"Let's just say that he is where he is because he takes what he wants, brutally if necessary. Lucian is very, very powerful and very, very ruthless."
"But you don't live by his rules?"
"Yes and no. Yes, because I am bound to protect who we are, the House of Devereux, and he will always be my brother even though I don't agree with his principles. And no, because I am here," he said simply.
"Is it hard being away from your family?"
"Why do you ask?" Christian asked, surprised by her question.
"I don't have anyone but my Aunt Holly. If I did, I'd want to be near them, that's all," she said, shifting as he curled an arm around her. The warmth from the fireplace coupled with her exhaustion, made her eyelids heavy. She leaned into his embrace, forgetting for an instant everything she'd discovered about him, and gave in to the sweetness of just being held. "Family is important, isn't it? And knowing who you are, and where you belong?"
"Yes," he said. "But sometimes we're forced to make choices ... hard ones, just for the sake of family. Lucian wanted something I had, and it was easy for me to give it up. The Devereux mantle always meant more to him than it ever did to me."
Christian trailed off, for a moment lost again in his own memories. Victoria left him alone this time, sensing his need for momentary solitude.
AFTER A WHILE, Christian shifted and realized that Victoria had fallen asleep, the warmth of the fireplace and the hypnotic thud of his heartbeat combining to lull her into a fitful slumber. Her breathing was deep and even, her trust in him absolute. Even the threat of shadowy creatures lurking in the darkness hadn't been able to stop her eyes from closing. Christian had felt her heart accelerate ten times in the last hour. She'd been afraid. Yet despite her fear, she had seen something inside of him worth staying for.
Not wanting to wake her, Christian lifted her carefully against his chest and carried her upstairs, watching as she curled into a tiny ball under the sheets. She looked so small in the giant bed. He sat down next to her, brushing the hair off her face and clasping her fingers in his own. She mumbled something and shivered.
"Sleep," he soothed.
What he'd done was unimaginable, unthinkable. He'd broken laws he was sworn to uphold under penalty of exile, or worse, death. And executing a vampire wasn't as simple or as neat as killing a person. It involved a great deal of pain, and a lot of fanfare designed only to serve the power of the Vampire Council. Punishing a blood traitor was always an event. Punishing Christian Devereux would be a spectacle.
He didn't care. All he knew was what he felt, and Christian had lived long enough to know that what he felt wasn't just fleeting. It was something far more. Despite the risks, everything inside him knew that letting this girl go would be a mistake.
Stay with me, Victoria, he thought, unable to voice the words.
"I will," she said sleepily, squeezing his fingers.
VICTORIA AWOKE PANIC-stricken. It was dark as night but she could feel that she was in a bed, and her hands flew to her throat as she dizzily recalled pieces of the previous night and snatches of broken conversation. She remembered that she had been at Christian's but she didn't remember falling asleep in his bed!
She sat up appalled, and groped blindly for a light switch. Her fingertips felt something on the wall near the headboard and pressed it. A whirring noise was followed by a crack of bright white light peeking through the nearest bedroom window. The electronic shutters rose slowly then stopped. It was enough to illuminate the room. She blinked against the daylight and squinted around the room.
It was beautiful, like everything else in the house, with subtle masculine touches of dark wood and elegant style. A large armchair and ottoman sat in one corner, but the massive four-poster bed on which she was sitting dominated the room. A clock on the wall above an elaborate dresser said that it was ten o'clock.
Saving what would undoubtedly be the best for last, Victoria turned her attention to the boy lying next to her on the bed and appeased her blossoming curiosity. He looked so peaceful. She leaned in slowly—he didn't even look like he was breathing!
He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm up around his head, on top of the duvet. Smiling at his propriety, her eyes roved over the angular planes and long hollows of his back disappearing into the waistband of black silk pajama pants. An intricate tattoo that looked like a rope of intertwined silvery-black letters meandered from the base of his skull all the way down his back. It was in a language that she didn't recognize.
Victoria longed to touch the expanse of smooth porcelain skin and she gave in to the temptation, running her fingertips across his shoulders and down the line of the silvery writing. He didn't move. His skin felt smooth and hard like it was stretched taut over granite; the muscles didn't even jump reflexively at her soft caress.
"Christian," she whispered. He didn't move. "Christian, are you awake?" she said more loudly. Nothing. It was as if he were dead. Victoria laughed to herself, given what he actually was, that was understandable. She leaned closer and moved her lips to his ear, one hand pressing down onto his right shoulder blade to support herself.
In the space of half a second, Victoria found herself flipped roughly onto her back, a snarling face inches from her own. He had her arms pinned to her side and she stared in horror at the familiar face she could barely recognize. His eyes were slits, his face twisted in a ferocious grimace, and his teeth! Long, white and deadly. She felt the amulet blaze.
"Christian!" she said, her throat thick with terror. "Stop it. Stop IT!"
He was somewhere else. She shouldn't have touched him, she realized too late, and now he was milliseconds away from her throat. Even in its transformation, his face was savagely beautiful. Despite her shock, she felt an unfamiliar warmth settle in her chest.
Victoria had two choices: the first was to hurl him away but she knew that his death grip on her arms meant that she could go flying with him; the second was to teleport herself to another place in the room.
Calling on her power, she felt the magic begin to flow in her veins as she focused her energy. If only she had more experience with teleporting! She fought her rising panic and the spell faltered. As she felt his hot breath on her face, Victoria knew she had no choice.
"Transeo!" she shouted.
She focused on the dresser across the room and in a split second she was at the other side of the room. Dizziness made her knees buckle, causing her head to collide with the dresser's sharp top edge. At the same time, the furious growl of a predator deprived of his prey filled the room. Even in her lightheadedness, Victoria knew the wetness on the side of her face was blood.
The air thickened as Christian flew toward her with lightening speed, pinning her against the wall. Her hands pushed with futile resistance against his chest. His eyes were wild with hunger as his face hung inches from hers. But Christian hesitated, his slitted eyes squinting warily. She could feel him studying the trickle of blood on her cheek but he seemed reluctant, afraid even, to take it. That single split second gave her time to react.
With Herculean strength, she pushed her hands against his chest and slid them up his corded neck. She grasped his face with her hands, her magic lending her strength to keep him still. His eyes were feral. She stared into them, letting him see her, willing him to see her. The rampant energy coursed like a river into her hands, suddenly powerful in that moment, and without a doubt, Victoria knew that she could kill him in an instant.
Open to me, she commanded. He resisted.
Victoria gathered her power, and entered his mind. She could see the vampire in him, hungry and wild, pacing like a starving lion.
"Soporo," she said. She felt its recognition, and slowly as her fingers soothed the rigid planes of his face, the beast's wildness ebbed as her magic compelled. After several long moments, she withdrew.
Faced with a different pair of silver-gray eyes, Victoria felt absurdly self-conscious, his expression equal parts of sorrow, fear and awe. His tried to speak but no words came, and
he could only stare at her helplessly.
"It's okay," she whispered.
"No. it's not. I attacked you ... like an ... animal," he choked. Grief and remorse lined his face and transferred in force from his thoughts in violent waves. How close had he come to hurting her? Hurting her!
"Christian, don't."
She understood now that he'd been controlled purely by instinct. Something about her blood had driven him far beyond his own meticulous control of himself. Something about her blood ...
Ignoring the sour feeling in her stomach, she raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, tenderly kissing the monstrous face that had seconds before been desperate to kill her. Christian's lips tightened against hers, sheathing his sharp white incisors, and he pulled away. He ran his hand down the side of her temple where she had hit her head. She winced. He paused, looking at her carefully. Victoria stared at the ground; she already knew what he was going to ask.
"Is your blood normally that dark?"
"No more than usual. Actually it's dark in here." She couldn't look at him.
Christian tilted her chin up and said, "Tori, look at me." She raised wary eyes to his, wanting so badly to tell him but knowing that she couldn't just yet. She couldn't trust anyone with her family's deep, dark secret. Not after Leto had warned her, and especially not after what she'd just done. She forced herself to look confused, as if she didn't know what he was talking about.
"It isn't just its color, it's the smell of it too." Christian's jaw clenched at the mere thought of it. "It's so pure," he said, struggling for the words to describe what he wanted to say, "so untainted. I don't think I'm explaining clearly, but it's like nothing I have ever smelled ... like it's not human blood, which I know makes no sense at all."
Victoria pulled away and shrugged, needing to escape the penetrating intensity of his eyes. She settled for telling him a veiled half-truth.
"It may have to do with my blood disease. They gave me a lot of experimental drugs ..." Her voice trembled as if it were too much for her to talk about, and it accomplished the goal she wanted—Christian inclined his head as if he were satisfied or willing to let the matter drop, for now. Victoria carefully kept her expression blank so that the intense relief she felt would not be visible, and tried to draw the attention away from herself.
"What does your tattoo mean?" Christian flinched as if the thought of it were painful.
"It's a quote from an English novelist, Baron Lytton, written in the ancient language. It reads, 'What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have the virtue to repent and the energy to atone.' It reminds me that there's always hope for redemption."
"Oh." She paused, at a loss for words. "It shimmers."
"Silver dust."
"Isn't silver a bad thing?"
"Painful, but not deadly. It's ... a reminder of what I am." He smoothed away the furrowed concern on her brow.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I hardly feel it anymore."
The silence extended like a web between them, sticky and unavoidable. The signs of his earlier change still marred his features, and despite his calm voice, the tendons corded his arms in rigid lines.
"Christian, you need to ..." Victoria said, trailing off. "And I should go."
The air between them was charged and heavy. She needed space to process what had happened—his attack, her miraculous ability to control the monster inside of him, everything. Most of all, she needed to escape the intensity of his eyes and the questions she knew he still had about her blood.
She touched his face, suddenly unsure and afraid of what the next day would bring. His expression was unfathomable. "I'll call you later."
BACK AT HER apartment, Victoria took a long shower, soothing the aching tension out of her muscles. The walk from Christian's house to her car on campus had been more than six miles but it had done her a world of good. Leto had given her a strange look as she'd never spent the night away from the apartment but she'd pretended not to notice. She kept her mind carefully closed.
The amulet was still warm—it felt like it had been burning from the moment she'd gone to Christian's place. She felt guilty for not listening to what was an obvious warning but all reason went out the window whenever she was around him. She knew he was dangerous, but that didn't make him any less appealing.
Victoria sighed and her eyes fell on the journal lying on the music box. She had little desire to continue reading it. Its ominous contents were hardly what she needed after everything that had happened, but more than ever, she recognized that she needed to learn about her powers and how much she might actually be capable of.
She opened it to the last entry she'd read. The next entry was dated November 1626, eight months after the last.
London, England. The Undead legions have declared war upon the Clans, what remains of them that is. I suspect that it is part of a strategy to shift the balance of power given the decimation of numbers they suffered at my hands. Atrocity upon atrocity committed throughout history has only cemented the hate of their centuries-old feud—victims raped and disemboweled, corpses butchered and left to rot, untold violence cloaked in secrecy in their never-ending silent battle.
War is the inevitable culmination of their enmity. Yet I remain unmoved. I choose no side. I cannot. My blood has no allegiance, only its own, and its price in blood does not differentiate from one creature to another. They are all the same. If the Undead legions were to attack me, they would suffer the same consequences as the Clans, but so far, they have been smart. Valerius was well to take my advice to heart.
Valerius …
The all-too-human pace of my heart doubles. It has been so long since Lancaster. It would be so easy to summon the vampire to me, and he would come, I saw it in his eyes. But all that awaits him once I have given in to my desires is death. The blood will surely exact its price for my weakness, of that I am certain.
Victoria shivered. The sense of cold desolation was almost tangible. The blood was like a parasite that had completely possessed Brigid, who it seemed, had completely lost any will to live or desire to fight for herself and her humanity. Would the same happen to her?
Victoria forced herself to finish. There were only three more entries. The next was five months later, April 1627.
London, England. The Great War continues, providing easy prey for a demon like myself who must pay constant blood homage. My transformation is near its end, although I do not know what I will become after the last of my humanity dies nor do I know the fate of those who will remain behind. But I care not. I will be free of my human consciousness … free of conscience, free of emotion. Free of weak regret. At last.
The next entry was a month later.
London, England. The Vampire Ancient, Valerius, has requested another audience. He must know that death awaits him; he will not escape so easily a second time. The blood will not allow it, and what is left of me is too weak to oppose its demands.
Valerius is as I remembered, and my blood boiled at the girlish fantasies that spun within me. He says that the War is over—they have finally agreed upon a truce, one that will forgive old debts and set the rules for a new peace. I asked him then why he sought an audience, for such trivialities matter not to me.
He replied that he came for me, and also that he was ready to die.
I smiled, a rare thing, and for a moment, I admired his courage, and wished I had the strength to save him. But the offer had already been made. It was over far too quickly, and his body disintegrated like dust in my arms. The blood relished the energy. If it were a person, it would have licked its fingers clean. I am sickened at what I have become but the regret is momentary, fleeting.
For I am the blood.
And in that instant, I know. It is almost over.
Victoria chewed dry lips. It was worse than she'd imagined—vampires and witches had hated each other since the dawn of time. No wonder Christian had been so troubled. She'd had no idea what he
had meant, until now. Truce or not, years of deep evolutionary hatred and mistrust would be hard to avoid ... or surmount. She thumbed through the last few pages. Brigid's story couldn't possibly end like that. There had to be more ... for her own sake!
There was only one remaining entry, three months later that same year. Victoria noticed immediately that the writing and the entire tone of the entry were different. They seemed lighter somehow, as if Brigid had found some sort of impossible absolution.
Her body trembled ... she needed something ... she needed hope.
Lancaster, England. I have come back home—to end it where it began. Something truly wondrous has happened! Marcus came to me today. I heard his beautiful voice for the first time in twenty years. I see the forgiveness in his heart, the same unconditional love as his father’s. He could not contact me for fear of King James. It was the only way he knew to protect his family and me until James’ death four years ago. His family, he says! He tells me I have two beautiful granddaughters, one named Brigid and the other Elizabeth. And I am undone. I can see them in his eyes, beautiful and perfect. Angels!
I weep, but it is far too late for me, I feel the blood consuming me, struggling to take what little hope is left in me and with it, my only chance for peace. The cost has been so great but I will not let it take me. Although I embody it, I will die before I become it! My Elizabeth, wait for me. I am coming to you.
Victoria wept as she finished reading the final chapter of Brigid's life. There were no more entries. She closed the journal, and a small sheet of paper fell out. It was yellowed with age and she picked it up gingerly. It read:
My darling Marcus, I leave this journal to you. I beg you, do not think too harshly of me. I bore my curse as best I could. If I had known then what I know now—Marcus, the price of the blood’s magic had always been mine to set! In my weakness I let it consume me and in the end I lost everything. I lost sight of the one thing that could have saved me … love.
Victoria's heart careened into her rib cage. She read the words again—the price of the blood's magic had always been mine to set—and for the first time appreciated the precarious edge on which her choices balanced. Ultimately, she was in control of what the consequences were. The knowledge was freeing, and terrifying.
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