by Kit Tunstall
Anca moved her bishop into alignment with his king. “Check.” She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “What if she doesn’t accept it? What will you do then?”
His silence was his answer. He moved his queen forward to protect his king. “Will you take the Oath?”
She hesitated over giving him a blunt rejection. “I haven’t decided yet.” She moved again.
“Ylenia tells me she said a bit more about Illiana than she planned.” He scratched his beard again and tilted his head left, then right. His eyes never wavered from the board.
“Yes. She said you would tell me the story if you wanted me to know.”
He sighed and lifted his brandy, seeming to temporarily abandon the game. His eyes finally met hers as he leaned back in his chair. “Illiana was very beautiful. In fact, Nikia strongly resembles her—in appearance, temperament, and personality. There are times when I can’t tell them apart.”
“You were enamored with her?”
He shook his head. “No, though she didn’t hide her interest. Madra was my world, and I knew what an ambitious creature Illiana was. Had I been tempted to stray, she wouldn’t have been my choice for a mistress. She was dangerous. Her mother was a witch, you know, and taught her craft to Illiana before her death.”
“Then Illiana wasn’t a vampire?” The word felt strange on her tongue.
“Oh, she was. Her father was a vampire. While handling matters of state, he met and married Illiana’s mother. He brought her with him when he returned to our country, though she never took up our ways. Mostly, Elsa was a good woman, but prone to bouts of melancholy. In those moods, she was like another person. She caused the death of her husband by cursing him in anger. She was about to be banished when she committed suicide.”
“Leaving Illiana an orphan?”
He nodded. “Yes. Madra was a tenderhearted woman, and she longed for a child. After nearly a hundred years of trying to conceive, we thought one of us was barren. She brought Illiana to live in the castle and treated her like a daughter.” A trace of bitterness appeared in Valdemeer’s eyes. “I didn’t realize Illiana’s affections for Madra were a front until she was older. Even after she tried to seduce me, I couldn’t send her away. I couldn’t bear to deny Madra anything.”
After a long silence and another sip of brandy, Valdemeer said, “It was like a miracle when Madra became pregnant. Our entire kingdom rejoiced. I swear the celebration lasted at least a month.”
“But Illiana wasn’t pleased, was she?” Anca guessed.
He shook his head. “No. She knew our child had been conceived during the correct moon phase and would be the rightful heir to Corsova. She refused to give up her bid for power, so she slowly poisoned Madra. At first, the healer said she was ill from the pregnancy. As Madra wasted away, her only thoughts were for the baby…” He trailed off.
Anca reached across the chess table to squeeze her father’s hand, but she didn’t interrupt.
“She died before the child could survive on his own.” Tears sparkled in Valdemeer’s eyes. “I swore on their grave never to marry again. Illiana was crafty—I’ll give her that.” He sighed heavily. “She waited more than a year before approaching me again. When I rejected her harshly, she stayed out of my way. I thought my threat to banish her had scared her away.”
“What happened?”
He rubbed his eyes. “She drugged me and seduced me, getting herself with child.” A harsh laugh escaped him. “She didn’t calculate correctly, and there was no way her child could be my heir, because it hadn’t been conceived during the right phase of the moon. She still demanded I marry her, and I retaliated by locking her away in one of the turrets with only a deaf-mute woman for an attendant.”
“She died in childbirth?”
He nodded. “The attendant didn’t notify anyone because she had died of a heart attack days before. It was Illiana’s screams of pain that alerted the guards. I rushed to her chamber, hoping to provide a bit of comfort for her. I didn’t hate her then, you see. I only mistrusted her.”
He paled, and his hands shook when he lifted the glass. “Illiana knew she was dying. She raved on about the murders she had committed—humans who had the misfortune to cross her path, the poor attendant, frightened to death, and Madra. She described her murder in graphic detail, right down to the pain she had endured, especially at the end…”
He shook his head. “If she hadn’t been bleeding to death, I would have killed her with my bare hands. Illiana looked at her child, gave a strange smile, and said, ‘I like the name Nikia.’ Those were her last words before she slipped from this world. She was the child’s mother, so I christened her with the name Illiana chose.” He hung his head. “I didn’t care anything for the child at that time, so what did it matter?” He sighed and raised his head, meeting her gaze. There was a hint of shame in his eyes.
Anca shivered as he finished speaking. “Nikia knows all this?”
He nodded. “I don’t know how. I demanded she be protected from the truth about her mother, but someone must have been indiscreet. I soon realized there was nothing to protect her from, because it was obvious she was just like Illiana. From the time she was an infant, she had fits of rage. She killed a bird when she was no more than two.” A tear slid down his cheek. “That was on my wedding day to your mother. She soon progressed, though none of us realized it.”
He appeared bewildered. “How does a child know about poisons? We never found out exactly how she murdered Julian. Of course, we didn’t suspect her in the beginning. It was only when Katrine conceived you and we told her what we thought would be happy news that she became completely uncontrollable. She threatened to kill you, and she revealed to Katrine how she had murdered our son. Your mother fled, and it took me weeks to get all of the truth from Nikia.”
“That’s why you left me in America with Mother? To protect me, right?”
He nodded. “It was painful to be separated from you. I heard from your mother infrequently, and she sometimes sent pictures, but we both decided early on it was safer to give the appearance that I had ignored your existence.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ve always loved you, copia de meu inimiä. I hope you believe that.”
Anca nodded, feeling tears pressing at the back of her eyes. “What does that mean?” She tried to repeat the phrase, but the words sounded awkward on her tongue.
“Child of my heart.” Valdemeer cleared his throat. “I love Nikia too—more than I hate her—and I am helpless about what to do with her. Perhaps if I hadn’t locked Illiana away, she would have survived. Maybe Nikia would have been a softer person if she’d had a mother’s love.”
“Or maybe she would have been even more unhinged,” Anca said softly.
“Maybe.” He lifted his glass to drain it. When he set it down, his expression had lost its hint of sadness. His smile looked forced. “Enough of this talk. Whose move was it?”
“Yours,” she said with a smile. A trace of fear lingered, but she pushed it aside with determination. Nikia was locked away, and she was safe as long as she remained so. If she decided to stay, she could deal with her half-sister. The thought of not returning to New York didn’t bring the same surge of panic as it had earlier. She settled into the game with her father, feeling content and comfortable.
* * * * *
Nikia tossed aside the sliver of mirror with a screech of anger. She felt a measure of satisfaction when it crashed against the wall and shattered, though she knew she had lost a powerful tool with her childish act. “The bitch!” She turned on Sian, spitting out, “How dare she sit there so complacently, chatting with dear Father?” She kicked over the table near her and was pleased when the ceramic pitcher disintegrated on the floor.
“M’lady…”
“Hold your tongue.” She slapped Sian, but it wasn’t enough to relieve her rage. “Fetch me the girl.”
A frown marred Sian’s face. “The wench ordered to serve that bitch? Why do you want her?”
; “Because I don’t want you,” she screamed. “Bring Helena to me now, or suffer my wrath.”
With a sullen curtsey, Sian left the room, slamming the door behind her.
When she had gone, Nikia paced around the room, still seething over what her father had said about her. And how dare he speak that way about Illiana? She stamped her foot. He wouldn’t have been so brave if he had known she observed him with the sliver of Seeing Mirror Illiana’s mother had passed down to her.
Her body shook with anger, and her vision blurred. She wanted to kill someone, and she didn’t care whom right then. Her preference was for her simpering half-sister and Valdemeer, but she knew anyone would do.
She must be careful not to injure Helena too much, she decided. It wouldn’t do to kill the girl. Not only would she be depriving herself of future fun, but she would also incur Valdemeer’s anger.
Since they had discovered her plot to kill Anca, Nikia knew she had to tread carefully, for a time. She mustn’t be the focus of their attention until the blood-moon arrived. By then, they would be consumed with the ceremony and not be worrying about her. They wouldn’t see it coming, she thought with a satisfied smile.
She lifted her head as the door squeaked and Sian reentered, dragging a reluctant Helena with her. The girl wore only a simple cotton shift, and she had obviously been preparing for bed. She wanted to oblige her, by all means. “Strip her and tie her to the bed, Sian.”
“Please, mistress,” the girl begged. Huge tears streaked down her cheeks. “Don’t hurt me…”
Sian slapped her, seeming to take more pleasure than usual in the sound of her palm against flesh. “Speak only when given permission. You will soon learn.”
As Sian saw to her task, Nikia went to her closet and fetched a small trunk. She opened it and examined her collection of toys. She had envisioned her initial seduction of Helena several times, but tonight all thoughts of being gentle had fled her mind. She wanted to strike out at someone, and the girl would do nicely.
She bypassed many of the toys that would bring pleasure and scooped up her prized possession—a supple leather whip with fringes at the end. Each fringe contained a tiny metal spike. It left a beautiful pattern of pain on anyone it struck.
Nikia briefly touched a large leather dildo, imagining the expression of agony Helena would wear when the monster ripped through her barrier of innocence. She licked her lips, anticipating a night of fun. Already, her black mood was lifting.
Helena’s cry of pain at the first lash of the whip further buoyed her mood. As the whip ripped through the tender skin of the girl’s thigh, she pictured her sister in front of her, bound and at her mercy. Her pussy spasmed with arousal, and she set Sian to work between her thighs as she poured her anger into Helena, using the whip to transfer it. Each cry was music to her ears, and she concentrated on savoring the experience.
Chapter 12
Despite her best efforts to resist, Anca found herself drawn into the life of Corsovans. The more Demi showed her, the more she felt like she had come home. He seemed determined to show her everything during the week she had promised to stay, and she wasn’t disappointed with what she observed.
The day they went to the port of Vachow, the dockworkers greeted her with a round of cheers. She toured shipyards, warehouses, and nearby homes before a small military vessel ferried her around the port. Afterward, the boat ventured out for a short cruise on the Black Sea, and they received an honor guard of several anglers’ boats, sailing in a two-line formation behind them.
The village of Rij was small, but the people threw her an impromptu, grand celebration and spoke fondly of Katrine. Anca couldn’t remember enjoying a day so much. It was heady to have people bowing and curtseying to her, while vying to grant her every wish.
Bulgainia, the capitol city, was larger than she expected, with a contemporary air, juxtaposed with ancient architecture, soaring turrets, and rounded roofs. The predominant building material was gray stone. Though everyone seemed to have some place to be or something to do, each person they met stopped and took time to welcome her home.
Grasov turned out to be a small farming community, harvesting wheat from verdant fields and fruit from huge orchards. The villagers’ ways were simple and rustic, but they were warm and gracious.
Demi insisted she visit Sladavia, where he had been born. His parents had died years ago, but the community still greeted him like the prodigal son. The residents logged the timber conservatively, created crafts indigenous to Corsova, and took a few adventurous tourists on guided hunting tours through the surrounding forests. The people were busy, but they managed to put together a feast in her honor.
Anca couldn’t help but wonder how much of the “impromptu” events were subtly arranged by Demi ahead of time, but she didn’t mind his subterfuge. He was determined to show her the beauty of Corsova, and thus far, he had succeeded.
Since receiving a warm welcome at each place Demi took her, the cool reception of the residents of Necheau surprised her. It soon became obvious why Demi hadn’t planned to take her to tour this village.
It was high in the mountains, and there was a chill in the air, despite the season. Anca huddled in a light jacket as they completed the last half-hour of the journey on foot, since the SUV couldn’t climb any higher, and they had no horses.
At first glance, the village was as picturesque as the others she had seen. Children played in the streets, men with their sleeves rolled high gathered around a half-constructed building in the town square, and several women pitched in too. It was like stepping back to the 19th century.
Gradually, as they walked down the main street, the activity stopped. There was a quiet watchfulness about the adults, and the children seemed to sense the tension, because they scurried inside, with several leaving toys where they lay.
“Is something wrong?” she whispered to Demi.
He shrugged. “Our kind isn’t welcome here. Most of the residents of Necheau are werewolves. Very territorial and not really friendly to members outside their pack.”
If the silence had been unnerving before, it suddenly seemed deafening as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out of a two-story wooden house at the end of the main street. He had long, flowing black hair, scowling blue eyes, and an intimidating air preceded him as he stalked forward. He didn’t offer a greeting or glance in her direction. “What brings you here, Nicodemus?” He virtually growled the words.
“Her Highness wanted to see the entire country.”
He made a sound low in his throat, and it didn’t sound polite. “Now she’s seen it. Be on your way.”
“Rica, she only wants to see—“
The man’s menacing glower fastened briefly on Anca. “This is our territory, laid out by a treaty with your grandfather. We say who’s allowed and who isn’t.” He glanced at the sun and squinted. “It’s late in the morning. You’d best be on your way.” Without another word, he turned his back on them and walked away. Conspicuously, the other residents followed his example.
Anca hugged herself and followed Demi down the mountain. When they were away from the village, she asked, “Why was he so unfriendly?”
“Rica was born unfriendly,” he said with a hint of amusement, but he wasn’t smiling. “As I said, the pack is territorial. They’ve spent centuries outrunning civilization. Coming to Corsova was a last ditch solution for them when they arrived almost four hundred years ago. Your grandfather made them welcomed, and he even drew up a treaty to guarantee them land rights.”
“Why would we need a treaty with them?” She didn’t miss her own reference to the country being hers. She groaned under her breath at the slip.
“Werewolves are aggressive, and if they felt squeezed out, they might attack. Your grandfather used that as a pretext, but I think he just wanted to ensure they felt secure here.” Demi sighed. “He had to demand something in return to legitimize the exchange.”
She swallowed, wondering if the pack had good reason to m
istrust their kind. “What did he ask for?” Visions of virgin sacrifices swept through her mind.
“Their blood, to enable our people to transform like they did. After a short time, it happened that a few of the wolves wanted our blood in return, to prolong their lives. We’ve sort of become a hybrid race, except for the stubborn ones like Rica.” He shook his head, appearing perplexed. “He refuses to allow his people to take our blood. They have to sneak away to do so, and they generally aren’t welcomed back after they’ve formed a blood-bond with a vampire.”
“Is Starr…?”
“No. She was born a vampire, though she has formed a blood-bond with Lucian and Sorin. They’re both outcasts in their village, since they chose our life. The three are inseparable.”
“Does our kind ever marry theirs?”
He frowned. “Davinia, Ylenia’s niece, married Rica’s brother, but I’ve heard she isn’t accepted among the people. It’s difficult for her, and I’m surprised Rica allowed her to join their pack. Usually, if a wolf marries our kind—which is rare—they’re forced to give up their place in the pack and live our way.”
She sniffed with disapproval. “I hope he sees how narrow-minded he’s being.”
Demi laughed, but didn’t bother to reply. His laugh held a note of skepticism, as if he doubted Rica could learn anything he didn’t want to.
* * * * *
Almost unnoticed, the seven days Anca had agreed to stay slipped into ten, and then twelve. She didn’t say anything about leaving, but she knew when Demi invited her for a run that he would push her for her answer. Was she staying and taking the Blood Oath, or was she returning to her real life that seemed less real all the time?
She didn’t know yet.
They slipped into wolf-form before leaving the castle, and she matched his fast pace, taking advantage of the time to clear her mind and focus on her decision.