Taken by Moonlight

by Violette Dubrinsky

  You had a bad dream, alainn.

  “It was so real,” Vivienne whispered, and Conall’s lips settled over hers. He traced kisses from her lips to her cheek, across her face, down her neck, and she slowly relaxed. “A dream.”

  He nodded against her, and she closed her eyes. Almost instantly, she opened them again. The wolf had been staring directly at her.

  ***

  The dream was all but forgotten when Vivienne walked into the dining room the next morning.

  It was crowded. Well, not crowded, but she was usually accustomed to seeing at most two people when she came down. Sometimes the young girl who stocked the refrigerator was there, sometimes Sloan or Raoul. Eli was a late riser, so on the occasions where she slept in, she would have breakfast with him. But today, almost every were she knew was in the dining room.

  Conall sat at the head of the table, with Raoul and Sloan on either side of him. Zahira sat opposite Verity. Eli was toward the end of the table. Latriel sat next to Eli. They had all been speaking as she descended the stairs, but the moment she walked into the kitchen, the conversation stopped.

  Feeling self-conscious, Vivienne offered a little smile, and found Conall’s eyes. An empty chair was next to Raoul, and she watched as Raoul scooted over to it, making the chair next to Conall free.

  She took a seat, and immediately Eli asked her what she wanted to drink. Passing the excited teenager—okay, so what he was thirty-something, he still acted like a teenager—a grin, she told him sweet tea.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered to Conall when the conversation had resumed.

  “The preparation for your blood rite,” he replied blandly, indicating the people around the table, and the large portions of food in the middle. She saw scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, strips of bacon, ham, sausages. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  Vivienne didn’t answer. She simply stared at the people around the table in confusion. Conall grabbed a plate and passed it to Raoul, who spooned a serving of eggs onto it, and passed it to Sloan. He added a generous helping of sausages and passed it along. Everyone placed something onto her plate before it was handed back to Raoul, who then laid it out in front of her. She glanced down, her mouth slightly open as she tried to understand what was happening.

  “Is it not enough, alainn?”

  She looked up to find Conall’s eyes teasing her. A little smirk was on his lips. How could he tease at a time like this?

  Eli chose that moment to deposit a mug filled with tea next to her plate.

  “Anything else, Viv?” he asked eagerly, and Conall turned to glare up at his nephew. Eli only smiled and walked back to his seat.

  Vivienne leaned closer to Conall, her hand on his thigh beneath the table. She squeezed lightly, needing his explanation of what was happening.

  They’re showing you their support, alainn. Zahira arrived with Verity about half an hour ago, and Latriel showed up after.

  She turned her gaze to the Elders, who, as if expecting her to have done so, smiled at her and dipped their heads. Acceptance. She smiled, looking to the familiar faces of Sloan, Raoul, and Eli. Raoul and Eli grinned at her, and Sloan stared at her in a type of reverent way that told her if he were one given to smiling, he would have smiled as well. She smiled and nodded to each of them.

  There was a long silence, until Raoul cleared his throat and looked around the table.

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Vivienne’s here. Let’s eat.”

  ***

  Evelyn could only blink as Cassie finished reciting her trip down memory lane with Alexander. Her father, still confused at finding out he was the only human in a family of immortal beings, had long since left. He’d gone to Maryland once more. It was unsafe for him to be with them until the problem that was Maximilian Cronin was permanently resolved.

  “And he showed you his memories?” Evelyn asked, as if doubtful of the fact. They were sitting on the bed in her bedroom, and her mother looked as if she was torn between believing her daughter and not believing Alexander Petraeus.

  Cassandre nodded.

  Evelyn shook her head. “I have always heard the stories, ma puce. My mother mentioned him to me once before her death, and even she seemed a bit terrified of him.”

  “Where did you hear about him?”

  She focused on her daughter, and Cassie saw the pain in her eyes as she spoke.

  “My mother sent me away when I was sixteen. She knew Cronin was tracking her. She had a friend, a Mademoiselle Decroix, who took me in. Mademoiselle Decroix lived the life of a human—she ran a bordello—but she was a witch, cast out of her covenant. She told me much of what I know of Alexander Petraeus.”

  Cassandre nodded, and replied, “But don’t you see, Mom? The witches fear him, and the druids embrace him. It was a war, and they tricked him, tried to kill him, and banished his people.”

  Her mother’s stare was so intense that Cassie blinked and briefly looked away.

  “It seems that you’ve already convinced yourself of Alexander’s innocence, ma chère.”

  “It’s not about guilt or innocence.” She paused and licked her hips, breathing out deeply. Her mother didn’t understand. “No one was innocent in that war. He admits to the murder of twelve grand wizards, but they blooded him, Mom. I saw it. They slit his neck, drained him dry, and used his blood to open the portal.”

  Nodding, Evelyn stood. “And you’ve decided to resurrect the druids?”

  Cassie nodded and then shook her head. “If it is as Alexander said then they were banished unfairly. Should an entire race be punished for the crimes of a few?”

  Instead of answering, Evelyn stated, “If it is as Alexander says, ma chère.”

  “I don’t think he was lying.”

  Evelyn sighed. “No, ma chère. You wouldn’t.”

  ***

  Kyros, Max called silently, listening for any sound of acknowledgement on the part of the warlock.

  I am here. The man sounded tired. Max found that strange. It was close to noon.

  I can’t locate you. I’ve been trying for almost an hour.

  Try again. You’re near. Every syllable seemed to take great effort from the warlock, and Max contemplated asking him what was wrong.

  He concentrated hard, closing his eyes and allowing the warlock’s essence to guide him forward. His father had left recently with a large group of his trackers, so Max took this as the perfect opportunity to find Kyros, and find out who he was.

  I can feel you. You’re getting closer.

  Max’s concentration led him to what looked like a steel door behind a trap door on the first floor. There was no keyhole. He touched his palm to it, and was immediately blasted back.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, and then decided that “fuck” had to be a swear word. During his time practicing with the trackers, “shit” and “damn” had emerged from some part of his memory as well.

  He shook his hand, hoping the stinging ended soon.

  Close your eyes, Max. You’ll have to project yourself to me.

  Project myself? I don’t know how to do that.

  Just close your eyes, and see the cell through me. Think it, Max. You’re strong enough to do it.

  Max blinked. This could =be a well-orchestrated trap, but he had to know who he was. It was beginning to grate on him, knowing only those select things his father shared. He closed his eyes and found himself staring at a dark cell. Huddled in the corner was a man. Max looked around, and then felt himself drifting back to his own body.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he thought hard and long about being in that cell.

  “I knew you were strong.”

  At first, he though he was hearing the voice in his head, and was about to reply mentally that he wasn’t, when he opened his eyes. He was in the cell, physically inside it. The bundle against the wall had shifted, and he could see pale white hair streaming over the man’s face.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked immediately, moving over t
o Kyros.

  “Hunger,” he supplied immediately, lifting his head to Max. His face was sunken, his eyes dull. “It deteriorates not only the body, but the mind as well.”

  “Why are you chained?” Max asked, recognizing the silver shackles that bound his feet to the wall.

  “Because I am your father’s prisoner.”

  “Why?”

  “Only a madman would understand Maximilian’s reasons.” Kyros began to hack, a grating cough that spoke clearly of a lack of water.

  “You said you’d tell me who I am.”

  Kyros lifted his gaze to him, and the silver-blue swirled knowingly before he replied, “I said I’d tell you what you need to know. I only know you are your father’s son.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  “Because you’ve been imprisoned as well,” Kyros retorted, and Max considered his own reply. Imprisoned? Yes, he’d been imprisoned, by the witches.

  “You were in the cell across from mine,” Kyros continued weakly. “I went to sleep and awoke to your screams.” He swallowed. “I didn’t know you were his son at the time.”

  Max shook his head. He remembered…silver. Someone cutting him with silver, and burning pain.

  “You’re lying.”

  Kyros’s chuckle was hollow. “I have no need to lie, Max. I’ll soon die, and your father will win. One less warlock to kill.”

  “Why would my own father torture me?”

  “I could not answer that. I’ve long since wondered why it is he keeps me half-dead.”

  Kyros’s head slumped back against the wall, and Max took pity.

  What do you need?

  I doubt you will be willing to give it.

  “What do you need?” he repeated, and this time he spoke aloud.

  “Your wrist,” he finally said, and Max drew back, horrified.

  What?

  I gave you my blood, Max, so that you would live. If you will not give me your vein, will you do me one better and take my soul?

  Take his soul? Even as the thought sounded strange to Max, he felt an answering hunger in the pit of his belly. Souls. Blood. Food.

  Kneeling beside the man, he took his head into his hands and stared into his eyes. Eyes similar to his own.

  Do it. End my misery.

  He placed his wrist against Kyros’s lips, and saw surprise enter the warlock’s eyes moments before razor-sharp teeth completely punctured his skin and vein.

  Fucking hell! That hurt. He continued to repeat that curse over and over in his head, feeling gratification as he did so, until finally, after what seemed like hours but was barely a minute, Kyros pulled away. He felt another sting at his wrist, and looked down. It was chewed raw, but before his eyes, the pale blue skin was meshing back together, healing over the wound.

  Max stumbled back, catching himself against the wall, and shook his head. He felt light-headed.

  “It will pass,” Kyros chimed in, and then added, “Thank you, Max.”

  The dizziness had passed and Max was about to launch into another round of questions when he heard a pitiful sound. He spun around, eyes searching the darkness for a small, wounded animal.

  “It is not here. The cell over. Maximilian has captured a human.”

  Max turned back to Kyros. “Why?”

  “Because he is an evil man, Max. He is your father, but he is also capable of atrocities beyond your understanding.” He shook his leg and stood, pacing the short distance he was allowed by the silver chain.

  “Can’t you break it?”

  Kyros shook his head. “It’s silver. Our very own Achilles’ heel, thanks to an unfortunate gene passed down from vampire ancestors.”

  “Where is the key?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The sound came again, and Max turned in the direction of it.

  “Please. I don’t want to die.”

  It was a hoarse whisper, and Max wondered why his father would need to torture a human? He heard crying, soft crying as if the tortured woman understood it was useless.

  “How long has she been here?”

  “A few days. She won’t last much longer. Humans never do.”

  Max was saddened to hear that. Who the hell was his father, really? Torturing human females? Even without a memory to fall back on, Max knew that was wrong.

  He looked back down to Kyros’s foot. “I’m going to find the key.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Please help me,” the voice came again, and Max turned to the wall, as if he could see through it to the woman on the other side. The voice was much softer when she whispered, “Oh, God, please help me.”

  He’d closed his eyes before he knew what he was doing, and briefly heard Kyros say, “No, Max. You can’t project yourself into a place you haven’t seen. It’s dangerous.”

  When he opened his eyes, he was standing directly over her. She was shackled to a wooden table, her arms and legs spread eagled from her body. Only a thin, white sheet covered her, as if it had been draped there as an afterthought. Lines of dark red decorated it, pointing to the numerous cuts she’d received while bound to the table.

  Her eyes were closed and she cried silently. Her head was turned to one side, and her long and matted black hair obscured her face from view. Max reached out and gently pulled her hair back with tentative fingers.

  “Please, no more. I don’t know anything—please.”

  Her voice was familiar. He didn’t know how, but he felt like he’d heard it countless times before. He gently turned her face up, silently willing her to open her eyes. She did just that, blinking slowly in the darkness, to reveal dark brown irises framed with long and currently matted lashes. He knew she couldn’t see him, but he could see her clearly. Laughter. Sunshine.

  “Max,” she murmured, and he released her as if burned. He knew her. This was the woman, the image he couldn’t get out of his head.

  He touched his fingers to her damp, clammy cheek once more. “Who are you?”

  She blinked and tried hard to see him in the dark.

  “Max?” she asked cautiously, tugging futilely at the chains that held her. A hoarse cry left her lips, and she sucked in air frantically. “Max, is that you?”

  “Who are you?” he demanded, angry at himself for not knowing her. He recognized her, yes, but he did not know her.

  “Drew,” she said softly. “Max, I didn’t tell them anything. I swear.” She swallowed audibly and whimpered. “You’ve got to warn Vivienne.”

  Drew. Vivienne. Max. Yes, something about that fit. But weren’t Vivienne and Cassandre the ones who’d tortured him? Kyros had called his father evil. Had Maximilian lied to him? He was so confused.

  The lights suddenly went on and a loud alarm blared through the speakers. Shit. He looked around the room, and found a little black ball staring back at him. A camera. What kind of sick and twisted shit was this?

  “Max, you’re alive,” Drew said with a sigh, her eyes tracing his face as if he were an apparition.

  He moved quickly, pulling the chains out from their holdings in the weak wood. He was surprised at how easily they gave way. When he lifted her into his arms, she screamed, and Max watched as her right arm fell limply away from her body, broken.

  “Shh,” he whispered, gently placing her arm onto her body. With each movement of the broken appendage she gave a cry. “Close your eyes, Drew.”

  He flashed them back into Kyros’s cell and gently placed her on the ground. The warlock took one look at her, and shook his head.

  “It’s not worth it, Max. She’s dying.”

  Kyros found himself tossed carelessly back into the wall, a raging-mad Max standing inches away from him.

  “I’m taking her out of here, understand? You can either come or wait for my father to finish you off.”

  Blinking, Kyros watched as Max looked around for something to break the silver chain around his foot. Finding nothing, he tried yanking it out of the wall, but that proved futile. It was much str
onger than the bindings needed to hold a human, and the metal burned the hell out of his hand. He heard the sound of people running toward the cell next door. Pulling off his shirt, he wrapped it around his hand, braced his foot against the wall, grabbed the chain, and pulled with all of his strength. Seeing what he was doing, Kyros tore a strip from the shirt covering his body, and grabbed the chain as well. There was an audible crack, and then the links gave away. The two men tumbled backward, but were on their feet in an instant.

  “Can you get us out of here?” Max demanded of Kyros, breathing heavily. The warlock nodded once. Reaching down, Max picked Drew up, and her cry of pain was much hoarser this time.

  The footsteps hurried over to their cell, and Max heard the jingling of keys.

  Merge with me, Kyros commanded as he placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. Max asked no questions, just did as he was told.

  The door swung inward and Max saw what looked like an entire army of trackers surge into the room—moments before they disappeared.

  ***

  The werewolves were a bloodthirsty lot. Vivienne didn’t know why that shocked her, but it did. Not only was there a massive amount of adults gathered beside the stream that marked the westward end of the estate, young children milled about as well, playfully tackling each other in, she guessed, a mimicking of what was destined to happen. A few of the children had shifted to their wolves and were chasing each other around the circle. They were all there to witness the blood rite. As she’d approached the circle, she’d caught sight of glowing yellow eyes and elongated canines. All were anticipating the fight, as much as if they were the ones fighting.

  Her manner belied the torrent of emotions running through her. She was nervous, but the thought of Samia, and what she’d said about her relationship with Conall, made Vivienne so angry she immediately felt her powers under her skin. She was confident, too, for in the past weeks she’d come to recognize something. She wanted to stay with Conall, whether as his mate, his wife, or his girlfriend. Yes, their ceremonies and rituals terrified her but the more she stayed with Conall, the more attached she grew to him. So if beating the living hell out of Samia was going to get the woman to back off and leave her and Conall alone, she’d gladly do it, or die trying.