments between his capturing me and Stark’s appearance at the bottom of the stairs, rang in my ears. Make a move, use your powers against me, and I’ll have him killed in front of your very eyes.
That warning, and the images it called to life in my mind’s eye, were enough to leave me powerless. I refused to risk Stark’s life.
Though remaining docile also meant risking Elena’s. She needed the blood which I still carried over one shoulder. The very seams holding the canvas together threatened to burst under the weight of so many bags.
She had to get the blood. Sirene would be devastated if her child were left without it, and Anissa might feel the need to do something rash…
As if what we’d done was not already rash enough.
This went through my mind in the blink of an eye, my thoughts racing in all directions at once as I weighed my options. Were it just me, I would’ve made short work of the monster who had me in his grip.
There were shouts from above us, and the sounds of pounding feet. They were coming, more and more. We weren’t fast enough. We had failed.
And if they learned of Stark’s identity, they would surely put him through every form of torture imaginable as payback for what he’d done to their kind so long ago.
Our eyes met—and when they did, I saw the same understanding reflected in his gaze. He knew this was it. We would either find our way out of this, or we would both die horribly.
This meant there was nothing to lose by fighting back.
I closed my eyes and gathered every last scrap of energy, then directed it at the vampire who held me fast before letting go. He didn’t have the chance to cry out before hurling backward and crashing into the block of ice in which his friend still raged. The snap of his spine was a satisfying sound.
“Come on!” I shouted, reaching for Stark but finding myself too slow.
We already had more company, pouring down the stairs and through the doorway.
He whirled about, shooting ice bolts from his fingers and lighting up the stairwell and the passageway between the cells. Vampires fell, sizzling and burning from the frozen bolts, some of them screaming as he fired one after another of his killer bolts. I didn’t dare touch him when he did this, for fear of catching some of the charge.
“Go!” he screamed over his shoulder, eyes wide and wild, mouth pulled tight over his teeth in a grimace. “Now!”
“I won’t leave without you!” I looked down the length of the passage, into the darkness, longing to be fi
nished with this place for good and for all. But I would not leave him. I couldn’t, no matter what.
Soon there were too many to take on all at once, and Stark turned to flee.
“Go on!” he barked, shooting bolts behind him, catching one or two of them at a time but doing little to keep them from following. The bodies on the stairs must have made it difficult for the rest to pour down as they had, but there were still far too many, and they kept coming. They wouldn’t stop.
He let out a roar, just behind me, but there was no stopping to see why. We had to run, we had to hurry, we had to get away from that place where no portal could be thrown. Only once we were on the other end of the tunnel could I use magic to get us home.
I paused long enough to cast a freezing spell, hoping to hold them in place, but it did no good. All the newcomers did was step over the bodies of their fallen kin and continue to come after us.
“A wall! We need another wall!”
“I’m trying!” Stark shouted, running in short bursts between bolts over his shoulder. “They don’t give me enough time!”
“I’ll hold them as long as I can! When I count to three, we both turn, and I’ll hold them while you build the wall!” We were nearing the end of the passage. I could see the stairs in front of me, coming into better focus with each step. “Ready? One. Two. Three!”
We stopped, turning together, and I held my hands palms-out. An invisible wall of swirling, pulsing energy swelled up before me, like an invisible membrane which none could pass through. They tried, making the membrane bulge as they pushed against it, eyes blood-red, jaws snapping, claws useless against my power.
“Now!” I screamed over the low roar in my head. “Do it now!”
Only he wasn’t moving fast enough. He seemed unsteady. Weak. He lifted his arms slowly, as if they’d suddenly turned to lead.