Victoria felt dazed. There had to be more to this whole story. She wasn't the one he spoke about! She knew she wasn't the one. She couldn't be. She was Victoria ... a loner from Millinocket, a terrible leader if there ever was one, not some fantastic witch in some mystical prophecy. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true!
She pushed Christian away and walked to the window. What he said was impossible. Wasn't it? Brigid's words flooded her brain ... the blood, the magic, the power ... the blood. Her reflection in the window stared back at her. Her face was pale but the knowledge swirling in her eyes was undeniable. Deep down, Victoria knew exactly what her legacy was.
Christian regarded her silently as she turned back toward him. It was so obvious now that he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. She was the descendant of the Duchess of Lancaster, and even if she didn't accept it, he saw it. It was in every curve of her body, every movement of her head ... even the air bowed in deference to her as she walked through it.
It didn't change anything, and it changed everything.
"So what do we do now?" she asked. "Are they going to come again in search of this prophecy?"
"I don't think so, not yet," he said.
But they will.
Victoria studied him for a minute, trying to gauge if he had been honest with her all along. She believed him, she had to—otherwise it would make everything that she had lived for during the last four months, and their love, a lie. It was her turn to confess.
"When I killed the vampire," she said, "Christian, you wouldn't believe the pleasure I felt. I knew it was the blood, the Sang Noir, and the sacrifice it demanded. It was awful. And then the one that bit me ..." Her voice trailed off into revolted silence. Christian waited for her to continue.
"It went beyond normal pain ..." She struggled to find the right words. "It was like I ... wanted it, just like you said, luring the vampire in ... and my blood killed it, and I felt the pain of it dying within my own blood, if that makes any sense." Her voice broke. "Christian, that could have been you, and I wouldn't have been able to do a thing to stop it!"
"But it wasn't, so you can't torture yourself thinking about it." He couldn't say anything more because he knew that she was right. Her blood would have killed him instantly.
"Are you okay?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.
"Yes, it's just ... a lot to take in."
"Don't worry, chérie, we'll figure something out. I'll talk to the Council next week," he said. She sighed.
"I really wish you didn't have to go to Paris so soon," she said. "Especially now, after—"
"I know. If I could cancel my trip, I would. But you'll be skiing with Charla and the others right after finals. And I'll be back before you know it. I have to go, Tori, now even more so. I need to figure this out and make sure this doesn't happen again." His eyes were fierce.
"I know," she said. "I'll miss you. You'll be careful, won't you?"
"Yes. I'll miss you, too."
Leaving her alone and unprotected while he went to Paris had been one of the hardest decisions he'd ever had to make, now more so after what had just happened. But Christian knew that he didn't have a choice—not only because of what he now knew about Victoria, but because he'd been summoned by the Vampire Council and could not refuse.
He had to see where Lucian's head was, and determine Lena's involvement. Otherwise, the attacks on Victoria's life would only continue, and there was only one way that he could stop them.
THE LIMOUSINE PULLED to a smooth stop in front of Lucian's apartment in the seventh arrondissement, not far from the Musée D’Orsay. This was one of Paris' most exclusive and wealthy neighborhoods. Lucian had a penchant for expensive things and for indulging himself with the best that life had to offer. His ostentatiously marbled and palatial apartment reminded Christian of a mausoleum. The single thing that he liked about the apartment was the view—a magnificent panorama of the Eiffel Tower over the quarter's rooftops.
Christian had mentally confirmed Lucian's whereabouts as soon as his plane had landed, looking for him at the apartment and at the château. The château was a sprawling seventeenth century estate seven minutes south of Fontainebleau, but they usually only used it for entertaining. Lucian's version of entertainment differed greatly from Christian's. He used the château to host his favorite type of party—hunting parties, only with humans as the prey. It disgusted Christian. And amused Lucian.
"They are people, Lucian," Christian had argued.
"They are food, dear brother. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you will come to terms with who you are. A vampire. A killer."
It had been years since they had spoken about it, but Lucian still mocked Christian's overly tender sensibilities toward humans and had chastised Christian for denying what he was and his place at the top of the food chain. Nonetheless, they had agreed to disagree, and with Christian staying out of the leadership of the House of Devereux, Lucian simply did things his way.
Christian gave his coat to the silent housekeeper as he walked into the foyer. He noticed that she was human, and given the lurid combination of black, purple, brown and yellow bruises on her skin peeking out from beneath her stark uniform, he could see that she also served as the "entertainment" from time to time. It was so easy to attract them. Some humans loved the thrill of it as much as the vampires did, and lived for the chance to become one of them. His lips thinned into a tight hard line.
He hated everything this house represented. As much as he had come to a tenuous peace with what he was, every time he was in Lucian's home, the complete absence of humanity made him tremble with impotent rage at the reality that in the end no matter how much he tried to run from it, inside he was just like them.
As he moved through the coldly elegant rooms, he sensed something different that he couldn't quite put his finger on. The space felt shrouded, cloaked in something dark and shadowy. Christian shrugged it off; Lucian's house always brought out the worst in him.
He walked to the receiving room at the end of the hall. Lucian hated to be alone, so even at this early hour it was filled with a throng of vampires who grew quiet as he entered. Christian scanned the room for his brother.
"Ah," a deep voice drawled, "the prodigal brother has returned." Lucian stood and walked toward Christian, drawing him into a showy embrace and kissing him on both cheeks. He appeared pleased to see his brother but his eyes were dark and guarded.
In spite of their disturbing resemblance, Lucian was thinner than Christian. His face was narrow and gaunt, and the way his blond hair was cut short made his angular features even more skeletal. Like Christian's, Lucian's hooded eyes were gray and spiked with the same luxurious lashes, but they didn't convey the same warmth as Christian's did, especially when coupled with his full, but cruel-looking mouth.
Christian knew that Lucian had considered killing him many times but had never tried for two reasons. In the first place, he wasn't quite sure that he could. Secondly, he didn't want to incur the condemnation of the Council, which established the rules of vampire existence and united the seven Houses under their common laws. It was no secret that Lucian reviled the Council, and they in turn only tolerated him out of fear and because of Christian.
The Council was another topic that he and Lucian disagreed on—Christian believed in the inherent values of the Council and the structure that it brought to the vampire world, even though the Council still condoned the killing of humans and supported old archaic blood rituals that were little more than murder. For Christian, that was a small sacrifice in exchange for the way the Council laws prevented the chaos that would result if the Houses had made the laws themselves or even worse, hadn't followed any laws.
Christian looked around the room warily and his gaze fell on the stunning white-blond woman leaning on the wall at the far end of the space. Lena. She returned his look evenly, and tilted her head in an explicitly suggestive invitation, her blue eyes mocking, which he ignored.
"Perhaps
we should talk in your study, Lucian." He turned back to his brother and inclined his head toward the audience. "And let your guests enjoy themselves."
As Christian walked out of the room, he noticed another woman standing in the shadows, who avoided looking in his direction. She was human, but held herself with an authority that belied the fact that she was surrounded by vampires who could kill her in an instant. Other than this commanding quality, she was nondescript with short, brown hair and a swarthy complexion.
He noticed that she had the same bruises on her arms as the housekeeper, another of Lucian's toys it seemed, although something seemed strange about her bruises, as if they were over her skin instead of beneath it. He shrugged again and dismissed her from his thoughts, following Lucian down the hallway to the study.
In the dark wood-paneled study, Christian helped himself to a large glass of Louis XIII cognac and sat on the edge of the massive, mahogany desk.
"So what brings you to town?" Lucian was brusque, his manner dismissive. But underneath, Christian knew he was curious. It wasn't like him to show up unannounced.
"I was requested to come before the Council."
"On what grounds?" Lucian asked, feigning indifference.
"On the grounds of your actions! You've gone too far this time, Lucian."
Lucian looked completely unfazed by the furious snarl in Christian's tone and stared disinterestedly at his manicure. But inside, his mind was racing. The Council would only have called Christian back to Paris to consider one thing—him assuming control of the House of Devereux because they were threatened by Lucian's recent actions.
As much as Lucian feared his brother's power, the vampires of the House were loyal only to Lucian. Once he found the witch from the prophecy, he believed he would have the power to finally eliminate Christian, and have total control over the Council and the vampire world. The Watchers had felt the shift in flow of magic that heralded the birth of a witch-queen, Lucian just needed to find her and find her quickly.
Christian tried to soften his voice, misinterpreting Lucian's silence. "Lucian, I am serious. This isn't a game anymore. Your flagrant disregard for the rules and our laws will only put the House of Devereux in jeopardy. The witch clans are uniting in retaliation, damn it!" He slammed his fist on the top of the desk in anger, unable to restrain himself. "That's what the Council is afraid of ... War. One we cannot afford."
Christian knew that the Council had the power to call him back to France to stay and that they would use it especially under threat of war with others. That was the one thing he did not want. He liked the life he had created for himself, he liked living according to his own rules, and he liked his solitude—away from the very cusp of what made him despise his own nature. Their ways, Lucian's ways, were not his ways.
And when he thought of the inevitable danger for Victoria because of Lucian's actions, it only made him further incensed.
"Your torture and murder of people you believe to be witches in search of this ridiculous prophecy. It will be the death of us all."
"Are you finished?" Lucian said.
"I'm just getting started!" He was in Lucian's face now and he could see a muscle starting to tick in Lucian's jaw even as he continued to feign boredom. "The prophecy is a legend, it's a myth! You're letting Le Sang Noir destroy you in your obsession to find it. Leave it alone Lucian. If this is about you and me, I already gave you my rights to the House of Devereux. It is yours! Don't you understand? I. Don't. Want. It." Christian punctuated the last sentence with sharp jabs on Lucian's chest.
Lucian's eyes flashed fire and his fingernails dug into his palms as he fought to restrain his anger. "How dare you? You have no concept of what is at stake, hiding away as you've been in some desolate little North American town with mortals for companions! The Watchers have foreseen it. Everyone is looking for the witch. I'm just taking the necessary steps to find her first!"
His tirade continued, spit flying from his mouth as Christian stared at him in stunned horror. "So what if the witch and warlock clan leaders are approaching the Council in negotiations? After I find Le Sang Noir, it will be a moot point. They will all eventually be under my rule! It's too bad that the Watchers failed to track the witch ... her magic has until now concealed her from them, but that doesn't mean they won't find her. It's only a matter of time, mon cher frère." He spat the last three words like bullets.
"Is that what this is about? Power?"
"What do you think it's about? You never cared for any of it, for me or for what I wanted—" Lucian broke off as if he'd said too much, and composed himself with a cold smile. "Who cares about those witches anyway? They are just like humans, only they taste a thousand times better. Cattle," he said derisively. His glare was vicious and his next words deliberately provocative. "After all, what do you care? I let your witch live, didn't I? But maybe I need to pay her a personal return visit to see whether you're hiding something from me, to see if she's the one after all—"
"YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER!"
Christian leapt on top of Lucian, crashing them both into the wall of the study and sending a hundred books flying.
The noise was deafening as the wooden panels split under the force of their bodies. Lucian delivered a vicious kick to Christian's stomach hurling him across the room. As Christian vaulted to his feet, Lucian brandished a wicked-looking cane that was sharpened on one end and tipped with silver. Christian's eyes narrowed.
A loud banging on the door followed by worried shouting ensued. Christian and Lucian slowly circled each other, Christian's jeering expression daring Lucian to call for help. As Lucian passed the doorframe, he shouted that anyone coming through the door would die. He twirled the cane in his hands, irritated that Christian barely looked perturbed by the weapon. Lucian shot forward, the silver tip of the cane piercing Christian's thigh. Christian grimaced.
"Like my little pleasure tool?" Lucian asked. "I use it on vampires who don't know their place." They continued to dance around each other so fast that their movement blurred.
As Lucian slashed the air with the cane, a thin diagonal line of blood welled across the chest of Christian's white shirt. Beneath the torn material, his skin knitted back together in seconds. Christian crouched low and waited for the right moment before feinting left and kicking Lucian's feet from under him. He grabbed the cane out of Lucian's hands, and as Lucian fell back on the floor, Christian was on top of him in a flash, his fists hammering in blind rage. He could feel the bones shattering under the force of his furious blows, and as he felt the rage drain out of him with each successive strike, Lucian's bloodied face swam into focus.
Christian stood up, bringing Lucian up with him and watching as his brother's broken brow bone, nose and jaw mended themselves, the pulverized face reforming perfectly and the broken skin healing before his eyes. In moments, Lucian's features were unmarred except for the blood that remained on his face and spattered on his clothing. His expression was dark with hatred.
Christian stepped away and turned toward the fireplace, his hands falling to his sides. Instinct alone alerted him to the movement behind him and he ducked just as the dagger whizzed past his head, spinning with inhuman speed to bring the heel of his hand into Lucian's exposed neck.
As Lucian buckled, Christian slammed him up against the splintered wall and spat, "Don't even try it, Lucian."
"Or what?" gasped Lucian.
"You will not like the outcome, that, I can assure you. I will deal with the Council and then I will go back home, Lucian. And you, you will respect the rules of the Council, do you understand?"
Christian released his brother and walked away without a backward glance. The room was in complete shambles. As he closed the door behind him, he heard the fifteen hundred dollar bottle of Louis VIII smash into the doorframe followed by a slew of violent curses. Christian walked out to the foyer, past the throngs of Lucian's followers watching him with wonder. They feared him, and rightly so. As he neared the ornate front door, Lena
held his coat draped over her arm, her beautiful face expressionless.
"He won't forgive you so easily for that, you know," she said.
"I don't care," Christian said flatly.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't fully understand the relationship between Lucian and Lena, but he could hazard a guess at the nature of it.
Despite her history with Christian, Lucian seemed to trust Lena implicitly. And Lena seemed to have decided that second-best was better than nothing at all. The look in her eyes, if anything, still told him that, even after all these years. But there was a new hardness to her that Christian noticed. Years of committing atrocity after atrocity would eventually take its toll, even on an eternally perfect face. She placed a hand on his arm.
"Christian," she said. "It's good to see you." Again the unspoken invitation was apparent. Perhaps another time Christian would have taken her up on it, but not now.
"Lena, I can't." He saw the glimmer of hope die in her ice blue eyes. Understanding dawned, and the blue sparked with venom.
"It's because of her, isn't it? She is a dirty mortal witch, Christian, and not your equal! You degrade yourself by deigning to be seen with her. It is forbidden!"
"Actually, she deigns to be with me," he said, "but I wouldn't expect you to understand." Christian looked at her with some measure of pity despite her malicious words. "You don't understand love Lena, you never could."
"Love?" she spat. "I thought Lucian was out of his mind when he said that you had put a filthy mortal before your duty! But he was right wasn't he?" Lena's eyes flashed fury and disgust and jealousy. "You are not fit for the House of Devereux."
He looked at her coldly and she shrank from the intensity of his frigid glare. "You forget your place, Lena. I am a Devereux. I answer to no one. Don't you ever forget that!" Christian's voice shook with wrath. His next words were silky. "If you ever challenge me like this again, be prepared to face the consequences. I won't be so forgiving the next time." The door crashed into its frame as it slammed shut behind him.
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