It's the blood ... it's in my head, everywhere. Christian's voice was full of wonder but strangely calm. His mental voice sounded like his usual tone even though the voice that had come out of his mouth had distinctly not been his.
The blood? Lucian's response was skeptical.
Her blood in me, it's protecting her. From you.
That's impossible! Blood is not alive, it can't think for itself!
There are many things that are possible in this world, brother. And Le Sang Noir is one of the greatest of them. And as if he couldn't control himself, he continued his voice wondrous. You wouldn't believe the energy, the magic. It's so alive!
Lucian's eyes were unimpressed, imprisoned as he was by Christian's incantation in the first place. But the awe in Christian's voice brought back the feelings of righteous anger that Christian had taken the gift of Le Sang Noir while he himself had been deprived of it.
What happens next? Lucian asked flatly.
Christian didn't respond. He'd completely surrendered to the power of Le Sang Noir. The blood surged in his mind like a live being. This blood curse had a strength and power that seemed to thrive on sacrifice. He didn't even want to imagine what allowing the little bit that was inside of him to kill Lucian would do. Protecting Victoria had been the sole reason he had allowed it into his mind, it was something he had inexplicably understood, but now that she was safe, a vague sense of unease curled up his spine.
The blood surged in his head channeling most of its magic into the last healing spell it had directed at Victoria. It still had not released Lucian and he stared at Christian with a furious intensity. Christian could see the fear in his eyes behind the deliberate look of hate-filled defiance. Victoria stirred and Christian's heart lurched as he rushed to her side, for the moment forgetting his brother, stroking her forehead gently. Her eyes opened and she smiled as she focused on him—they were the color of warm jade, and for a moment Christian was mesmerized, lost in their balmy liquidity.
"Do you know your eyes are black," she whispered.
"What?" he said automatically, and then realized that Lucian had also mentioned something about his eyes earlier.
The blood heaved again and he felt its energy start to amass once more, just as it had before each spell it had recently cast. It threw him for a second before he realized exactly what was going to happen. His gaze jerked to Lucian, and he saw the answering panic reflected in his expression. Christian's breath came in small raspy gasps, the potency of the blood's desire was overwhelming—he wanted to kill Lucian like he had never wanted to kill anyone, not even at the most ferocious demands of his hunger as a just-turned vampire. The desire for his death was eviscerating.
"Tori!" he said, gasping. His voice was desperate, and Victoria became instantly alert to the alarm in his tone.
"What is it?" she said.
"Your blood inside me healed you but now it wants to k ... kill Lucian!"
Christian was on his knees grasping his stomach in unbearable pain, forcing himself not to look at his brother. Victoria looked completely shocked, and then touched her head, realizing that a spell that hadn't been of her own making had healed her head wound. She could still feel the remaining tackiness from the blood that had congealed in her hair, and she looked at Christian, recognizing that the healing spell had unbelievably come from his lips. And now it was her blood that held him darkly captive ... it had been in his eyes, wanton and blatant.
Now it wanted sacrifice, vengeance!
Christian's face was covered in a damp sheen of sweat as he battled to not even look at Lucian, whose own expression was one of unconcealed dread.
"Sectumcorpus," Christian whispered, and Lucian screamed in agony, the pain intensified by his complete inability to move. Victoria's face was frozen in horror as she watched the veins in Lucian's neck bulging from the fury of the offensive spell intended to disembowel its victim. She could see the blood trickling from his nose. Where had that spell come from? Her blood was lethal even when it wasn't inside of her, probably even more so somehow knowing that it was outside of her normal control!
"Libero," Victoria shouted, after a worried glance at Christian still clawing the floor and his belly, and Lucian, finally released from his magical prison, backed away his eyes wide and gasping as his body automatically regenerated.
Despite the fading pain, Lucian clenched his jaw as the enthralling allure of her scent had not diminished in any way. Still, he moved away even further, watching intently as she crouched next to Christian's heaving body. Christian's face was strained, the veins in his head and throat standing out in clear relief as he violently struggled for control.
"Run," he said. Run, Lucian!
Lucian didn't need to be told twice. After an inscrutable look at the two of them, he vanished in moments and the cavernous room was empty. They were alone. Victoria looked around, noticing that Angie had also gone, and hoped that she had gotten to safety.
Christian was hunched over, pain evident in every rigid line of his body. Even though Lucian had left, the blood still sought vengeance against the aggressor who had threatened it, and its will was incredibly strong despite the fact that most of its strength had been used to restore Victoria. It was awe-inspiring and terrifying, and Christian's body strained with the effort to contain its vicious will.
He couldn't believe the force of its control and though he fought it with every shred of his own vampire strength, Christian did not feel any lessening in its desire for punishment ... for sacrifice. It was rampant within him, fueled by its own desires and infecting his senses with its taste for death. Christian felt the soft touch of Victoria's hand and drew a deep, shuddering breath.
Victoria realized that her blood only recognized one master and even though it flowed temporarily in his veins, there was no way it would obey him. He had no power over it. With some terror, she knew that the blood magic would probably destroy Christian the more he fought against it, and would attempt to dominate him completely or kill him, whichever came first. Victoria squeezed his shoulder and focused, delving into the power of the amulet. She would have to kill the blood before it had a chance to do either.
"Cruentus immunis totus," she said, her voice unwavering as she spoke the words to exorcise the blood curse. She grasped his hands. The power surged from the amulet through her body to his, and she felt Christian's body heave responsively, his skin growing fiery hot to the touch as the rogue blood struggled against its own execution. His shoulders convulsed spasmodically and within seconds, he retched, regurgitating a thick, blackly red mass that was almost spongy in its consistency. It was revolting.
Christian fell back as the blood lost its alluring luster and rapidly congealed as it died. The syrupy scent of it lingered heavy in the air. Depraved, Christian still felt his darkest nature still involuntarily craving it like an addict. He looked away with effort. All he wanted was to get as far away from it as possible.
"We need to leave," he said, trying not to breathe as he pulled her to him.
"Yes," she said, as her legs gave out from beneath her and she grasped his shoulders for support, the room starting to spin. That last spell had been intense despite the amulet's help, and her knees buckled. Christian hooked an arm under her legs, cradling her against his body. She buried her face in the contours of his neck as they made their way out.
"Where are we going?" she said, as they exited to the quiet and deserted street level of the alley.
"We'll go to my apartment. It's near here," he said.
AT CHRISTIAN'S APARTMENT, Victoria felt shattered and confused. Other than a destroyed secret room, there was no visible evidence that any of the events had taken place. Everything seemed entirely too surreal—Gabriel's betrayal, Charla's murder, Enhard's death, and Christian's own possession by her demonic blood.
Surreal was the only word to describe it, and a part of her kept waiting to wake up from what she felt must be an impossible dream. But it wasn't a dream. People had died. She had k
illed some of them. Even Gabriel was dead. Her blood trilled softly and she shivered, turning toward the only comfort she knew.
"Will you stay with me?" she asked.
"Yes," Christian said, depositing them both on the sofa. "For as long as you need."
Forever, she thought.
Victoria nestled against his side and within minutes, he could hear her deep, even breathing. She was childlike in sleep, barely resembling the fierce fighter she'd been earlier. He frowned at the dark smudges under her eyes and rubbed his thumb across her cheeks as she sighed in her sleep, burrowing deeper into his side.
Memories of the night assaulted him, and Christian's head swam with unwanted images of Enhard as he bit back the hot wave of agony that filled him. He took several steadying breaths, and was unprepared for the sudden potent scent of Victoria's closeness.
It was unexpected. It was intoxicating.
It was torture.
The craving of his body for her blood was not unfamiliar, but what sickened him, was that despite knowing its demonic power, he still wanted it with a fervor that he could barely control. He remembered its thick, rich taste as it had flowed over his tongue and into the back of his throat like an elixir, so pure, that it had healed him in seconds. He had never dreamed of anything like it. Christian sighed wearily. He'd accepted the blood magic into himself knowing that it had been the only way to save Victoria from his brother. But its possession of him had been consummate.
He wondered if he could ever forget it. Or escape it.
WHAT SHOULD HAVE been been a fun and carefree time at year-end seemed forced and empty. The last few weeks had been overwhelming, and busy.
The news had broken across Windsor that Charla and Gabriel had been killed in a terrible hit-and-run accident while they were in New York, and the school had held a service on their behalf. Angie had been inconsolable, and the loss of her brother and her friend, despite their ultimate treachery, had only really hit her when they had all returned to Canville.
Victoria had closeted herself in Christian's house. She couldn't bear to be alone, especially at night when she was assaulted by horrific images of what had happened, and she'd only been able to get through finals with Christian's help. After the dramatic, life-changing events in New York, finishing high school seemed anticlimactic.
Angie's foster parents had let her return to campus despite their adamant wishes for her to remain with them in New York. Angie had told them that she'd called 911 when Gabriel and Charla had been hit while running across the street after a late-night party, but the paramedics had been unable to do anything to save either of them. The deception had been essential to protect not only Victoria's identity, but also those of the vampires. Christian had made a call that same night to recover the bodies from the underground room. It was amazing to see the power of The Council. It had been a tragic but necessary facade, and somehow the police report corroborated Angie's story.
Victoria sighed, curling up on the sofa while Christian lit a fire in the fireplace as the temperature had dipped a bit since earlier in the day. She didn't want to think about what Christian had done to make that happen. It seemed that the supernatural world had its fingers and connections everywhere ... more so than she'd ever imagined. She wondered if she would ever get used to being a part of that world—the world that existed in the shadows on the periphery of human reality. For better or for worse, she was a part of both now. She sighed.
"Are you all right?" Christian asked quietly, joining her. She nodded leaning against him. He inhaled the strawberry smell of her shampoo with the heady scent of her flickering beneath it. His longing for her, and her blood, had only gotten stronger. All he wanted to do was to bury his face in her neck and take and take until he couldn't take any more, even knowing that her blood would consume him, consequences be damned. He shifted uncomfortably.
"Have you talked to Holly?" he asked, resorting to conversation as a suitable distraction.
"Yes, earlier today. I don't know if I ever told you that my grandmother had confided to Holly about us, about me. She knew. But she wasn't prepared for Gabriel. None of us were." Victoria faltered, the sense of betrayal still keen. "She says Leto is doing much better too. I think the magical therapy I did might have actually worked, thanks again to the blood magic," she said. "I think it will take him a while to come to terms with you and me though. Overcoming centuries of hate will take time." She smiled wryly. "Did you talk to Lucian?"
"Briefly. He's as well as can be expected. The Houses are convening next month to elect the new member to replace Enhard." His eyes clouded.
"I'm so sorry, Christian," she said.
"It's okay. Time heals everything, and that's one thing I have plenty of." Victoria wished she could erase the sadness etched in his face. She smiled brightly.
"Speaking of Enhard, did you know that he could fly?"
Christian looked at her, knowing she was trying to make him to remember the good things, the happy things, about Enhard. "Yes. He was over eight hundred years old. At that age, vampires can fly or shape-shift. There are very few left as old as he was."
"He told me about Valerius and Brigid," Victoria said quietly. "He said Valerius was his mentor. He must have hated her so much when she killed Valerius—almost as much as he hated me."
"He didn't hate—"
Victoria interrupted him. "Not at the end when he helped me. It was only his love for you that made him trust me. But I know that he was afraid of me, of what I am." She hesitated. "He was afraid that I would kill you, too."
Christian marveled at her perspicacity. As strong as she was, he knew the possibility was there that the blood could eventually control her and it scared the hell out of him too. It was a heavy curse, Le Sang Noir, or as she called it the Cruentus Curse, which she had explained to Christian meant bloodthirsty in their old language. It was an apt name. Bloodthirsty.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Victoria said.
"I was thinking about you, and about the blood," he said. He could feel her body tense but then immediately relax. "It would protect you at all costs, right?"
"Yes, probably," she said. "What are you worried about?"
"Me." Victoria sighed and looked up at his handsome somber face. "And ... you," he admitted.
"Christian, we've been through this before," she said. He quelled her words by placing his finger against her lips.
"I know that, but sometimes fear is healthy. It's what keeps us alert and not seduced by a false sense of security because of who we are, especially because of who we are." He smiled sadly. "I don't want to lose you, Victoria ..."
"You won't."
"Will you do me one favor?" he asked. When she agreed, he continued. "Will you put a protection charm on yourself when we are together?"
Victoria said nothing and bit her lip as she nodded once. Truth was she always had a shield spell in place whenever they were together, not because she feared him but because she didn't want to hurt him. Enhard had had a right to worry; she was every bit as dangerous as Brigid had been.
She sighed as Christian stroked her hair, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and closed her eyes, falling victim to the safety of his embrace as she always did.
Christian kissed her temple and felt her pulse immediately jump with life beneath his lips. Like a beacon, her blood soared, cognizant of its own seductive power and predatorily recognizing his weakness against it. He could hear it calling sensually to him with the tone of a forbidden lover and he sighed as he felt the tightening of his upper jaw. He'd fed earlier, but still it wasn't enough.
It was never enough.
He stood and stepped away putting several feet of distance between them, and stared out the window at the moonless night. Her scent curled around him. He sighed. Without any noise, he opened the French doors and stepped out onto patio, welcoming the cool air against his face.
Victoria heard him leave. She had reawakened the minute her tre
acherous blood started its tormenting song. Her heart wrenched at its duplicity. She closed her eyes, refusing to consider the possibility that he'd be better off without her, and without her blood tempting him every infernal second. Christian was right, they did have every reason to be afraid, but as long as they had each other and fought to protect what they had, then their love had to mean something.
Didn't it?
She leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, her fists clenched at her sides. After some time, she heard the sound of a violin in the next room, passionate and violent. Christian played to assuage something he too fought to express, his music giving voice to everything unsaid between them. Its cadence was harsh, the melody fraught with notes that sung of pain, and anger, and loss.
From Bach to Vivaldi, Victoria could feel him playing the runs faster and faster, whipping his bow at an impossible speed as if trying to exorcise something inside of him, the storm building and building and building, scale after scale, until it came to an exhausted, crashing halt.
Expelling a shaky breath, Victoria felt his spirit ease then as his strokes on the violin gentled into a more tender Adagio, soaring to something unbearably, poignantly sweet. It was music that only love could make, its language hauntingly beautiful, and one Victoria recognized—one that her mother had played to her father often.
It was a message ... a promise ... a love letter.
Christian was playing for her, weaving a spell she'd almost forgotten, one of beauty, and love, and unconditional hope. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as her throat constricted, the sounds of his raw emotions owning her completely, as she knew hers owned him, and telling her what no words could.
I will love you forever.
A few moments later, Christian returned to the room, closing the doors behind him. She felt the weight of the sofa shift as he sat down beside her, his smooth hand finding hers and gripping it like a lifeline. It was warm to the touch. Strong. He would be strong enough for both of them.
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