Kristos rubbed his bruised neck with one hand. “Maybe. The hour was late.”
“It had to have been a trick,” Lucian muttered. Victoria was the witch from the prophecy. He had seen Le Sang Noir in action, seen it take control of his brother. Kristos was wrong, he had to be. But … what if he wasn’t?
The niggling thought wriggled its way into the folds of his mind. Could Le Sang Noir appear simultaneously? Could this witch be part of the same family? He shook his head. No, the prophecy had never spoken of another, and after all his years of research, he would have known if there was a chance there could be more than one manifestation of it. It was too sporadic, too rare.
But even if it weren’t possible, Lucian didn’t want to take any chances. He needed to amass an army. And Kristos was right. A powerful witch as an ally could be just what he needed. A forgotten whiff of Victoria’s seductive blood assailed his memory and he stifled it with brutal force. He needed to put Le Sang Noir out of his head once and for all—that part of his scheme was over. Victoria would never leave Christian’s side, nor would she put her lot in with Lucian. Resentment simmered in his bones, and that was the only basis for his decision.
“Where is this witch?”
“Montmartre.”
Lucian stared at Kristos. “No coven, you said?”
“We’ve been tracking her for six weeks, my lord. She’s alone.”
“You’re positive.” It was not a question and Kristos nodded, his black eyes unfaltering. Lucian walked over to the window. He could smell the earthy summer scents of the wind and the colorful wafts of people floating within it. He felt the hunger stir in his throat at the sight. His desires—power, blood, immortality—overwhelmed him, merging into one single writhing mass. He blinked, silencing the clamor in his belly, and turned to Kristos.
“We can’t take her by force if she is as strong as you say,” Lucian mused. “We need another strategy. Does she have any friends?”
“No. She lives alone. I must warn you, my lord, that she seems quite demented, talks to herself.”
“An exile?”
“It’s possible. We’ve seen her kill others of her own kind, completely without conscience or motive.” Kristos paused, looking puzzled for a second. “Her magic is strange, not like we’ve ever seen, which is why I think you should see her for yourself. She’s powerful, but raw. Perhaps she can replace the one who died.”
Lucian glared at him. Victoria had dispatched her easily. Too easily. A surge of anger ripped through him at the thought of all that power at his undeserving brother’s fingertips. His fingers curled at his sides. He hated to be reminded of Victoria’s power, and the fact that she had so effortlessly killed a witch loyal to him made his blood boil. He was just about to tear into Kristos as the door opened, distracting him.
“Get out,” he said instead.
Lena entered, the scowl on her face deepening as it centered on Kristos. She glared at him with a dispassionate look as he walked past her. Lena didn’t care much for him, Lucian knew. She thought him slippery and shifty. She bared her teeth at him, hissing under her breath as he raked her body insolently from head to toe.
Her eyes narrowed. “One of these days, you’ll be out of Lucian’s favor and you’ll see just what happens to anyone who stares at me that way.”
“I look forward to it,” Kristos taunted and walked away.
Lucian grinned, forgetting his anger. Lena would make quick work of Kristos, but for now, he needed him. He would enjoy watching her rip the vampire to pieces once he’d served his purpose.
“News?” he asked Lena.
“Nothing new from the Council,” she said, draping her lithe form on the arm of a black chair. Her lips were blood red and her color was high. Lucian’s scowl returned. “What’s the matter? What did Kristos have to say?” she asked him.
“He claims to have found an exiled witch,” he said. “He insists that this one is alone and powerful.” He shrugged. “I suppose it bears looking into.” Lucian sat on the sofa across from Lena, tapping his hands in agitation against his leg. “With the Council making these changes and trying to entrap me at every turn, things are going to be more difficult than we anticipated. They are cutting us off at the legs, leaving us weak and useless.”
Lena remained silent, watching him. He knew that with all the unwanted attention from the Council, things had indeed become more precarious for her in the last few weeks. They were keen on his execution, and Lena remained one of three vampires in opposition. By law, execution required a unanimous vote, and the first time the Council had brought it to the table, there’d been at least ten against the execution. Now, there were three. It wouldn’t be long before she was the only one standing in the way. The Council could move for a vote of no confidence given her loyalty to the House of Devereux and that would be the end.
“Lucian,” Lena said, interrupting his thoughts. “I met with Christian.”
“And?” His voice was ominous, despite his shaking fingers. “Did he agree?”
“No,” she said. “Not directly. He wants you to ask him.”
“Of course he does,” he seethed, the corded muscles in his neck bulging from irritation at the foolish burst of hope he’d felt. He wanted nothing from his brother. “I don’t need his help. I would rather face execution than beg for anything from him. Is that what you told him? That I would plead for his assistance?”
Lena recoiled from his fury, but held his gaze. “No, I did not. And I know you would rather die than ask for his help. But I would rather you didn’t,” she said, pulling herself to her feet and walking towards him. She took his hands in her own. “You’re all I have. If we have to beg Christian’s power to save you, then we should do so without a second thought. The Council is too close. I fear the next vote will be the deciding factor. We need him. You need him. You need to forget your pride, Lucian. Please.”
Lucian looked at her earnest elegant face and stroked her cheek. His hand drifted to her neck and he caressed it lightly before grasping it between his fingers, throttling her sudden gasp. Her eyes widened at the rage barreling through him. His mouth pulled tight as he leaned forward. “Don’t you ever presume to represent me in such a manner. Do you understand?” he whispered, his face scant inches from hers.
Lena didn’t flinch. Instead, she ignored the grip of his ruthless fingers and tipped her chin in defiance. “I’ll do what I have to, to save you from yourself. Even die at your hands.”
She never cowed before him, but in this moment, Lucian wanted to snap her pretty little neck. His voice was silky. “That can be arranged. I told you before, Lena. I don’t need saving, by you or anyone else.” His other hand brushed the fullness of her lower lip. “You really should not have gone to Christian,” he said, moments before his lips descended, capturing hers in a brutal kiss. He wrenched her neck to the side and sank his fangs into her skin, feeling himself calm as her cool blood flowed over his tongue and into the back of his throat. She didn’t struggle and after several minutes he pulled away, his lips rimmed in red.
He lifted a careless eyebrow, releasing her. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Lena’s eyes flashed venomous fire as her palm cracked across his face, snapping his head back. He eyed her, but made no move to strike back. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said mildly.
“If you ever touch me like that again, I promise it will be the last time you ever touch me,” she erupted, her voice shaking with vitriolic rage.
Lucian stared at her and inclined his head in the mockery of a bow. Strangely, he was as disgusted as she was. He was furious over her suggestion that he grovel before Christian, but he knew why she felt it was necessary. Soliciting his brother’s help was the last thing he wanted, especially after their previous encounter, and especially after his bold last words that one of them would die at their next meeting. The plain truth was that if the Council did agree on his death, Christian would be the only one who could veto i
t.
His only other alternatives would be to run away or fight. Running away wasn’t an option—he’d rather die than become hunted by his own kind. Fighting was possible, but only if he had the time to amass an army to face the retaliation of the Council. But time was a luxury he did not have and Lucian knew it. He glanced at Lena’s blank face and felt a momentary twinge of remorse for his behavior.
“I’m sorry.” His apology was terse, and despite her surprise, Lena accepted it with a gracious—albeit wary—nod. “I’m on edge lately,” he explained curtly, “and I didn’t feed today. It’s been days, but I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Fine. Just don’t do it again.” She turned towards him and flashed a short smile. “In fact, if you hadn’t been so premature and so angry all the time, you would have received your gift, and things would have turned out so much better.”
“My gift?” Lucian asked, confused. Lena’s brow furrowed for a minute as she issued a mental command. The door opened and an olive-skinned, buxom young woman walked in. She was dressed in a mini skirt and a skimpy top. Her face was lined, belying her youthful, lush body, and her eyes were glazed, helpless against Lena’s vampire compulsion.
“Compliments of Place Pigalle,” Lena said with a smile, indicating the area of Paris that was famously known in its day as the Red Light District, whose side streets still teemed with occasional prostitutes. Lucian smirked.
“Slumming, Lena?” he said, quirking an eyebrow.
“Well, if you don’t want her—”
“I didn’t say that,” he interjected.
The hunger rippled through him so quickly that his face transformed in seconds and he walked to the woman’s side. Lucian could smell the salt of her skin, hear the thick mesmerizing thump of her pulse. She smiled beatifically at him as he led her to the sofa. It took only moments before he sat back looking refreshed and revitalized. The woman slumped at his side, unconscious, as he wiped the remnants of her blood from his lips.
“Feeling better?” Lena asked.
“You know me too well.”
She took a breath, not moving from her position across the room, as if she were considering her words. Absently, she rubbed her hands across her throat where he’d bitten, and Lucian recoiled. The skin there was unmarred and had already healed, but he regretted his brutal reaction. He owed it to her to hear what she had to say and so he waited.
“I know you hate Christian,” she began. “After all, we have a long history together. You, me, him, and I know you dislike the fact that he made me.”
Lucian flinched, wondering why she was bringing up painful, ancient memories. She had chosen Christian over him, even before he had made her a vampire. Lucian often wondered if he had been the one to petition the Council to make her a vampire instead of Christian, whether she’d have accepted him as readily as she had Christian. He forced his jealousy back—she, like everyone else, had fallen for his brother first.
“You chose him,” he said flatly.
Lena sighed. “Yes. I chose him then, but I’m with you now. Regardless, I want you to know if I have to make the same choice between both of you now, I would choose you, Lucian. I stay here with you because I want to be with you. For no other reason. Do you understand that?” Lucian nodded, shaken by the feeling in her voice. He knew that she put up with his violent mood swings and his cruelty—because she did care for him in some way. Lena continued. “I meant what I said earlier. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that the Council doesn’t execute a death order on your head. If I have to beg for Christian’s help, I will. If I have to crawl, I will, no holds barred. And I don’t give a damn what you do to me because of your stupid pride, do you hear me?”
He crossed the room then and kissed Lena’s neck in exactly the same spot he’d mauled so savagely before. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And I understand. Forgive me?”
She nodded, standing in his embrace for a few minutes before pulling away. “We need to talk.”
“I thought we just did,” he said, walking over to pour himself some cognac. “Drink?”
She ignored the invitation. “That was personal. This is different. Lucian, the next Council meeting is in a few weeks. You need to speak with Christian before then. He won’t listen unless you do it.”
“He wants me to beg.” It was not a question. Lucian’s voice was tight.
“No, he knows how you feel about saving people who don’t need saving, remember?” She softened her next words, as if noticing the sudden shift in his mood. “He needs you to ask him, Lucian. That’s all. No more, no less. Don’t make it more than it is.”
Lucian jerked a hand through his cropped blond hair. She stared at him and he sighed. “Fine,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll talk to him.”
As he said the words, he saw the relief cross her face, and for the first time, felt a root of worry take hold. It took a lot to make Lena anxious. If the Council moved faster than either of them anticipated, his house of cards would be quick to come tumbling down. He’d speak to Christian and put the rest of his plan into place.
So far, if he was successful in instigating a coup against the leadership of the Council, he’d have the allegiance of three of the seven vampire Houses. He could call in blood favors with one more, which left only two to deal with, House Arcan and House Vesily, both of which were formidable opponents. To go up against them would be difficult, but not impossible. If he secured Kristos’s witch, that would bring an added advantage and the benefit of surprise. He’d have to move quickly, and if anything, Lena’s sense of urgency demanded it. Lucian smiled grimly. He had a lot to do in not a whole lot of time, but at least he planned to go down swinging.
He’d give them the showdown of their lives.
FIVE
School of Witchcraft
Victoria was openly admiring as she took in Aliya’s modern and architecturally stunning home. After living in Christian’s beautiful but old château, Aliya’s house in Saint Cloud, a western suburb of Paris on the left bank of the Seine River, was a breath of fresh air. The loft-like open space and brightly colored accent furniture were pleasing to the eye. Red throw rugs dotted the hardwood floors and entire walls were cased in windows trimmed with stained glass, looking out onto small but colorful gardens. The space was bright and inviting. And it suited Aliya perfectly.
“Do you live here alone?” Victoria asked. The house seemed quite large for one person.
“For the most part, although my partner does visit from time to time,” she said with a grin that made her look very young for a second.
Victoria blinked at the sudden transformation of her face. “I have to ask, if you don’t mind. How old are you?”
“I am sixty-two,” she said. Victoria smothered her gasp. She’d have guessed her to be in her early twenties. Aliya smiled, inclining her head and preempting Victoria’s next question. “It’s part of the high priestess induction rites. We don’t age like other people. It’s for the good of the coven really, not a lot of turn over in leadership.”
“How long do you live for?” Victoria asked, curious.
“Two centuries on average, give or take a few years,” Aliya said as they walked outside to the waiting car.
“Wow,” Victoria said and then lapsed into silence as the driver pulled off smoothly. Now that they were on their way, her nerves were starting to get the better of her. “So where are we going? Is it close?”
“The school is located in Neuilly-Sur-Seine, not far from here. It’ll take about thirty minutes. Do you have anything you’d like to know before we arrive?”
“What’s it like? The school, I mean,” Victoria asked, grateful for the chance to get some answers. “Is it only for people like us?”
“It’s like any other learning facility, I suppose, only with a different curriculum. Most of our students attend regular school and come here for supplemental classes when they are of age.” N
oticing Victoria’s look, she continued. “Most witches come of age when they are thirteen, some later, when formal training in magic begins before they join their respective covens.”
“Are there many of you? Covens, I mean.”
“Yes, although they’re not as segregated as they used to be. We have intermingling from covens all over the world. People come and go as they please. Communal living, you could say. We share the same rules and principles, and for the most part, our ways and laws are the same across the globe. The chosen high priestess of each coven meets monthly in a secret location. They are the ones who unite the covens everywhere and uphold the true circle of leadership. They’re called moon priestesses.”
“Are you a moon priestess?”
“Yes.”
“Why are there no high priests?” Victoria asked after she’d digested the surprising information on the coven hierarchy as well as the fact that Aliya was one of the coven’s most powerful leaders.
“Because our society is matriarchal beneath the guidance of the Goddess Mother.”
Victoria nodded slowly, her mind racing. “Right, that would explain how my grandmother’s name was passed down to me. What about warlocks? How do they fit in?”
“Warlocks are … another type of group. They serve dark magic, and although they respect our laws, they are not bound to them. Some we call friends, others, well, that’s another matter entirely.”
Victoria couldn’t help thinking of Gabriel. He was a rogue warlock who’d been consumed with securing the Cruentus Curse for himself. She’d bet anything that he wouldn’t have been a friend to the witches or held himself accountable to any of their laws. Gabriel had only been out for Gabriel.
“Who is the Goddess Mother?” she asked after a beat.
“She is the source and end of all human life,” Aliya said simply. “The epicenter of who we are begins and ends with her.”
“Oh.” Frowning, Victoria wondered whether Aliya’s Goddess Mother had anything to do with her family and the curse. She hesitated and then asked the question that had been on the edge of her tongue since she’d arrived in France. “Aliya, what do you know of the history of the Cruentus Curse?” Aliya smiled as if she’d been expecting the question. She made sure that the partition behind the driver was closed before answering.
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