by Lund, S. E.
Inside, I know he's an honorable man who has been forced to do dishonorable things because of the war he's fighting—and has been fighting—both with his own nature and with Soren. How he only ever wanted to be a priest and live a pure life serving his god. How the war between the Church and Catharism came between him and his brother. How he was taken by a heartless vampire who played with him, tortured him by forcing him into a sexual relationship with her despite his vow of celibacy.
How all of this was because of Soren. He's a fantastical creature of some kind, beyond a vampire but not quite an angel. I still don't know what he is, but he’s spent his long life trying to become powerful. He wanted a stronghold in the Languedoc region of France eight hundred years ago and sent his Norse princess to find a way to gain that foothold. She realized Michel and Julien's family had the wealth and power to give Soren that foothold.
She died at Michel's hand because he couldn't stand to live another day as the monster she had made him. All of this—my existence, Soren's manipulation of us all—is revenge for her death.
Michel must feel my eyes on him because he turns, his expression hurt despite the fact I've said nothing. He must be thinking how much I hate him for lying to me about my father. It makes my heart break for him all over again and I realize he’s only doing what he thinks will prevent Dominion and keep me alive.
He's so afraid Soren will kill me…
Everything he's done is to prevent Dominion and keep me alive... It hits home once more how wrongheadedly heroic he truly is. I can't help it. I reach out and take his hand, squeezing it. He glances down at my hand on his as if to try to understand what it means, but in a second he knows. The walls come down between us and he knows what I'm feeling and thinking.
At that moment, he knows and I know that despite it all, I still love him. That I see him for what he is—a man forced to be a vampire who is now only trying to do what is right.
He raises my hand up to his lips and kisses it, then turns his eyes back to the road, keeping my hand in his the rest of the way to Soren's.
* * *
A phalanx of guards greets our vehicle when we pull onto the street that leads to Soren's compound. They're in full SWAT uniforms with visors and weapons drawn. Michel pulls up to the roadblock and one of them leans into the car to peer at both of us. He nods to Michel and then glares at me for a long moment. I can feel the hatred in his eyes. My cheeks heat under his gaze and I realize I’m the one who tried to kill his master. Finally, he stands back up again.
He must have known we were coming, knows who we both are, for not a word is spoken. It shocks me for a moment. This is all so well choreographed. Soren is waiting for us and we are merely obeying his and Blackstone's demands. I feel helpless, caught up in this little drama. My only consolation is that there is still a small group of rebels—vampire and human—who refuse to go along with either Blackstone or Soren. They've infiltrated both organizations and are just waiting to strike.
We drive along the street to the compound where even more guards with full-body armor and weapons stand ready. Security is intense and I'm taken aback at how they're just waving us through, given who I am.
Michel stops the car in front of the mansion and turns it off. "Get out," he says, his voice low. "Do what they say without hesitation." I start to remove my seatbelt, but he takes my hand in his, stopping me. "Without hesitation, Eve. I can't say that enough. You're still alive only because both Blackstone and Soren have a use for you. Otherwise, you would have been dead in the cottage the night Soren's forces attacked."
I force a smile. He's so afraid for me. I can feel it when he touches me, when we briefly connect, letting me in to reinforce his fear. In his mind's eye, I see an image of me on my knees before a gloating Soren, my hands and ankles manacled and attached to a chain that someone holds. Michel is standing beside Soren, watching.
"Is that a vision of what could be or what will be?"
Michel shakes his head as one of the guards opens my door. He removes his hand from mine. "Without hesitation, Eve. If Soren has to wait another generation to create another Adept with your genetics, he will. For an immortal, twenty years is a blink of an eye."
I nod and exit the vehicle, but as soon as my feet touch the ground, another guard steps forward and grabs my hands, pulling them in front of me and attaching manacles to my wrists. My instinct is to fall into fight mode, but I remember Michel's warning and force myself to relax. I won't resist. I'll let them do what they will and wait for whatever plans are in place to act.
Michel comes around the vehicle and watches as another guard attaches manacles to my ankles and slips a long metal chain through the rings attached to both sets.
Michel nods. "Bring her to Lord Soren."
The guard nods at Michel. "Yes, m'Lord."
What?
Michel acts as if he's brought me to them—as if he's the one responsible for my capture and custody. I catch his eye as the guard pulls me past him and he widens his eyes, reminding me to obey.
I hold his eyes as I pass, frowning. I know he wants me safe. I know he wants to protect me. I know he doesn't want any of this. So why do I feel like he's betrayed me once more?
I follow the guard into the mansion and through the main foyer to a room in the rear of the building.
The room is filled with what look like military men, standing around speaking in soft voices. When they see us, the men part and let us pass. I feel their eyes on me, their hatred and curiosity almost palpable.
Soren sits on a throne-like chair on a raised dais at the far end of the room, the throne large and carved out of wood with ornate arms and legs and a huge back. Behind it, stretched out on either side, are two wings made of huge pieces of wood, the carving so intricate I can almost see every feather.
It's amazing.
He's dressed in black leather with a sword in a scabbard on his hip. His chin rests on a hand and his eyes are closed as if he's deep in thought. His long platinum-blond hair falls around his face and glows like a halo in the light. He really does see himself as some kind of emperor. He's going to play the part completely.
The guard deposits me in front of the throne and pushes me so that I fall to my knees on the cold stone floor in front of Soren. I cry out briefly from the pain, my cuffed hands stopping my fall.
I glance up, but Soren's eyes are still closed. Michel goes to his side and stands to his right. Finally, after long moments pass, Michel bends down, his lips to Soren's ear. He whispers something and then Soren lifts his head, his clear blue eyes opening slowly, as if he's coming back to consciousness or from somewhere far away.
"My Lord," Michel says, his voice soft, "I've brought Eve, as you requested."
Soren meets my eyes and holds them for a moment before nodding. "Good, good," Soren says, his voice low and slow, as if every word is a struggle. "I'm glad my men didn’t kill her. I was afraid they'd be a bit too enthusiastic in sending a message."
"She was never at risk."
"Wonderful. But you failed to get her to ascend, I see.”
Michel exhales and catches my eye. “She refused.”
“And you’re so in love with her you didn’t think to force the issue?”
“My Lord, I—”
“Don’t say anything,” Soren cuts him off. “I trust everything went well with Blackstone."
"Yes," Michel says. "She took the daywalking serum at least."
Michel's eyes widen when he looks at me and I know he's warning me not to speak or do anything until Soren asks.
"Well, that’s one consolation. She’s more useful now." Then he looks at me fully, his eyes open wide. "So, Eve, you're back and apparently a little less recalcitrant than usual."
I don't say anything because it wasn't a question. I merely nod.
"Because of your hijinks with Dylan, I've been out of sorts for a while. I'm very angry, Eve. Very angry."
I say nothing. What could I possibly say in response?
Soren rises slowly, like it's an effort, and steps down the dais so that he stands directly in front of me where I still kneel, my knees sore from the fall. I'm surprised when Michel takes his arm and helps him down.
He's obviously still affected by the virus. Perhaps still battling it. Michel seems unconcerned or surprised and I wonder if he's been in touch with Soren the entire time. I wonder if Michel went immediately back to Soren once he was free.
I have to keep telling myself that whatever the case may be, Michel hasn't told me because of his attempts to keep me safe. I have to keep telling myself that or I won't be able to go through with this.
I wait, with my head bowed, for whatever it is that Soren will do with me and to me.
"Look at me," Soren says, his voice hard.
I glance up and see that he's even more pale than usual. He looks thinner, as if he's lost weight.
"Yes," he says, his hand still resting on Michel's shoulder. "I am weak. I've been fighting this pesky virus you gave me and while I've been mostly successful in eradicating it from my system, it's not yet complete. I need your magic touch, Eve," he says and lifts my head by the chin so that I can’t help but stare into his ice-blue eyes. I try to blank my mind; I know he'll be able to read me and know everything. Luckily, my knees are bruised and hurt like hell. Hopefully the pain will be enough so he won't be able to read my mind. He strokes my cheek almost affectionately.
"I need your special skill to regain enough power to clear it completely from my system and that of the Twelve, who are still all in stasis. They're not as powerful and couldn't fight it off enough to fully wake. Once I'm back in tip-top shape and the Twelve are restored, we'll continue on this little quest for godhood. Are you game, Eve?"
"You already know why I'll comply with you,” I reply. “Blackstone has my father. But do you have my parents?"
"No, I don’t," Soren says and smiles. "If I did, you’d be the first to know. I have no idea where they are, but if you want Blackstone to keep good care of your father, you’ll have to help me gain power so I can calm the fears of the masses as Blackstone trots them into his feedlots to fatten them for slaughter."
I bite my lip hard to stop from responding. He's trying to get a response from me, testing me. I know he enjoys my resistance, but Michel said comply. Without resistance.
So I bite my lip. I bite my cheek until it hurts. Until my mouth tastes like copper and I know I've drawn blood. It will heal soon enough.
Soren smiles down at me. "Fighting so hard to obey. So unlike you, Eve. I know it galls you to bow to a higher power. It's necessary for a while at least."
He turns to face his throne and Michel helps him back up. He turns once more and slowly lowers himself into the throne with tremendous effort. He sits back finally and closes his eyes as if the exertion was too much for him.
In a moment, he opens his eyes and regards me once more. "Tomorrow, we'll have a little ceremony and you'll give me back my powers. Then we'll make some grand plans—you, Michel, and I—about how we're going to save the world from this horror Blackstone has wrought. That ought to put me in the good books with the humans, don't you think? An avenging angel returned to stop the menace of science and technology that threatens to enslave all humans to vampires? It's epic. It will form a whole new religion in the ashes of the old. A new religion that will last a thousand years."
"You sound like Ozymandias," I say, finally unable to hold myself back any longer. "Remember what Shelley wrote: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair!’"
Soren laughs, his head thrown back as if he enjoys the reference. He glances at Michel and smiles. "I can see why you love her." Then he turns his gaze back to me, his expression one of glee. "‘Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare. The lone and level sands stretch far away.’"
He says nothing else for a moment, but I can see what I quoted pleased him.
"Yes, I know my poetry, Eve. I'm pleased that you know yours. You see," he says and leans on one elbow, "I was alive when Shelley wrote his poem. Hell, I've been around since Ramesses II, to whom Shelley referred as Ozymandias. I was alive when Ramesses II thought he'd rule the world and said those words. I know that truth far better than everyone else, Eve, but you have to remember I'm not a mortal pharaoh. I'm an immortal. We really do stand for thousands of years."
He smiles at me for a moment, then waves his hand in dismissal.
"I'm tired. Take her away, Michel, and do whatever you want with her. Love her. Hate her. Fuck her. She's yours, as I promised. All I ask is that you get her ready for the ceremony tomorrow. You know what that means."
Michel nods and bows toward Soren as he steps off the dais. "My Lord." Then he points to the guard beside me. "Bring her."
At that, the guard yanks my chain, forcing me to stand.
I follow them both as they leave the room and make their way down the long hallway back to the main foyer.
"Take her to my rooms." Michel points to my chains. "Make sure she's restrained. We don't want any attempts at escape." He doesn't catch my eye and I wonder if this is all a performance or if he is on Soren's side in this. Who would he choose between Blackstone and Soren? I can’t help but think it would be the fallen angel rather than the vampire tyrant.
"That’s it?" I say, unable to stop myself. "You're just going to send me upstairs with no explanation?"
"Shh," he says and puts a finger to my lips. "Without hesitation."
EDIT
I shut my mouth firmly, frowning. I realize I must get myself under control and see the larger picture rather than let my emotions cloud my judgment. Michel is putting on a performance. He wants all vampires dead and gone, including whatever Soren is. He's biding his time, making his own moves in an attempt to have things turn out his way—free of Dominion and all vampires. It's just that he does this performance so well, he has me convinced. I have to keep reminding myself that he’s a consummate performer, able to hide his true emotions to the rest of the world even if he can't hide them from me when we connect.
I follow the guard up a flight of stairs to the second floor and the east wing. He ushers me into an opulent room fit for the palace in Versailles with its tapestry-covered walls, ornate canopy bed in white and gold brocade, and white leather furniture. The huge floor-to-ceiling windows have exquisite drapery falling in puddles on the floor. It even smells expensive, like sandalwood and fine leather. I could imagine Marie Antoinette here, sitting at the small dressing table or lounging on the gold and white brocade settee at the foot of the bed.
The guard leads me inside and shackles me to the post of the bed. I can move about four feet in any direction, so I sit on the side of the bed.
"What if I have to go to the bathroom?"
He turns his back to me. "Hold it." He leaves, closing the door behind him.
I exhale and glance around, wondering what will happen to me now that I'm under Soren's total control and when Michel will come to free me from these chains.
Chapter 95
“Take away love and our earth is a tomb.”
Robert Browning
Hours pass and I fall asleep on the bed facing the door, my shackled hands held out before me, my head on the pillow. I only wake when blood hunger begins to gnaw at my veins. I need to feed. I hear a creak in the hallway outside my room and lift my head, hoping that it's Michel come to free me, but nothing. It was merely the guard shifting his weight.
Michel, I say in my mind, hoping our blood connection will work and he'll hear me. I need you.
I let my mind open, searching for something—anything—from him, but there's no response. Or if there is, I'm too weak to hear it. Where is he?
What is he doing? Plotting with Soren? Making plans for the ceremony so I can give Soren more power?
More hours pass, the sky darkening and then brightening as dawn approaches on this gloomy winter day.
Will he leave me like this forever?
* * *
Finally, I hear footsteps down the hall and muted conversation outside the doorway. It must be Michel.
Sure enough, the door opens and in he strides, his coat on as well as a pair of leather gloves. He enters and the guard follows. I sit up on the side of the bed expectantly, my shackled hands held out.
"Unfasten them," Michel says, pointing to my hands.
The guard complies, using his key to remove the heavy metal manacles. Before he leaves, Michel pulls him aside. While I'm rubbing my wrists, the skin red and chafed, with thin scrapes from the rough metal edges of the manacles, I hear him mention food and blood.
My stomach rumbles at the thought of eating.
The guard leaves us alone and I watch as Michel takes off his gloves and slips them into the pockets of his overcoat.
"Eve," he says. He removes the coat and lays it on the back of a chair in front of the fireplace.
"Michel." I hold back, waiting for him to say something even though I really want to ask him where he's been—obviously outside, for he's dressed for the cold.
Finally, he comes to the bed where I sit on the edge, my hands folded in my lap, and sits beside me. He takes one of my hands and examines the scrapes, clucking his tongue.
"Soren really must invest in some higher quality restraints. He's gone all medieval on us."
"How can you joke about this?" I ask, frowning.
He smiles at me, a guilty smile. "If you don't laugh, you'll cry?"
"Still…" I say, pulling my hand out of his. He takes it back immediately and kisses the skin where the rough metal edge scraped my skin raw, his wet tongue a brief, bright sting.
"Don't," I say and try to pull my hand away once more. I know what he's doing. He's reminding me of that day we met and how he licked my wounded hands, tasting my blood for the very first time.
"You're mine, Eve," he says, his so-blue eyes burning with a heat that surprises me so soon after he joked about the restraints. It's the blood; I understand how it affects us.