The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily)

by Juliette Cross

  “Thank you, Radomir,” said the queen with chilling calm.

  Before Arabelle could blink, other vampires pinned her down on her back, holding tight her wrists and ankles. The sergeant leered as he straddled her waist, ending any leverage she had to try to struggle free.

  “I’ve waited too long for this.” He wrapped a hand around her throat, holding her head to the floor. “Relax. You may even enjoy it. Before you die.”

  Like her mother, she would die at the hands of a vampire. Like so many innocents before her. The reality of her fate galled her to the core. Rather than fear her oncoming death, she maddened with rage.

  “It doesn’t matter if you kill me,” she said, his grip not tight enough to close off her speech. Not yet. “The Black Lily lives on. You’ll never defeat us all.”

  “Nice speech, peasant girl. But you are wrong. They will all die by my orders,” declared the queen. “And Marius will forget you ever existed.”

  “Shut your mouth, you filthy whore,” said the sergeant, constricting her throat.

  Arabelle jerked her arms and legs to no avail, her airway closing tighter. She could feel the blood rushing to her face. Light was slipping away. A few seconds more and she would be gone, having never avenged Deek and Mary, having never led her people to freedom, having never told Marius that she loved him, heart and soul.

  “No, Adrian,” said the queen in her quiet voice. “I want her to feel more pain than a quick death will give. Drink.”

  He released her throat. She gulped in a huge lungful of air, but the demon wasn’t done. He grinned down on his prey. His pupils dilated to full black, his canines protruding with ferocious points. He growled deep in his belly, opened his mouth and—

  A vicious snarl thundered through the chamber as someone blurred into the room and crashed into the sergeant, lifted him by the throat then smashed him into the wall. His skull cracked on impact with a horrible crunch, then he crumpled to the floor, with his killer glaring fiery-eyed and furious at the remaining vampires in the room.

  “Marius,” whispered Arabelle.

  The others leapt to defensive stances, releasing their hold on Arabelle. She scrambled to the wall, out of the way, pressing a palm to her throat.

  “No!” yelled the queen. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Marius’s expression froze in horror when he realized it was his mother standing there. He remained still for one more second before a blur of movement was all Arabelle could see.

  Guarding her head as vampires crashed into one wall, then body parts and blood flew through the air. A detached arm landed at Arabelle’s feet. A severed head bounced off the wall near her own. It was that of the savage one who’d taken such pleasure in killing Deek. Arabelle clung to the bitter justice of it, knowing that one had gotten what he deserved. She swallowed the bile in her throat as a cacophony of growls and cries of pain and the snapping of limbs and crunching of bones reached its peak then died all at once, blood slick and wet on the silk cushions and curtains.

  Standing in the center of the room, blood spattered beyond recognition, was Marius. His chest heaved in and out as he stood before his mother, still fuming with rage. Arabelle had never seen the primal and brutal expression he affixed on the queen.

  “You would do this to me?” He gripped her by the throat. She did not fight him. “Kill the only woman I ever loved?”

  “Marius, my son.” Her tone had softened from the one she’d used with Arabelle. Almost as if she were a different woman altogether. “You don’t understand the importance of your birthright.”

  “Shut up! I understand that you will stop at nothing to get what you want. These vampires had the blood madness.”

  “She knows,” said Arabelle, finally standing on two feet, shaky though they were.

  Marius stared at Arabelle, heaving breaths before he swiveled back to his mother. “How could you?” he asked in a whisper, his voice breaking with emotion.

  The queen’s guard, who’d been knocked nearly unconscious, barreled into Marius and slung him into the wall.

  Arabelle yelled as the brawny vampire leapt and landed on top of Marius with a crushing blow to the face.

  “No!” screamed the queen, having fallen back onto the dais of pillows. “Radomir, stop!”

  The two tumbled across the floor, fists flying. Then Marius cried out when the guard sank his fangs into his shoulder.

  “Stop!” cried the queen.

  Marius threw the man across the room. He hit the wall above his mother’s head before tumbling beside her, where he popped into a crouch, winded and obviously injured, but still ready to defend his queen. She put a hand to his shoulder to keep him beside her.

  “No more, Radomir,” she said.

  Marius marched across the room, shoulder bleeding, and swooped Arabelle into his arms.

  “Marius,” she called after him with desperation. “I am your own flesh and blood.”

  He turned at the torn curtain now fallen to the floor, revealing the cold stone dungeon walls beyond, breaking the fantasy illusion of the room.

  “You are my mother no more. And I am no longer your prince. Or your son. You are nothing to me.”

  He marched through the door and up the steps.

  “Marius!” she screamed after him.

  But he had eyes only for Arabelle. Though his face was smeared with the blood of the men he’d just killed, she could see through the gore to the man beneath.

  “Hold on, Arabelle. We must move fast if we are to get past the Legionnaires.”

  She hooked her arms around his neck.

  “I’m holding tight. And I won’t let go.”

  His mouth ticked up, almost into a smile, and then he carried her out of the blood-drenched dungeon, saving her from death. But even more, proving her original theory wrong, that all vampires were evil, that all vampires deserved death for their crimes against humanity. Marius wasn’t just a vampire prince. He was good and brave, willing to cut himself off from the only world he knew for what was right and just.

  For her.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Marius focused his senses on their surroundings, detecting even the slightest movement or sound as he carried Arabelle out of the hellhole he’d found her in. His heart pounded in his ears, his adrenaline still up from the fight, from finding her two seconds from death, from the horrific realization that his own mother was at the helm of not only the execution of Arabelle, but also of this gang of vampires who were obviously infected with the blood madness.

  She knew all along.

  He wiped away thoughts of his mother and once more focused on the task at hand, to get Arabelle out of this place and far away. Finally, he wound their way out to the barred entry where a Legionnaire stood on duty.

  “Open the door,” he commanded.

  The Legionnaire, a young soldier in his thirties, stared at Arabelle with confusion. Perhaps he hadn’t seen them carry her down.

  “Soldier, open this door immediately,” said Marius, inflecting his authority more aggressively.

  “Y-yes, Your Highness.”

  He fumbled with the key but had the door open in seconds. Marius marched through the courtyard on the south side of the palace. It would be faster to cut through the palace, but they stood higher risk of being intercepted.

  Lightning flashed. Thunder vibrated the air. His breathing was labored, more so than he’d ever experienced. The exertion of the fight and the bleeding wound in his shoulder coupled with the fact that he hadn’t fed in two weeks was breaking him down. He had to get her out of here before he lost consciousness.

  “Hold on, Arabelle.”

  She curled tighter against his chest, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, then he ran, faster than he’d ever run, rocketing past the stables, through the front courtyard, and past the night-watch on horseback, who exclaimed surprise at him blurring by. He didn’t stop, continuing down the hill, out the palace gate, and through Sylus, where a pelting rain fell. He didn�
��t let up, needing to get her to safety the only thought in his head, driving him to run straight into Larkin Wood.

  The rain continued to fall, drenching them both as he felt his legs giving out. Fortune smiled on them. Perhaps the heavens were on their side, washing away any chance of followers to find them.

  He pushed farther, running directly into the Silvane Forest, frightening a rabbit from its hole.

  “Wait. Slow down,” said Arabelle. “Put me down. You’re tired.”

  “Not yet. We must find a safe place to hide. I don’t know how soon my mother will send Legionnaires after us.”

  “That way.” She pointed toward a thick cluster of black oaks. There was no trail. “Follow this grove in that direction. You’ll come to the cottage of Sienna.”

  “Sienna?”

  “The woman with the hart wolves. She’s a friend now.”

  “Not mine.”

  “She won’t harm you. Nor will her wolves. I promise.”

  He’d have to trust her. If the wolves attacked him now, he’d certainly die. He hadn’t the strength left to defend himself. But his foremost thought was of Arabelle and getting her to safety. He’d take the chance.

  The storm intensified overhead, shaking the world with thunderclaps and pounding the earth with torrential rain. Marius thanked the heavens once more. Their scent would surely be drowned out for anyone who tried to track them. It also washed away the fresh blood of the men he’d killed. No, not men. Monsters.

  By the time he saw the light through the trees, he heard the padding of wolves on either side of them. The thick woods opened to a clearing where a white cottage stood, the door open, with the redheaded woman standing there peering out. The white wolf stood beside her in the rain.

  “Back, Hugo and Kai! No, Luca!”

  Marius stopped inside the clearing, the three male wolves having surrounded them, teeth bared. The black one snapped his teeth with a clack.

  “It’s Arabelle, Luca. Hush, now.” The woman Arabelle had called Sienna stepped into the rainy night and ushered them inside.

  Marius didn’t hesitate, but the moment he stepped across the threshold, into the warm, dry room, he collapsed to his knees with Arabelle still in his arms. The door shut behind them.

  She scrambled out of his embrace. He fell forward onto his hands, heaving in deep breaths, his vision blurring.

  “What happened?” asked Sienna.

  “Marius. Can you hear me?”

  Arabelle knelt beside him, wiping his wet hair away from his face. “Let’s get him to the sofa.”

  The women each took one side of him and helped him to his feet. Staggering, they managed to get him to the couch. Completely wasted of energy, Marius let his arms fall to the cushions and his head drop to the sofa back.

  “What can I do, Marius?” asked Arabelle, a twinge of hysteria in her voice. “Get me a cloth, please, Sienna.”

  “What happened?” asked the other woman, rushing to the other side of the room.

  “I was captured.” Arabelle tore his shirt at the injured shoulder. “And Deek…he’s dead.”

  Sienna gasped. “Damn them all.” She was back at Arabelle’s side and handed over a thick rag.

  Arabelle dabbed his open wound from Radomir’s bite. He winced, for the flesh was tender.

  “Not all,” said Arabelle. “Marius killed them. And he saved me.”

  The tenderness in her voice touched him. But he was too weak to even lift his head.

  “Marius, your wound isn’t healing. Why isn’t it healing?”

  “I need—” He couldn’t even say the word blood, for he knew the reaction she would have, especially after what she’d witnessed in the bowels of his own palace’s dungeon. He couldn’t see fear or disgust in her eyes. Not now. “Can you somehow find my friend, Lieutenant Nikolai?” he asked Sienna. “He should be in Sylus. He was on watch tonight.”

  “What should I tell him?” asked Sienna. “The other Legionnaires shouldn’t know of your injuries or where you are. They could be loyal to the crown.”

  Marius managed to lift his head. “Tell Nikolai, ‘Someone misses Cutters Cove.’ Say that, and no one will understand the message but him. He may already be out looking for me.”

  “I’ll go. I’ll find him,” said Sienna, marching toward the door. “Do not worry.”

  She whipped a hooded red cloak over her then set out into the rainy night, leaving them alone.

  Another crash of thunder vibrated the panes in the windows. Arabelle knelt next to him on the sofa, pressing the cloth on the open wound. He flinched in pain. Radomir had torn into his shoulder with a vengeance.

  “It won’t stop bleeding,” she said, her hands shaking.

  “It will be all right…when Nikolai gets here.” Though he wasn’t so sure Nikolai would arrive in time.

  “Why aren’t you healing?”

  He closed his eyes, feeling the pull of sleep. His body was trying to shut down.

  “Marius!”

  He snapped his eyes open. She cupped his face between her hands, fear written on her own.

  “Vampires self-heal. I know this. And you’re a Varis. You should be healing. What’s happening to you? Did his bite do something?”

  “No. I need to…feed.”

  A frown pursed her brow. “When was the last time you fed?”

  “The night you pierced me through the heart.”

  “I missed your heart, if you’ll remember.”

  “Oh, I remember quite well. And you did not miss.”

  Her frown disappeared. Her eyes welled until a tear slipped down one cheek.

  “What will Nikolai do to help?”

  Marius sickened, his canines extending with the mere thought of drinking.

  “Vampires can feed from other vampires, Arabelle. And though it repulses you, I cannot change what I am. Not even if I wished it. Which I don’t.”

  She combed one hand into his hair, sweeping his wet locks aside.

  “I do not want you to change.” She straddled his lap, easing slowly. “I love you exactly as you are, Marius.”

  He could hardly believe what he’d heard, thinking it a trick of his failing senses. If he died now, he’d die a happy man. He couldn’t help but smile. Barely able to lift his arm, he felt the heaviness in his limbs, a sure sign he was close to unconsciousness. But he couldn’t keep from touching her, cupping her sweet cheek and relishing her words.

  “Tell me again,” he said. “Please.”

  She pressed closer, sweeping her lips against his.

  “I love you, Marius.”

  She opened her mouth over his, kissing him with a gentle slip of tongue.

  “Drink from me.”

  …

  His eyes flared star-bright, his mouth parted, his fangs long and sharp and ready. Arabelle believed the words down to her bones, and yet it seemed Marius could not. He shook his head, his brow creased with a scowl.

  “You don’t mean it.”

  “I do.”

  “You can’t. Your mother was—”

  “Listen to me. I know what I’ve said, and no, I haven’t forgotten what happened to my mother. But, Marius, you’re fading before my eyes. I can’t let you go. You can’t wait.”

  “Yes, I can wait. It won’t be long now.”

  Even as he said paltry few words, he was still out of breath. Time for a little more persuasion. She grabbed the scooped neck of her gown at the shoulders and yanked her top as far down as the bodice would allow, then pressed even closer.

  “Drink from me, Marius. I want you to take what you need. From me. Not from Nikolai or anyone else. I want to take care of you.”

  His gaze had already dropped to the throbbing pulse in her neck.

  “Are you sure?” he rasped, his pupils dilated.

  “Yes. Quite sure.” She tilted her head to the side, offering him what he needed.

  He wrapped both hands around her waist, holding her fast, then nuzzled her neck with his nose. He licked her vein
at the base. A slight pinprick stung her as he eased in slowly.

  “Ah,” she gasped, wrapping one hand at his nape to keep him from pulling away as the pain intensified.

  A wash of euphoria flowed down her chest, into her arms, and through her lower body to her legs. A sensual aura wrapped her entire being while Marius’s arms banded her tight and clutched her closer as he sucked on the puncture in her neck. His potent elixir rolled through her body on a wave of ecstasy. She curled her fingers into his biceps, holding on tight while her body floated on hypnotic rapture.

  Low in his belly, a deep rumble like a purring growl rolled as he sucked even more. Desire throbbed in her belly and sensitized her nipples. She pressed her breasts harder against Marius’s chest, frustrated with the bodice blocking her need for skin on skin.

  “Oh God.”

  She ground her hips against him, finding him hard as stone beneath her. He rocked up as he continued to drink his fill. The pull of his suction on her skin stung. A mild pain washed over again with the elixir that amplified her pleasure.

  She could feel his strength coming back simply by the way he clung to her and sat up straighter to lick and lave his tongue at her throat. She had prepared herself for the pain of his bite. She had not prepared for the erotic sensation overwhelming her, driving all thoughts away except to have him inside her. Now.

  He let up from drinking at her throat. A healthy flush painted his neck and cheeks, the sinewy threads of muscle in his wounded shoulder knitting together and the skin reforming before her eyes.

  She bent her arms behind her, clawing at the laces of her bodice. He helped her, ripping them out, popping one, before pulling off the bodice and tossing it aside. Yanking her dress all the way down to her waist, he kissed a line to one breast, scraping her creamy flesh with one fang but not to hurt. Only to tease before he licked his way to her nipple, circling the nub with his tongue.

  Partially on her knees, she reached between them and loosened his trousers then pulled her skirts out of the way.

  She cursed, feverishly trying to remove all barriers between them.

  He slipped his hands up her skirt and rubbed her swollen nub with his thumb then stroked his middle finger along her slick sex and circled her entrance.