Vampire Queen 8 - Bound by the Vampire Queen - Joey W Hill

by Bound by the Vampire Queen (v2. 0) (mobi)

  The triple gaping maw of teeth was open, the talons extended. Dropping to a squat, she bit back a moan at the fire that shot up her wounded leg. She had no speed, and even at her best, she didn’t have enough strength. It didn’t matter. She’d depend on her mind. It had always been her best weapon, coupled with her unstoppable determination to win.

  Since Rex’s murder, Thomas’s death, the Delilah virus and the Council’s betrayal, she’d been fighting that damn lassitude. What Jacob had feared was the onset of the Ennui. But suddenly, out here in a barren desert, closer to death than she’d ever been—which, given her precarious life, was saying something— that determination unfolded inside her, like a treasure that had merely been waiting for her to unwrap and remember she possessed it.

  She wasn’t leaving her boys alone, come hell or high water. Or deserts, Fae queens and sand serpents. Kane and Jacob needed her, and she needed them. She wasn’t going to lose this fight; she didn’t care what Fate or the law of averages told her about her chances. In the cruel irony that fate often offered, it was truly facing her own inevitable death that gave her a renewed resolve to live.

  Looking up into the face of the creature as it swooped down upon her, she got a full face of its fetid breath as it screamed. She screamed back. As she did, she saw the masticated body part of one of her pursuers stuck in the back row of teeth.

  Then she ducked and flung herself at its right claw.

  As the creature closed the talons around her, caging her, she put both hands on the creature’s ankle, thick as a young tree trunk. The talons stabbed her like five knives, but she focused, focused, focused.

  Feeling her magic, the serpentlike beast launched itself again rather than immediately tearing her apart, a vital advantage. High above the earth, dizzying, turning. She pul ed the energy from inside that creature, pul ed hard. Earth, creation, all of it there, all magic she could use. She could turn it to her will , it didn’t matter that her strength was flagging, that there were hazy bands of color shooting across her vision like flashing stars broken free from a rainbow.

  Two of the talons had hit major organs, because she could feel her body stuttering, losing her grip, her focus.

  No. She snarled again, fought it, fought the inevitable. She was not going to be torn apart. She was not going to die like that. Bringing the magic together with the creature’s energy, she didn’t attempt to control or direct it. She let it go like a suicide bomber tossing an incendiary up over her head and watching it drop with wild, mindless insanity.

  The sand serpent, already capable of a symphony of disturbing cries, let out a shriek that pierced her bones, made them ache. The beast shuddered in the air, faltered. Hazarding a look down, she realized they were several hundred feet in the air. She managed a grim half chuckle. The least of her problems, truly. Hanging on to a corner of the magic, she clutched the serpent’s ankle as its talons released, her blood painting every claw. Adrenaline pumped through her, making everything numb.

  “Damn it, work,” she growled. She yelled it, gripped that ankle for all she was worth. And beneath her grip, it began to change.

  At first it looked like it was turning to stone, a gray tint running up the creature’s leg, all the way to the skeletal features and the wings, freezing them in place. As they began to tumble out of the sky, that horrible screech came from its throat again. A terrible shudder and the beast exploded in midair, the inside coming outside, yanked there by her will .

  Unfortunately, it left nothing to hold. She plummeted to earth among sharp shards of bone, gouts of blood and muscle, and a hailstorm of tiny sand stone, perhaps something it used for its digestion.

  A piece of the wing slapped her face, cutting it open. She seized it. She was too close to the ground for it to slow her fall much, but it did help. That, coupled with the last scrap of magic she could command to summon air currents to fill it and slow her descent. As a result, she hit with a dull, bone jarring thud, instead of snapping her spine and paralyzing herself.

  She lay there for long moments, wondering if she was about to die. She couldn’t seem to move, though that could be her body’s way of asking for a few moments to collect itself from the huge power drain of the energy summoning, the blood loss from her leg, or the multiple stab wounds in her upper body. Or the fact she had one enormous, pounding headache. Probably from sunburn.

  She hoped that would heal. If she had to emerge from this experience with permanently blistered, unattractive skin, she might choose to die here, with sincere apologies to Jacob and Kane. Family was one thing, a woman’s vanity was entirely another. It almost made her smile, remembering how she’d teased Jacob about that not too long ago, at another equally grim moment, when she’d had the Delilah virus.

  How many times could she almost die before the Grim Reaper got tired of showing up at the door, only to find she wasn’t ready? She hoped at least one more. But she was tired, and she had a plummeting feeling she had no more strength.

  Perhaps if she just lay here a moment or two more, she could continue. Putting her hand to her chest, she felt a vague sense of alarm. The rose wasn’t there. She twisted her head, gasping at the pain.

  She was surrounded by the debris of an exploding sand monster. It could be anywhere. She looked in the other direction, managed to roll to her side.

  There… was that a flash of red?

  Her lips pul ed back in a twisted half smile. As she did, she tasted her own blood and that of the creature she’d killed. She’d laugh if it wouldn’t hurt so badly. There was her pack, the rose laying neatly upon the top of it as if it had been placed there by a fussy maître d’ at a restaurant.

  And right next to it was a dried-up rose bush, the sun glittering off the red stone only half buried beneath it.

  Her serpent monster had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. In its twisting arc through the sky, it had probably carried her several miles toward her destination, closing that last gap.

  Blessings do exist here. In their usual, quite ironic way.

  At the entrance to the desert portal, Keldwyn swung off his horse, gesturing to Jacob to draw close as he unhooked a saddle bag, tossed it to him. “More weapons, water.” Pulling a pendant from his neck, he dropped it over his head. “This makes a ten foot perimeter of invisibility around you, so you will not be slowed down by enemies. It’s a limited enchantment, a small magic that won’t last much longer than a day or two. I don’t suspect you'll require more than that, however. Either your mind connection will bring you quickly to her side to help her finish the quest within the proscribed time period, or you will be dead.” He then pul ed out a seal that, as he chanted several words, started to glow red hot. “To get in, you must have the brand of the desert prisoner. It is tailored for Fae blood only, so after I mark you with it, you need to make all haste down that tunnel, because, being vampire, you will heal it rapidly.”

  “And to get out?”

  “That requires an executor on the outside. When Lyssa has what Rhoswen wants, that door will open.

  Her possession of Reghan’s soul essence will allow her to exit. The lack of the brand should allow you to do so, if you maintain contact with her.”

  “Should?”

  Keldwyn lifted a shoulder. “Take your chances, vampire. Unless you are suffering a sudden attack of faintheartedness.”

  In answer, Jacob extended his hand. His skin was crawling, tingling, every muscle quivering with the need to go, to get through that tunnel and find her.

  She needed him, now. Actually, she’d needed him now an hour ago. “Do it.”

  “I will bide here for a time, and leave runners when I must go, in case you need assistance when you emerge with her.”

  “I still don’t trust you,” Jacob said, locking gazes with him. “But thank you.”

  “I’m sure you are aware that thanking a Fae is an insult.”

  When Jacob merely showed fangs, Keldwyn’s lips quirked. “You are correct not to trust me, vampire. It’s best
not to trust anyone.” Gripping his wrist to steady the canvas he was about to mark, Keldwyn jammed the brand against the top of Jacob’s hand.

  Jacob shuddered, clenching the hand holding the saddlebag and his own pack. It was urgency more than pain, as well as a spurt of rage that they’d done this to his lady. When Keldwyn lifted the brand, he bolted for that darkness.

  He couldn’t see, an unusual thing for a vampire, but he still ran full tilt forward, assuming that the desert world was hungry for its victims and wouldn’t trip him up. It didn’t, not until the end, when he stumbled, rolled out of pitch darkness and into blinding day, right into the base of a cactus.

  “Ow, fuck.” Yanking the needles free that had driven into his side, he pul ed out the cowled robe Keldwyn had packed for him. Though it was brutally hot, the sun reflecting the white and ecru landscape like a mirror flashing in his eyes, he wasn’t bursting into flames. So far, so good. He squinted, pul ed the hood farther over his brow to help cut the glare, then took a closer look at that cactus.

  The twisted, distorted shape was eerily familiar. It looked as if it had once been a different being, something humanlike, now forever caught inside the succulent. Two others near it had the same look. He bared his fangs in a savage grin. His lady had been here alright. But that same thought sobered him.

  She’d had to hit the ground fighting. He studied the landscape, turning slowly to make sure tricks of the light and reflected sand didn’t make him miss anything. There. He saw a blot that might have been another set of cacti, then farther on, something like a pile of sticks. A staggering but distinct line of direction, stretching away to the horizon.

  Fuck. Panic gripped him as he realized he still couldn’t hear her. More than that, he wasn’t feeling that buzz of connection that should have been there.

  Lyssa? Lyssa, where are you? Help me find you.

  Nothing. Tightening his jaw, he started moving, following her battle remains. Mindlinks with servants had a range of a few thousand miles. In this odd world, where it was possible that many magical fault lines existed, he might be in the wrong quadrant to hear her. But she’d left him a trail. Increasing his speed, he focused his energy on that. He was grudgingly grateful for Keldwyn’s pendant, keeping him invisible from whatever these things were that had attacked her. Because he sure as hell couldn’t waste time hiding. Not that there were a great many options for concealment.

  As he ran, he lengthened out to his top speed, his vampire senses taking in every detail around him like the tracking radar of a missile. He saw how the shapes of the cacti changed, his grim foreboding growing when he saw how the magic dwindled, creating nightmares. The first time he detected her blood trail, he stumbled and somersaulted across the hot sand. But he forced himself to get a grip on his emotions, started running again. It wasn’t the last time he found her blood. Eventually, it was a trail even stronger than the evidence of her skirmishes. It spurred his speed and his temper. He cursed repeatedly as he thought of her here alone for nearly two days, while he’d been trapped in that upper bedroom for six hours.

  He would be so fucking glad to be back in a world populated by humans and vampires, normal Greenwich time and Taco Bel's that stayed open reliably past midnight.

  What seemed too many freaking hours later, he passed through another shimmer of energy. It was the second or third time he’d done so, but this time the featureless landscape was suddenly not so featureless. A haphazard arrangement of rocks lay ahead. Even more importantly, he felt his lady.

  Though faint, the sense of that connection was a relief so strong it swept through him like a sudden cool shower under the punishing rays. But it was a brief respite, because she was so weak it was like a bad cell connection, a lot of static and dropped dead spots.

  Drawing closer, he saw the rocks weren’t rocks at all, but bone, organs, and what appeared to be large amounts of scattered gravel. Whatever it had been, it had been very, very large. Lyssa? My lady? Answer me.

  He shouted it out loud then, as well as thinking it with such intensity that he thought he might have borrowed some of his queen’s ability to move the earth. Because after a long, heart-stopping moment, he received a response.

  It wasn’t a word—merely a sound. A quiet, dying sound. But she couldn’t die. If she was dying, he would be dying, too. Because he was her servant, to hell with the changes to the marks.

  Jacob ran across that landscape of broken pieces. He saw shards of a jaw with three rows of teeth, some of them like elephant tusks. A portion of a face, the six eyes staring, still eerily sentient. He was fairly certain he saw one of them blink.

  When he saw her at last, he was at her side in one quick surge of movement, his hand on her face, her matted hair. “Holy Mother,” he murmured. She was impossibly bloody, her skin corpse-pale. She clutched her father’s rose, and the other hand lay on the sand next to a desiccated bush, her fingertips nearly brushing a glitter of gemstone that glowed beneath the thin covering of sand. Apparently it was responding to the rose, two splashes of vibrant red in an otherwise colorless landscape. Colorless except for her green eyes, that opened at the sight of him.

  “My lady,” he greeted her, his voice thick.

  She studied him. When her trembling fingertips brushed his knee, it was a touch so welcome he felt it through his whole body. “Hallucination,” she said.

  “My vampire servant, here in the bright sun.”

  “No. Really here, thanks to a bit of Fae magic.

  Turns out you needed my help after all.” Her weak cough was so obviously painful he put his hands on her shoulders, trying to hold her together. Actually, you’re a bit late. Could have used you earlier.

  He wanted to smile, but couldn’t. “I was busy cutting my way out of tree,” he reminded her.

  “You want to spend… your last moments with me saying… I told you so?”

  A fist gripped his heart, squeezed. The time to avoid the truth was done. They both knew he wouldn’t die with her. When she’d nearly been taken by the Delilah virus, he couldn’t walk, the life draining from him with her. He felt none of that now, only the empty, aching sense a vampire experienced from the imminent loss of a servant. The vampire-servant mark she’d given him had in fact been broken. He couldn’t follow her into eternity.

  Well, fuck that with a ketchup bottle. It was one of his brother’s favorite expletives in high school.

  I felt him, Jacob. When I touched the stone. I felt my father, as I wished to do. He sensed me, knew me.

  “Good, my lady.” He swallowed. “That’s good.” Stretching out next to her, heedless of the sand’s heat, he remembered when Jess had almost died and Mason had given her his heart’s blood directly.

  He lifted the sharp pruning knife that lay next to Lyssa, the only weapon other than her magic she’d had to use here. Though he didn’t want to flavor this moment with hatred, if Rhoswen suddenly appeared, he’d happily prune out her ice block of a heart, no matter what daddy issues had made her what she was.

  “No, Jacob…” Her eyes tracked his movements.

  “We both know… I’m almost gone. Much further than Jessica. I’ve been laying here… for hours.

  Surprised no one else attacked me.”

  “I think you left a very powerful message that you were not to be messed with. Plus, there seems to be some type of field around this area.” He glanced at the rose bush. “I expect because of that. Else one of the other inhabitants of this living hell would have destroyed the bush or taken the gemstone long ago.” As he spoke, he was already yanking off the cloak and the tunic he’d donned. He positioned the knife where it needed to be. As a former vampire hunter, he knew exactly where the heart was located, which ribs allowed access to spill the rich heart’s blood.

  Her hand fluttered up weakly. “Jacob… it almost killed, Mason… wooden stake or no. Here . .

  . there’s no protection, no help. Kane. Think of Kane.”

  “With the deepest respect, my lady, shut up.” He sli
d the blade in, smooth as butter. The stutter of his heart was welcome in this situation, and he quickly shifted over her, tilting her head up to position it in that place as the bright, thick blood spurted forth, his left arm briefly trembling as he used it to brace himself over her.

  She was so weak. He had to put his fingers in between her mouth and his body, apply pressure to slow the flow, because she didn’t have the strength to keep up with the rush. She took small, small sips.

  Sometimes the pauses between them were so long he grasped at that stuttering spark of life in her mind, making sure she was still with him. Of course, that was irrational, because if her life slipped away, he would feel it, as if that monstrous creature behind him had landed on his body like a ton of bricks. He’d seen vampires lose servants before, servants with whom they had a close bond. There was no mistaking it for anything else.

  His fingers were wet where blood had seeped past them, and he knew her mouth and chin were stained with it. He’d have to clean that off. His lady was very fastidious. She had meticulous table manners, didn’t believe in gulping blood down like a wolf, even if her life depended on it. He saw tears splotch down on the sand beneath him, and knew they’d squeezed out of his own eyes.

  Her body was so limp, her hand lying in that loose curl on the sand. It wasn’t enough. She was right; it was too late. He was losing her. She was slipping away from him, into that numb insensibility that came with death, taking away any time for goodbyes, a final meeting of gazes.

  He believed in an afterlife, knew it was selfish to deny it to his lady when she was so tired, had done so much, but damn it, he’d promised her he’d always be by her side, that she’d never have to leave him again. That oath was as sacred as a marriage—hell, it was a marriage, in every sense of the word—and he wasn’t backing away from it.

  She wanted to see her son grow up. She had so much more she wanted to do. And she loved him.