by Kresley Cole
She was weak, undeserving of her family, especially when her heart had leapt at the sight of him. But she shook her head. “I can’t. It’s just too late. I have a lot to lose from this. I won’t hurt my family by accepting you.”
“Kristoff seeks peace. He would fight the Horde with you. There would be no conflict with them. And I would … make an effort with your sisters, Myst. I know how important they are to you now. Believe me, I know.”
She tapped her chin. “So you can see why the idea of being forced to forget them made me cranky? Huh? And what if you saw more out of context? This would just happen again and again.”
“I would not drink from you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, just like I’m going to finally beat my Xbox addiction.”
“I’m pleased you feel the same about that option. I’ve already vowed never to use the information to harm the Valkyrie in any way. And I would have to tell you everything I was thinking as if you could read my mind as well. We are wed. We should know each other’s secrets. Myst, we are kindred.”
That made her hesitate. She’d felt that way too. Kindred.
Wait. What the hell was she thinking? He’d been about to mind-erase her. Making her voice firm, she said, “Wroth, I’m sorry, but I could never trust you—”
Her words were cut off by a massive arm, squeezing the breath from her throat. Not a ghoul. A demon? she thought wildly. A turned demon?
Wroth raised his sword, a savage, killing look in his eyes, but the arm tightened and he froze.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ivo said as he sauntered to the front of his gang. “He’ll snap her head right from her neck.”
She struggled against the demon until she could breathe, but he was unbelievably powerful. He was a turned demon, supposed to be a true myth. Apparently, the Horde had just upped their game. She’d known he’d been up to something…
Ivo’s red gaze flickered over her. “Now Myst, I thought I told you to wait in my dungeon.” To the demon, he said, “She’s not the one.”
Then he narrowed his eyes at Wroth. “So you’re the turned human who took my castle from me. Grenades? Guns? I’ll kill you just for bastardizing our war.” He glanced from Wroth to Myst, then back again, smiling to see Wroth’s body seeming to vibrate with tension. “I believe I have something he wants very badly indeed. I’ll take his life in exchange.”
Wroth could trace away in a heartbeat—but he didn’t move.
“You walk into the sun,” Ivo said, “and I’ll vow to the Lore that I’ll free her. I’ll hunt her again, but for this dawn I vow that she’ll live. If you trace instead, I’ll take her back to Helvita and dine on her perfect flesh every night for eternity.”
“Fight me, coward,” Wroth bit out, his eyes black with rage, his muscles tense and knotted with it.
“Why would I do that?” Ivo sounded confused. “Fight you for the cards I already hold?”
Wroth was so powerful, and yet that strength was useless to him now because they wouldn’t fight. She could feel frustration rolling from him in waves.
“You know we’ve got the power here,” Ivo said. “And you know my vow will compel me to release her.”
Wroth’s eyes were assessing, his sharp mind studying the situation. She knew the exact moment that he determined his options. A calm seemed to wash over him.
“Her life or yours, Wroth.”
One tight nod. “Done.” No hesitation. “It is done.”
“Catch and release?” Myst sneered to Ivo as he and his gang traced with her back into the shade to ready for the dawn. Birdsong had begun. “Are you kidding me?” To Wroth, she said, “Are you eager to be ash?”
The sunlight hit the tops of the trees, descending inch by torturing inch. He stood sure and so brave, as if he was proud to give his life for hers.
The morning breeze blew his hair from his face. His eyes were riveted to hers.
The sunlight was inches away from him, almost reaching the moss of the great oaks that buckled the feet of the mausoleums. Now she felt frustration as she’d never known. “Wroth, don’t be stupid.”
In a low, steady tone, he said, “I love you, Myst.”
Feeling erupted in her chest to answer his words. Yes, he’d wronged her, and yes, he was a vampire, but …
The light hit him. He did not close his eyes to the extreme brightness that would have hurt even her eyes.
And she knew it was because he wanted to see her longer. Soon the intensity of the sun was too great; he fell to his knees, his hands curling in agonizing pain. He opened his eyes once more. Glowing, bare. A last look.
He’s going to die.
They always do. Just … gone.
“No.” Saying the word out loud was like blasting a mountain to free an avalanche. An immortal like him didn’t have to die. He could stay with her. “No, no, no.”
“Milaya, don’t fight,” he bit out. “It is done.”
The demon holding her smelled of rotting flesh. The cowardly gang of vampires smirked at Wroth’s death when he was so much greater than they. How dare they?
She’d waited millennia to love—she’d waited for him—and they dared take him from her. From Myst the Coveted. She screamed long and loud with the shriek her kind was known for. The one that preceded death. The demon cursed and fought to snap her neck, but her muscles had lain in perfect concert and alignment to prevent it.
Wroth struggled toward her, trying to get to her even as he burned as though from the inside. Battling to save her as he died.
He was hers.
She freed her arms and raised them up. Lightning leapt to enter her grasp and filled her body. That they would dare …
The two holding her were blown from her, percussive thunder exploding them from within. Her hand shot down to collect one’s sword just as he was cast into the light.
She struck out, slashing and clawing at the others with the rare gift of direct lightning from the sleeping ones pouring strength into her. She cut through the number, barely flinching when her arm was broken and the butt of a sword cracked her cheekbone. Don’t look through that eye, switch hands. She cut a swath to Ivo, who alone remained.
“And here I thought you were merely the pretty one.” With a mock bow, the coward traced.
Arm shattered, face beaten to a pulp, she flew to Wroth. She vainly tried to cover him, dragging him into the cool shade even as she bit her wrist open for him to drink. He was unconscious, his body twisting in pain, his skin looking like lava burned within him.
“Seems like we missed the party,” Regin said as she and Cara strolled over to Myst. “Why does Myst get to kill all the vampires? No. Really. This was just supposed to be ghouls.”
“Myst, what are you doing? We heard your scream and thought it was something important, ” Cara said. She waved a dismissive hand at Wroth’s writhing form, clearly unable to comprehend why Myst was frantically dragging him with one arm while shoving her gashed wrist at his lips. “The being dies. Leave him.”
Regin added, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Myst. He’s a vampire. Let him fricassee.”
Myst shrieked and snapped her teeth at her sisters. Then she screamed two words she’d never uttered in her entire life—
“Help me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nikolai woke to wetness on his chest. He was in bed? With Myst’s silky, red hair tumbling over his arm?
When he opened his eyes, he realized she was crying over him. Impossible. “Myst?” he rasped.
Her head shot up and she gave him a watery smile that quickly faded. She slapped him, a hard, cracking blow. Then she leapt on him, nuzzling, squeezing, as if she couldn’t get close enough to him.
“Don’t you ever do anything so stupid again.” She slapped at his chest, which he was surprised to find was healed.
He flexed and tensed his muscles throughout. He was bandaged in places, but he had all his limbs. This was good. Now if he could just get his wife to cease slapping him.
“If you do not stop, milaya, we will have words.”
So she turned to kissing him again with whispers in his ear and tears dropping to his face, each one like a gift. “You’ve been out for five nights. And you wouldn’t wake the hell up. ”
“Where are we?”
“In Val Hall.”
He stiffened.
“No, you’re safe.” She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I would just let my sisters fall on you like a carcass?”
He winced at the image. “Can’t wait to meet them all. How did you get away?”
“Ivo traced, but Cara and Regin are on his trail.”
“I’m just glad I was there to save you,” Nikolai said solemnly, making her grin. “Did you kill the turned demon?”
“The lightning and I did.”
He remembered then. She’d been hit directly, hair whipping, eyes silver, the most awing sight he’d ever witnessed. “I saw you get struck.” His voice went low. “You smiled.”
“It feels good. It’s very rare to get a direct hit—”
Outside, something, some male, howled with fury. Nikolai tensed to trace her away.
“Oh, don’t worry. Just another crazy day at the manor.” She waved away his tension. “A Lykae nabbed little Emmaline and took her back to Scotland—thinks she’s his werewolf queen or something.”
“Werewolf queen?”
“Uh-huh. So Lucia trapped the Lykae’s brother for leverage, but apparently he’s proving uncooperative. Anyway, if you knew Em you’d see how ridiculous the idea is. She’s terrified of her own shadow, much less a roaring Lykae’s unique … appetites.”
He’d have to ask her about that later. “She’s the halfling—the one that’s part vampire.” When her brows drew together he rushed to assure her, “I will never tell Kristoff about her, but I suspect that Ivo’s searching for her.”
“We know. We’re sending a retrieval party after her. Once they bring her back, she’ll be safe here. The wraiths will shut out any threat.” One flew by the window at that moment, cackling to punctuate her statement.
He raised his eyebrows and when she grinned, he cupped her face with a bandaged hand. “I love you.”
“I know.”
“Could you … could you feel the same way? Before you answer, I want you to know that I meant what I said. I am sorry for forcing you to stay and for losing my head. I will always be shamed by my actions.”
“Wroth, I wanted to stay with you after, oh—about a day! I’d planned to play you, but realized early that I was falling in love with you.”
He hadn’t heard her correctly. Yes, she’d been upset over his injuries, but that didn’t mean she loved him. “You’re saying you love me too?”
She nibbled her lip and nodded. “I’d always had a crush on you, you know.”
When he frowned, she said, “I used to adore hearing tales about you. And was saddened when we’d heard you’d died. Then to meet you in person?” She blushed a little. “I found that you lived up to my fantasy of you.”
He was bewildered to hear this from his fierce, stunningly beautiful wife. In a gravelly voice, he spoke an utter understatement, “That gives my ego a bit of a boost coming from you.”
Her lips curled. “Among other things, the uncommon gift of a direct strike of lightning, and the fact that you were the only man able to free me from my chain, and the fact that you were so sodding eager to give up your life for mine—though mind you, if you try that again, I’m going to kill you—have all convinced me that we should be together.”
“Always, Myst. I’d do it easily.” When she was about to protest, he asked, “What about your family? I will try if they will.”
“For all the reasons I just listed, a couple of my sisters have decided they’ll try to overcome their repugnance of you.”
He scowled at that. “Big-minded of them.”
“Yet they want nothing to do with Kristoff or any among your order. You’re the exception because they felt like they knew you as a human and because of what has happened between us. But if, say, your brother showed up here, they’d … it would be … bad.”
“I understand.”
“If you can make a genuine effort, I believe they will all come to accept you in time.”
He wanted to be clear on this. “Accept you as my wife and me as your husband?” He wanted everything from her. Not just a few decades. He wanted forever. And as long as she was in a giving mood …
She nodded, a smile playing about her lips. “We still have a lot to muddle through, mind you. Our families and our factions, and who controls the remote, and living logistics—because Blachmount needs TLC and lightning rods in a bad way. But I suppose I have to take possession of you, since I’ve already taken possession of my engagement ring.”
He grinned. “You liked that, did you?”
“I couldn’t take my eyes off of it,” she said with a saucy smile.
He clasped her to him and pulled her close, knowing she craved being wrapped tight and secure in his arms as much as he needed her soft and trusting within them. “I can’t quite believe this. Even after everything?” If she could give him another chance, Nikolai thought they could do anything together.
“Yes. But …” She stroked the smooth backs of her claws down his arm. “You’ll have to spend eternity making it up to me.”
He released her to lever himself above her, cupping the back of her neck. His gaze flickered over her face, then met the eyes of his wife as she smiled up at him. Feeling love for her so strong it hurt him, his voice ragged with it, he rasped, “Milaya, it is done.”
If you enjoyed Kresley Cole’s
“The Warlord Wants Forever”
Don’t miss
LOTHAIRE
Coming January 2012 from
Gallery Books
Here’s a preview of
Lothaire …
Lothaire
Kresley Cole
PROLOGUE
Castle Helvita, Horde vampire stronghold
RUSSIAN WINTER, IN AGES LONG PAST
What fresh humiliation does this day bring?” Ivana the Bold asked her son, Lothaire, as guards escorted them to the vampire known as Stefanovich—the king of the Vampire Horde.
And Lothaire’s father.
Though only nine, Lothaire could tell his mother’s tone held a trace of recklessness. “And why wake you?” she demanded of him, as if he could explain his father’s rash ways.
The summons had come at noon, well past his bedtime. “I know not, Mother,” he mumbled as he adjusted his clothing. He’d had only seconds to dress.
“I grow weary of this treatment. One day he will push me too far and rue it.”
Lothaire had overheard her complaining to his uncle Fyodor about the king’s “tirades and dalliances, his increasingly bizarre behavior.” She’d softly confessed, “I threw away my love on your brother, am naught but an ill-treated mistress in this realm, though I was heir to the throne in Dacia.” Fyodor had tried to comfort her, but she’d said, “I knew I only had so long with him before his heart stopped its beating. Now I question whether he has a heart at all.”
Today her ice-blue eyes were ablaze with a dangerous light. “I was meant for better than this.” With each of her steps, the furs that spilled over her shoulders swayed back and forth. The skirts of her scarlet gown rustled, a pleasing sound he always associated with her. “And you, my prince, were as well.”
She called him “prince,” but Lothaire wasn’t one. At least, not in this kingdom. He was merely Stefanovich’s bastard, one in a long line of them.
They followed the two guards up winding stairs to the king’s private suites. The walls were gilded with gold and moist with cold. Outside a blizzard pounded the castle.
Sconces lit the way, reflected flames flickering over the metal, but nothing could alleviate the gloom of these echoing corridors.
Lothaire shivered, longing to be back in his warm bed with his new puppy dozing over hi
s legs.
Once they reached the anteroom outside of Stefanovich’s chambers and the guards began opening the groaning gold doors, Ivana smoothed her hands over her elaborate white-blond braids and lifted her chin. Not for the first time, Lothaire thought she looked like an angel of yore.
Inside, lining the back wall, was a soaring window of jet glass inlaid with symbols of the dark arts. The stained glass kept out the faint sunlight visible through the storm and made a fearsome backdrop for the king’s chair.
Not that the towering vampire needed anything more to make him fearsome. His build was more like a demon’s, his shoulders broader than a carrying plank, his fists like anvils.
“Ah, Ivana Daciano deigns to obey a summons,” Stefanovich called from the head of his long dining table. Every night his eyes seemed to grow redder, their crimson glow standing out against the sand-colored hair that fell over his forehead.
The dozen or so courtiers seated with him stared at Ivana with undisguised malice. In turn, she drew her lips back to flash her fangs. She found these courtiers beneath her and made no secret of it.
Seated to the king’s left was Lothaire’s uncle Fyodor, who appeared embarrassed.
Lothaire followed Ivana’s gaze to the seat at Stefanovich’s right hand—a place of honor usually reserved for her. Dining plates littered with the remains of a meal were spread before it.
Occasionall, young vampires ate food of the earth, consuming it in addition to blood. Perhaps another of Stefanovich’s bastards had come to Helvita to live amongst them?
Lothaire’s heart leapt. I could befriend him, could have a companion. As the king’s bastard, he’d had no friends; his mother was everything to him.
“’Tis late,” Ivana said. “All should be abed at this hateful hour.”
Fyodor seemed to be silently warning Ivana, but she paid him no heed, demanding, “What do you want, Stefanovich?”
After drinking deep from a tankard of mead-laced blood, Stefanovich wiped his sleeve over his lips. “To see my haughty mistress and her feeble bastard.” The king stared down at Lothaire. “Come.”