When the others were gone, Mason looked at Oksana, trying to quiet the muddle of worry, attraction, and existential dread currently clamoring for supremacy.
“You’ve been assaulted in the past, haven’t you,” he said, not even making it a question. “I’ve seen that kind of reaction before. It was a PTSD flashback. I won’t ask you to tell me details unless you want to, but please tell me how I triggered you, and how I can avoid it in the future.”
If anything, she paled further. “You already know how I was assaulted,” she said, and her voice was steady even if her hands were shaking. “A demon violated me and tore my soul into pieces. He left no part of me untouched.” She bit her lip, worrying at it for a long moment. “But… when I told you about that before, I didn’t tell you about the worst part.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to—”
She interrupted him. “In the mindless bloodlust that followed, I ripped out my husband’s throat with my teeth and drank his blood until he died.”
Mason’s stomach lurched, as he tried to reconcile what he knew of the woman before him with the words she’d just spoken. If she hadn’t stated it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, he might have been able to convince himself that it was part of some delusion or bizarre coping mechanism her mind had come up with to deal with past trauma. But…
“Several people witnessed it,” she continued in the same flat voice, “and men from the village brought a heavy net to trap me. There was a hounci present. He knew the secret of preparing poisons laced with magic. I was still weak, and the villagers managed to subdue me with the poison long enough to seal me in a coffin. They nailed my left foot to the bottom to keep me there. Then, they buried me alive. As soon as the poison wore off, I broke my own leg and ripped it free of my body to get loose. Once that was done, I clawed my way up from the grave. They’d left a teenage boy behind to keep watch over me for the first few nights. I killed him, too. I didn’t regain anything approaching sanity until days later, when I found myself crawling aimlessly around a cane field in the dark, dragging the bloody stump of my left leg behind me.”
Mason felt blindly for the wall behind him and half-slid, half-fell into a seated position against it. “And… this is what you flashed back to, when we kissed?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
She nodded slowly, still looking a bit distant. A bit untethered. “It’s because of Augustin. My husband. You’re hi—” She paused, as if reconsidering her words in mid-sentence. “You… remind me of him.”
He looked up at her dark, angelically beautiful features, lost for words.
“We should go after the others,” she continued, as if they’d been discussing lunch plans rather than murder, vivisepulture, and violent self-dismemberment. “Mama Lovelie will be wanting to perform the spell on me soon.”
She reached a hand down to him and he took it without thought. The contact tingled, and the strength that lifted him to his feet was—
Inhuman. Her strength was inhuman. Her balance as she hefted his larger frame upright didn’t waver a millimeter, despite the prosthesis on her left leg. A few more chunks in the foundation of his rational belief system crumbled, leaving him off-balance, even if she wasn’t.
“I want to talk more about this,” he said, hearing his voice as though it were echoing through a tunnel.
She nodded, the movement small and hesitant. “After we rescue the children, though,” she said. “We need to stay focused on them right now.”
“All right,” he replied after a beat, not sure if waiting would make the conversation easier or harder.
They followed the path the others had taken, back to the room with the mismatched chairs. Inside, in addition to Duchess and Xander, Mama Lovelie awaited them with three young women in their late teens or early twenties. The newcomers appeared nervous but determined.
Mason looked at the mambo in confusion, wondering if these three were supposed to be part of this spell ceremony… thing, and if so, in what capacity. Xander pinned Oksana with a stern look, and Mason caught her brief grimace in response.
“Our hostess ordered in for us,” Xander said mildly. “No need to go out for takeaway tonight. We might’ve had a rocky beginning, but I’m starting to warm to her.”
It took a moment for Mason to manage a vampire-to-English translation, and when he did, he blanched. Xander couldn’t mean—
“Hello,” Oksana said quietly in Creole. “Do you understand why Mama Lovelie brought you here?”
One of the girls seemed a bit braver than the other two, and she stepped forward, her chin jutting out.
“Yes,” she said in the same tongue. “You’re nightwalkers, and you’re going after the missing children.” She gestured to the young woman next to her. “Our brother was taken.” She jerked her chin toward the third girl. “So was her little sister. The mambo says you need blood to bolster your strength before you go off to fight the bokor. You can have ours.”
“I’m fairly sure this marks the first time I’ve ever had someone volunteer,” Xander mused. “It’s a bit odd, honestly.”
“The first time?” Duchess muttered. “Really? I’ll introduce you to some Goth clubs I frequent in Los Angeles one of these days.”
Mason felt Oksana sigh more than he heard it.
“You’re certain?” she asked the girls, and all three of them nodded. “Very well, then. Do you want to forget afterward that it happened?”
“No,” said the young woman who had spoken up earlier. “This makes me feel like I’m doing something to help.”
Her sister nodded agreement, but the other girl raised her hand in a tentative motion, like a student in a classroom. “I’d… rather not remember. I don’t like blood.”
“Of course,” Oksana said, her demeanor softening. “Come here, pitit mwen. Thank you for your gift—you are very brave. I promise you won’t feel a thing, or remember it happening.”
The girl swallowed and shot a look at Mama Lovelie, who smiled and nodded encouragement. “Go on, child. I’ll make sure nothing bad befalls you.”
She squared her shoulders and came forward, taking Oksana’s hand when she raised it invitingly. Oksana glanced in Mason’s direction for a bare instant before her eyes slid away, as though she were embarrassed at the idea of him watching.
For Mason’s part, his thoughts were still whirling so badly that he didn’t know how to react. Again, the part of him that was a doctor cried a silent warning about the dangers of bite wounds, infection, and blood-borne illness. His inner scientist anticipated the next few minutes with detached fascination. And the man in him ached for the woman he was so quickly growing to care about.
Unsure what to say, and feeling every inch the outsider that he was, he kept quiet.
Duchess flickered an eyebrow at him that seemed almost challenging. “No words to offer, Docteur?” she asked blandly.
Mason met her gaze and then Xander’s, but his eyes were on Oksana as he spoke. “I trust you wouldn’t be doing this if there was any danger to you, or to these young people. Given that, I’m not really in a position to speak on the subject, beyond wondering why none of you approached me if you needed blood.”
“It seemed rude to ask, under the circumstances,” Xander said, “and, besides, I don’t particularly relish the idea of going into a dangerous situation with a human suffering from a temporary iron deficiency.”
Oksana’s eyes flickered to Mason’s and away again, then she seemed to steel herself, her attention solely for the girl in front of her. “Don’t mind them, ti chou. Look at me for a moment. That’s it…”
He watched as the girl met Oksana’s glowing violet gaze, her plain features going through a complicated series of expressions before growing slack. Her eyes drifted closed, and a hint of a smile played at her full lips.
“There, now,” Oksana said, brushing her knuckles over the girl’s cheek. “Nothing to worry about.”
The young woman made a noise of sleepy contentment and did not res
ist when Oksana lifted her left arm, cradling her wrist. Oksana paused, tension visible in her shoulders, her eyes darting to Mason’s yet again. Sensing that he was the one causing her distress, Mason took a deep breath and tore his eyes away.
Across the room, Xander, too, held his—victim’s? Donor’s?—arm, lifting her wrist to his mouth. Duchess was not so coy, and had slipped behind the oldest, most outspoken of the girls and tipped her head to one side, baring her neck. The vampire’s eyes glowed vibrant blue as her fangs sank into the young woman’s dark flesh.
Mason stared, unable to help it—both captivated and repelled. There was something undeniably sensual about the act. Even drinking from a person’s wrist, as Xander was, it looked as much like a seduction as an attack. He fought not to let his eyes to return to Oksana, to watch her lips caressing the third girl’s skin, but his reaction to what he was seeing was wrong on so many fucking levels—
The process was quick. Much quicker than he would have expected. Before he’d decided on the right words to mentally chastise himself for his decidedly unscientific reaction, it was over. Duchess wiped a tiny trickle of blood from her donor’s neck and popped the finger in her mouth, sucking it clean.
Xander flipped the other girl’s arm over and dropped a courtly kiss to her knuckles. “All right, poppet?” he asked politely.
The girl blinked, seeming to come back to herself. “Y-yes, nightwalker. I barely felt a thing.”
Mason finally lost the battle not to look at Oksana. She was steadying the youngest girl, who looked a bit confused.
“What happened?” she asked, no alarm in her voice, only curiosity. “Mama Lovelie, I—”
The mambo waved her off. “Don’t worry, child. You came with the others to offer a blood sacrifice, which was very courageous of you. It wasn’t needed after all, though. The nightwalkers will leave soon to look for your sister and the others, and we will tell you when there is news.”
“Oh.” The girl blinked large brown eyes up at Oksana. “Thank you, nightwalker.” She stiffened her spine, lifting her chin. “If you need my blood when you return, you only have to ask.”
Oksana smiled, though her eyes were sad. “Thank you, Beatrice. Your offer honors us.”
Mason was quite sure that the girl had not told Oksana her name.
With difficulty, he dragged his mind back to practicalities. “You’re feeling all right?” he asked, directing the question mostly to the other two villagers, though he watched Beatrice from the corner of his eye. “Not dizzy or weak?”
“A little tired,” said the older one. “It’s fine though.”
“Do have a bit of faith, Ozzie,” Xander said, mild irritation crossing his features. “We’re not going to impose unduly on people who made such a generous offer. What exactly do you take us for?”
Mason ignored him in favor of addressing the young women again. “Eat something, and drink plenty of fluids tonight. Fruit juice if you have it, or akasan. Something sweet.”
“Something sweet? That sounds brilliant, actually,” Oksana muttered, so low Mason barely caught it.
“Please, just get our siblings back,” the oldest girl said solemnly. “No matter what it takes.”
*
After the young women left, snacking on the honey cakes Mama Lovelie had given them when they went, Xander turned to Duchess and Oksana.
“That was rather strange,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against a convenient section of wall. “I wasn’t joking when I said no one had ever offered me their blood freely before. Well… no human, I mean.” He scowled. “At least, not since…” The words trailed off, his eyes growing distant for a moment before he shook it off. “Anyway. It felt different. Unless it’s just me?”
“Not just you,” Oksana said, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Duchess shrugged. “As I said earlier, there are rare places and situations where humans will offer their blood, though not with a true understanding of what they are doing. I suppose it adds a certain piquancy to the meal.”
Mason looked from one of them to the other. “Why would that matter? Blood is blood. Nothing about its composition changes based on the donor’s mood. Unless there’s something about the stress hormones—?”
Xander waved an irritated hand. “Ozzie. Ozzie. We’re vampires. We don’t live on the chemical composition and nutrients in blood. We live on the life force of the people we drink it from.”
Mason tried to let the bizarre assertion roll off his back like all the rest, but he’d apparently reached capacity when it came to crazy proofing himself.
“Life force?” he echoed. “All right… seriously. What does that even mean? I’m a doctor. I’ve seen more people die than I care to remember. Life is nothing more than a collection of chemical and electrical processes. When those processes break down—poof. No more life. It’s not some magical force that you can take from another person like drinking through a bloody straw!”
Mama Lovelie snorted. “Oh, blan. How little you understand, for all your fancy book learning. As certain as you sound, you’d better hope you’re wrong… since that’s exactly what your pretty kòkòt will try to do to our enemy tonight.”
He shut his mouth, taken aback.
“Is it time, then?” Oksana asked. “Are you ready to cast the spell?”
“Yes,” the mambo answered. “Come, let us go to the altar room.”
She herded them back to the room where Oksana had fled earlier, after their kiss. Once there, Mama Lovelie turned to her. “Tell me, child. How do you travel?”
“As mist, or as an owl,” Oksana said without hesitation.
The mambo nodded. “Hmm. In that case… hair, feather, blood, I should think.”
“More blood?” Xander asked dryly. “No wonder you topped us off first.”
Oksana ignored him, twining her fingers through a few strands of hair and tugging sharply, then handing the little tuft to Mama Lovelie. She submitted to another bloodletting without complaint, and Mason watched as the cut healed in seconds.
What happened next, though…
Reality twisted, and where Oksana had stood a moment before, there was now a dark owl with white flecks decorating its wing feathers. It perched on one leg, the other curled protectively against its body, terminating in a stump.
“What—?” Mason asked in a faint voice.
“Need to sit down for a minute, mate?” Xander asked. “Owl got your tongue, perhaps?”
Duchess held out an arm, and the bird flapped up to perch on it, fluttering its wings daintily for balance before refolding them. Even Mama Lovelie took a moment to admire the striking transformation.
“The goddess is present in you three, no doubt about it,” she said softly, before becoming businesslike once more. She plucked a small flight feather from the owl’s wing and made a tisking noise when the creature pecked at her in retaliation. “Cheeky…”
The owl spread its wings, and Duchess gave it a little boost as it flapped away. Oksana dropped lightly to the ground an instant later.
Mason’s jaw was open. He snapped it shut. “But… that… that’s…”
“Hmm… I do believe the realization train has finally arrived at the station,” Xander observed. “About time.”
“That’s impossible,” Mason finally got out. “And you just did it anyway, right in front of my eyes.”
Oksana shrugged, not looking at him directly.
“Everybody out. You’re distracting me,” Mama Lovelie commanded in a no-nonsense tone. “Leave me be for a few minutes. I’ll call for you when I’m done.”
They filed out. Mason turned on Oksana. “You’re an owl,” he said stupidly.
She met his eyes and scowled at him, which was such an improvement over her earlier looks of discomfort and embarrassment that he nearly smiled.
“Well, not all the time, obviously,” he amended. “But… how do you make your clothing disappear and reappear? And your prosthesis?”
“Centuries o
f practice,” Oksana growled.
A snort, quickly stifled, came from Xander’s position behind him.
“Just wait until she disappears into mist on you at an unexpected moment,” Duchess said.
“Okay… look,” Mason said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Either I have, in fact, gone completely troppo, or else I’m here at a vodou priestess’s house with a bunch of vampires who can transform into birds, and absorb humans’ life force by drinking their blood. Since we’re apparently about to go hunting a sorcerer who’s turning children into undead zombies, I’m willing to work on the second assumption until the men with white coats and butterfly nets show up for me. Deal?”
“Deal,” Oksana said softly.
“Fine by me,” Duchess put in. “As it happens, some of my closest friends are clinically insane.”
“You do realize that the men with white coats stopped carrying butterfly nets in the nineteen-fifties?” Xander added helpfully.
“Case in point,” Duchess murmured.
They were silent for a bit, Mason mulling over what he’d seen, and the others apparently content to let him stew. After what felt like half an hour or so, Mama Lovelie called them back in. She held out a blackened dagger balanced across her open hand. A small cloth pouch was fastened to the base of the hilt with twine.
Duchess looked at the blade curiously. “Isn’t that…”
The mambo nodded. “The knife the child tried to use on me, yes.”
Mason looked at the soot-covered weapon more closely. “But the fire will have destroyed the poison on the blade,” he said. “That’s why you had it thrown into the flames, wasn’t it?”
She shrugged. “That wasn’t me; it was the Maîtresse Dahomey, possessing me. But the poison is of no use to us, blan, though the bokor may well try to employ magic-laced poison against Oksana during the battle,” she said. “No, it was the knife itself that I needed. It carries the imprint of both the bokor and one of his gros-bon-ange creations. Now it carries Oksana’s imprint as well.”
Lovers Sacrifice Page 16