by Gina Whitney
Blood Ties
Copyright © 2013 Gina Whitney
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced (except for inclusion in reviews), disseminated or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or in any information storage and retrieval system, or the Internet/World Wide Web without written permission from the author or publisher.
Follow Gina Whitney on Twitter @ginamwhitney and on Facebook.
Book design by: Arbor Books, Inc.
www.arborbooks.com
Blood Ties
Gina Whitney
1. Title 2. Author 3. Fiction/Romance/Paranormal
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013907362
ISBN 13: 978-0-615-80593-1
To my two wonderful boys,
PJ and Drew, who believed in me even when I didn’t.
(Even though they thought I was turning into an emo chick.)
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Acknowledgments
A very special thank you to Joel at Arbor Books for his wicked editing skills and insightful thoughts, and patience with my endless questions and deluded thoughts.
I want to send an enormous thank you to Terry for her magic fingers and creativity. Love you master Yoda!
To Jessica, for an awesome cover. You’re kick-ass!
My thanks also to Aunt Sue and Alice (bff ), who were thrusted into my preternatural world of fiction daily. You gave me an ear, a smile, a good talking to, and sometimes a “huh?”
My deepest gratitude to my little sister Laura, who painlessly listened to my vampire/witchy jargon. Although you had your hands full with Payton, you found the time to listen; for that I’m grateful, sis, and love you dearly.
A heartfelt thank you to my doll Eileen, for putting up with me, pushing me, and encouraging me with megawatt enthusiasm. You’re awesome!
To Rafael (who insisted on being listed), thank you for your enthusiasm, support, love, and sheer awesomeness that knows no bounds. I needed a push, and you kicked my butt. Man you’re all sorts of fantastical!
Finally to my around-the-way team, Kenny and Geri, for your libations and countless invites to get me out of the house. I love you guys! When I started to rant about my book, you always encouraged me with smiles, hugs, and friendship. For that I’m eternally grateful. (Even though you shot each other looks like, “What a nutbag!”)
Last but not least, to all my terrific friends who always have my back: love you all!
Chapter One
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
—Edgar Allan Poe
The four witches watched the birth, anxious to see if the baby was a monster.
It was more like a brutal assault than a delivery. Ilan Valois lost her delicate elegance as she squatted, splayed legs pulled back as far as she could take them. She bore down with a pain so great, it choked out the primal scream lodged at the back of her throat. It was as if the baby knew what awaited her and was fighting to stay within the safe confines of the womb.
Despite it being mid-winter, Ilan’s searing body heat fogged off her skin. Every spasm caused her to lurch forward, leaving vapor footprints on the linoleum. Her pelvis cracked, unhinging from her hipbones. Her moist, pink flesh ripped to accommodate the gross mass of the descending child, bloody chunks preceding it.
Ilan saw that Addison Bolingbroke was keeping her distance, craning her neck to see what would pop out. Even though Addison had killed many times, seeing new life brought forth— especially this obscene life—was difficult for her to stomach. Despite her own agony, Ilan felt sorry that Addison had been drawn into this dreadful situation. She took no offense when Addison said to her, “You never should have conceived this child. It’s an abomination.”
“It’s a baby,” Evelyn Valois said to Addison while acting as midwife. Evelyn’s attire looked like a kaleidoscope that had exploded. It consisted of items she had picked up during her world travels, like the scarf made out of aso oke fabric that held together the oversized bun on top of her head. She unfurled the scarf and wiped Ilan’s soaking brow with it.
Evelyn then pushed her blue-sided Nulady glasses—worn for no particular visual impairment—off the tip of her nose. This action partially obscured Ilan’s view of her eyes, making it difficult for her to discern Evelyn’s emotions. However, the high pitch of Evelyn’s apprehensive voice exposed her true feelings. Ilan understood Evelyn’s concern; it was still a mystery as to whether Ilan had conceived their savior, a beast, or an ordinary child.
Ilan gave a final, concentrated push. Her perineum ripped open, and the hefty baby fell into Evelyn’s hands, completely engulfed in the amniotic sac. Ilan stayed balanced on her heels just long enough for Evelyn to take the bloody mass to the bed, and then she collapsed to the floor. Addison snapped out of her dumbfounded state and rushed to Ilan. She picked her up and carried her to the bed, next to the moving sac.
Evelyn took a large hunting knife and poked through the tough, transparent sac. Its tawny fluid gushed out as Evelyn reached in with her eyes closed, not sure of what she’d pull out. Her hands retracted and she held a baby—a big baby, but not a fiend.
“She’s beautiful,” Evelyn said, putting the girl to Ilan’s engorged, aching nipple.
The marble statue of a woman cradled her child in her cold arms. The infant’s screams prompted Ilan’s letdown reflex, and her breasts secreted sweet-tasting blood instead of milk. The voracious baby latched on with vigor, its bare gums almost chewing the nipple as it fed.
Ilan winced as Evelyn repaired her injuries with a taperpoint needle and synthetic sutures bought from a pet-supply store.
Ilan had tasked James Bolingbroke with finding the witches a suitable hideout. After months on the run and the impending delivery of the baby, they’d had to make due. The bulk of their magical abilities had gone into cloaking Ilan. Her pregnant body had been a lighthouse emitting rays of energy to predatory witches. Her unrivaled power had been siphoned off to her baby, and she could hardly muster enough to protect herself.
The cabin James had chosen was isolated, claustrophobic, and musty. However, Ilan didn’t mind its constant silence; it made her feel at peace. Despite this she was not pleased with its vulnerability to attack.
She watched James as he kept vigilant guard at the window, scanning the black woods for any sign of Catherine. The incandescence of his cerulean eyes against the moonlight almost made him look demonic. This juxtaposed his fresh-faced, wholesome looks despite the fact that he was hundreds of years old.
In the window’s reflection, Ilan could see James looking at his brother, Adrian. She regretted that her decision to have the baby had created an even bigger rift between the already feuding brothers. She tried to ignore their back-and-forth banter, but their voices carried all too well through the hollow room.
Ilan’s sweat saturated
the springy mattress, and she requested a towel. James, refusing to leave his post, ordered Adrian to get one for her. Ilan was disturbed by Adrian’s casual reaction to the situation as he dropped a washcloth on her. He then put his hand to his chin with cool detachment as he watched Ilan, her body still convulsing from the birth.
Ilan rested with the baby tucked into the pit of her arm. The others slept also, except James, who had been alerted by a rustling in the woods. He opened the door just a crack, sensing the air. His skin blushed as his blood vessels dilated with a fight-or-flight response. He closed the door with an inhuman, accelerated motion and awakened the others.
“They’re almost here,” he said.
All were alert as if they had been awake the entire time; however, Ilan was still groggy and incapacitated from childbirth. James reached for the baby, but Ilan stopped him from taking her.
“Ilan, let me have her. I promise I will guard her with my life,” James said with his arms outstretched.
Ilan shoved his hands away and said, “I’m not letting go of my child.”
James raised his hand to the window, psychogenically assessing fluctuations in the atmosphere. He said, “There’re too many of them. We won’t survive trapped in this house.”
Adrian perked up. “So we go outside to slaughter? You know we don’t have the power to fight them.”
“We’ll have a better chance in the open woods,” James said as he gathered a few essential items. “Addison, Evelyn, help Ilan. Adrian and I will take front.”
“Why can’t Addison be frontline?” Adrian said. Addison looked at him, incredulous. “I mean, she’s more powerful than I am,” Adrian corrected.
James backed him up against a wall. James spoke no words, but Adrian got the message and fell in line.
The small coven escaped out the back door of the cabin, gliding over the ice-packed snow at hypersonic speed. Addison and Evelyn supported Ilan, adeptly positioning themselves on both sides so Ilan could maintain a grip on the baby.
As the group crossed over a hilly pass, a vertical shadow blocked their path. Catherine’s physical form flowed into the shadow. They could barely see her thin, blue-veined face with her long, blonde hair cascaded over it. But they all recognized her menacing, yellow eyes scorching through the strands like a blazing fire.
“It took forever to find you,” Catherine said. She was accompanied by a group of lesser witches—coven radicals who supported her demented cause. Eager, they rocked back and forth, awaiting her orders.
“I have to say, it wasn’t easy, but I have some special gifts of my own. My coven is best known for its tracking abilities. So for me it was only a matter of time,” Catherine said.
James, with lightning-bolt speed, placed himself in front of her. His face constricted into a feral snarl as he squared off with her. He was very careful, since her powers were so great—almost as great as Ilan’s when she was healthy. James was so bull’s-eyed on Catherine he didn’t notice Adrian quietly scooting behind a tree, being careful not to draw any attention.
“Cousin, I would think long and hard about what you are about to do! This is not right. We don’t kill our own kind,” James told Catherine.
“Really, James, I don’t follow that impotent doctrine anymore. Besides, that creature is not one of our kind,” Catherine wildly eyed the baby. “But, I must admit, the Valois blood that runs through her is extremely potent. If she is what her mother made her to be, I only need her flesh and blood to inherit all their powers. James, you’re too much of a coward to do something as brave as that.”
Catherine spoke to Addison, who was protecting Ilan with Evelyn. “You can’t really support this futile cause. You are still a Bolingbroke. I know you only followed James to protect him. But if you join me, I will make you my second in command.”
“Screw you,” Addison said, never taking her eyes off the enemy witches.
“Well, I can see all of you must die. So be it then,” Catherine said as she moved in on James. But James mirrored every step she made—a macabre dance.
Catherine smiled at him, confident she would win the fight like she had ever since they were children. She cheated most of the time; however, the closer she had gotten to womanhood, the more her true powers had come in. Eventually she no longer had to cheat. Her innate powers overwhelmed not only James but all of her competition. That was except Ilan.
Regardless, James had to stop Catherine tonight. Too much was at stake. He addressed her minions. “You fools,” he said. “We were once all in one fold. Klement, my brother, you remember.”
Klement, a diminutive man, took a slight step forward. His raised hands were positioned, ready to throw magic at James. “Brother? Ilan’s clan has conspired to keep us docile servants to them. Catherine has offered us freedom. Our own voices. Our own powers.”
“She has offered you death,” Evelyn interrupted. She raised her rosewood staff and shot off a wave of orange light, hitting Klement in the chest. All the witches entered the fray, shooting lethal, fluorescent projectiles of light at each other.
Catherine sliced her hand through the air, throwing a hazy crystalline line of energy at James, making him stumble backward.
“Catherine, this is treason!” James said, now crouched in a fighting stance.
“You would side with a strange child over your own family? She is not of your bloodline. Why are you so protective of her?” Catherine said. “We may both benefit from her blood. You must see she could possess gifts more powerful than any of ours.”
“I don’t need her gifts! Neither do you!”
“If you won’t help me, then get out of my way, or I will do away with you myself. I have no problem with that, cousin.”
James released a magical bolt of lightning at Catherine, who responded with a bigger one. Addison and Evelyn used their staffs to ward off the overwhelming swarm of witches. Even though they killed some, they were on the losing end because their magic wasn’t honed in on specific targets.
Catherine held up her hands, her wrinkled palms facing James. She emanated a huge ball of pure, white energy that landed on him, suspending him helplessly in the air as if he were in the grip of a gargantuan, invisible hand. She then turned her attention to Ilan and the baby.
“Please, don’t harm my child,” Ilan pleaded.
“Ilan, you left us too soon,” Catherine said a hair’s breadth away from Ilan’s face. Catherine picked up the baby and motioned to her few remaining supporters to follow. However, Evelyn and Addison joined hands and harnessed the energy of the waxing gibbous moon into their staffs. They pounded the ground at a rapid pace. With every thump dynamic ripples charged out toward Catherine’s witches, vaporizing them into puffs of smoke. In the midst of the chaos, Adrian came out from behind the tree, making it look as though he had been in the fight the whole time.
Catherine was about to phase out with the baby. Ilan called upon the last strength she had. Her illuminated irises turned crimson, and all her energy converged into them and shot out, striking Catherine, who tumbled to the ground with the baby. Though stunned, she turned toward Ilan. Her eyes widened, the evil within her totally possessing them.
On one hand Catherine curled her bony fingers under, focusing her power to the tips, and flicked them forward. A spindly, plasmatic line of energy shot from her into Ilan’s forehead, leaving an ashen imprint.
Catherine’s hateful energy expenditure left her spent, causing her invisible grip to release James. He seized the moment by conjuring a molten fireball. As it moved toward Catherine, it turned dry leaves into embers. She tried to escape, but her exhausted body wouldn’t allow her to get off the ground. The fireball consumed her like an infernal prison.
Through the searing pain of the flames, Catherine screamed at James, “I’ll be back for her!” Then she was gone, fireball and all. All that was left was the stench of burnt flesh in the air.
Evelyn retrieved the baby, who was screaming uncontrollably as if she knew her mother was dying
. With her other hand, Evelyn lifted Ilan’s head. Ilan was barely audible as she spoke. “James will accompany you as you take the baby to her father. I’ve already summoned her protector. With me gone they won’t be able to track her—until it’s time.”
With that, Ilan gasped a bit, and peacefully died.
Chapter Two
The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved.
—Mother Teresa
I kept my head down as I made my way to the student counseling services building that stood at the far edge of Long Island College.
Every so often I’d sneak a side glance at the more carefree students hanging around. I thought that when I entered college, I would learn how to be like them. I was now a senior and couldn’t understand why I was still so different from the rest.
My counselor, Dr. Graves, kept his wing-backed chair right in front of the dormer window. This allowed for only the tiniest wedge of light to come in, adding to the somber ambiance of the gray room. I thought he did it on purpose, to elicit crying fits and eye scratching from his patients. Ah, yes, Ms. Valois, you’ve ripped your eyes out. Now we’re making progress.
The doctor was a squat, ruddy-complexioned man whose nose looked like a pig’s snout. Whenever he spoke I halfway expected him to snort. This hog had been my counselor for the past six months. I didn’t like him, and found it irritating that he never made eye contact with me, especially when I confessed the most intimate things about myself. But, like a codependent junkie, I dutifully kept seeing him. I mean, I didn’t want to upset him by changing counselors.
I decided to enter therapy when I started experiencing chest pains, hyperventilation, and a rapid heartbeat, as if my body ere preparing itself for some jeopardy. At first I attributed it to my natural inclinations—a nervous personality flavored with a sliver of social anxiety. That was until the hallucinations began.
The first one had occurred at Stop & Shop as I was scoping out the candy aisle for a nutritionally sound college breakfast. As I’d reached for the cherry-flavored Twizzlers, I’d felt a weird twinge in the palm of my hand. The package had started vibrating and then practically jumped off the shelf at me.