Midnight Falls: Children of the Goddess, Book 4

by R. G. Alexander

  Liz began to pace, she felt caged. She needed to go up and see Nicolette, she needed to tear her attackers limb from limb. But first, she needed answers. “Goddess knows I’ve rarely understood Nicolette’s taste in men, but Malcolm’s father? That bitter nutcase? What was she thinking?”

  Regina bit her lip. “I told you I didn’t pry, not even with Jasyn. He said he needed some time away from Dydarren land, and I took him at his word.” She glanced up at her husband. “I hesitate to mention it, because he is so young, but I don’t think he has the same control I do. He may know some—”

  “No. Don’t start that again, my priya. Alexei is only six years old.”

  “What? What does your son have to do with this?”

  Lux lowered his voice, leaning closer to Liz as Regina and her blood mate stared each other down, communicating silently. “You know what he was like as a toddler? Well his abilities have only grown since then. We knew he would be special, the child of a Reader and a Mediator from the purest bloodline, how could he not be? But there seems to be no end to his talents. Things that take other Truebloods hundreds of years to master, he does with ease. And his mother’s ability to read and manipulate the thoughts of others seems even stronger in him. A fact which often gets my precocious nephew into serious trouble with his father.”

  Zander crossed his arms, controlled rage clenching his jaw. “My son doesn’t need to be exposed to this.”

  “He already is, you stubborn ass.” Regina put her hands on her hips, defiant beside her towering husband. “He hasn’t spoken for days, not since he told us where to find her. He may know something and just be too afraid to tell us.”

  “Jesse’s father can’t help us, and he’s a damn god. What makes you think Alexei can?”

  Hannah spoke up, looking desperate. “Nicolette loves Alexei, she spoils him rotten. You told me yourself that he always knew when she was coming. What mood she was in. Maybe he sensed something before she closed off. Maybe she told him what happened to her. To…to Jasyn.”

  Zander sighed, but refused to waver. “I can’t bend on this. I won’t allow him to come here…but, after we’ve seen Nicolette, Regina and I will speak to him.”

  Liz kept her mouth shut, but her own thoughts were more in line with the Mediator’s. Why put a child through this? Even one as extraordinary as Alexei? “I want to see her.”

  “Are you going to be okay, Liz?”

  She smiled, in truth this time, at Lux. He was a good friend to worry. Was she going to be okay walking into a home she’d been forbidden to enter for so long, seeing a man who had cursed her and threatened to disown Malcolm for refusing to kill her after his bite made her an Unborn instead of his grathita?

  “I’m not the insecure, backward lass I once was. The real question is, will he be okay? Especially if I find he had anything to do with this.” Goddess, she hoped he had.

  The house was exactly as she remembered it. Ostentatious and frighteningly ornate. A vampire’s Graceland. The fact that a wonderful man like Malcolm had been raised here was baffling. But he himself had told her that the Sariels had been the family of his heart, the Abaddons merely blood relations that he was forced to acknowledge.

  Horrific statues lined the hallway, and elaborate frescos of fanged angels gorged themselves overhead. She felt nauseous. Nicolette had, during her years as a Venetian courtesan, been surrounded by some of the most exquisite artwork the world had to offer. Why would she choose to live in this gallery of the grotesque?

  Her gaze strayed down the hall toward the Great Room where she knew one special painting was hung as the others guided her up the stairs. She’d been in awe of Malcolm when she’d first seen it, but he would have none of her admiration. He was no hero, he’d told her. Merely a soldier in a war that had to be waged. A hollow victory, he often called it. And he a paper hero.

  That painting displayed why, though Mal’s family had attacked him privately, they dared not push him too far in public. It depicted a pivotal battle during the Great War. The war between the Truebloods and Shadow Wolves fought hundreds of years ago. A battle that would never have been won without Malcolm Abaddon. He was a legend. A hero, no matter what he had said to the contrary. A fact his family had used for their own selfish ends again and again.

  “She’s in here, Liz. They told us Nicolette specifically requested this room.” Liz nodded absently. She couldn’t blame her. This was the nicest part of the house. Malcolm’s suite. They’d spent three days here after he’d first changed her before they were “asked” to leave.

  It was a large suite, two bedrooms connected by a spacious, if sterile, living room. Somehow the empty bedroom had always made her sad for Malcolm. Sebastian had had his twin, Sari, to play with. Tell secrets to. The two had been united, both in their poor life choices and their dislike of their elder brother. In the end, manipulated by Grey Wolf, Sebastian and Sari had even shared their tragic deaths. But Malcolm had never even had the comfort of a close sibling in this cold home.

  She bit the inside of her cheek again, this time to hold back a self-mocking sound. She’d left three years ago to finally let go of these memories, to leave the past in the past, and the dead buried. Now here she was, right back where she’d started. Hip deep in memories. Only now, she could lose someone else. Nicolette.

  Regina slid her hand into Liz’s, and she squeezed gratefully. As a rule she would rather have her heart ripped from her chest than show any sign of weakness, but Reggie no doubt knew what she was feeling anyway, and she appreciated the support. Especially when they walked through the living room, seemingly untouched after all these years, and into the extra bedroom that she’d never had the chance to explore.

  The only people in the room were the old tattooed priestess, Glynn Magriel, and a tall, spindly man who was obviously Elder Abaddon’s blood servant. They never lasted long, and this one looked to be on his last legs.

  Nicolette lay still as death on the bed, her chest barely moving, heartbeat terrifyingly slow to her untrained ear. Helplessness closed Liz’s throat. She couldn’t handle this. Couldn’t watch another person she loved die…

  “Liz, listen to me. She isn’t dead. The mark we found on her is Shadow, like the one Grey Wolf placed around my wound to keep it from healing. But different. It’s that small design on her temple, and Glynn is working on removing it, but it’s going to take time and patience. And we need you in control.”

  “You’ve come a long way, little Gypsy. There was a time when I was the one guiding you.”

  Liz felt the wave of love and support coming from their blood-bond and drew it in, absorbing it. She’d missed this. And she hated herself for that. She walked up to Nicolette’s unconscious form and brushed the back of her fingers over her cool forehead. A tender gesture, but empty. Nicolette couldn’t feel it. Look what caring brought. Pain and loss.

  You know better than that.

  She ignored the voice in her head. A voice that didn’t belong to anyone in the room. “Doesn’t this kind of sorcery take time?” Regina’s earlier comment to Zander suddenly sprang to mind. “Did you say Alexei told you where to find her? How long was she missing?”

  “Two days.” Glynn Magriel lifted her hands from Nicolette’s body, her own shaking with age and exhaustion. “I believe the initial attack left her unable to communicate with any of her blood bonds, and I assume she was kept unconscious and somewhere nearby, to protect her body from sunlight.” Lux rushed over to the priestess and led her to a nearby recliner, gently lowering her onto the soft cushions. “With the Shadow Alpha and Grey Wolf dead, I’d believed this old magic passed. I shouldn’t have been so ill prepared. I need Mysha.”

  Mysha, Sylvain’s protector while she’d been in hiding all of those years, had been born a Shadow Were, but had proven herself totally loyal to her charge. “Where is she?”

  Zander’s jaw clenched. “Elder Abaddon will allow no Weres on his property. Not after Sebastian’s recent scandal. Neither of Lux’s mates, nor Mysh
a can pass through the doors. And Elder Abaddon has also refused to let us remove Nicolette from this room. He claims as her host he is responsible for her well being.”

  Finally, she could take some action. “Zander, Regina, take Nicolette and her things back to the loft above Pub Haven. Lux, you and Priestess Magriel get Mysha and meet them there.”

  “Elizabeth, as the Mediator I have to—”

  “No. As the Mediator you have to make the decision that is best for everyone. Best for Nicolette, who is also a member of the Clan Trust. If the Healer needs Mysha to heal these dark marks, then Mysha is what she will have. And I will not allow that man to stop me from taking someone from my clan, under my care. I will deal with him.”

  Regina glanced meaningfully at her husband, gathering Nicolette’s belongings in silence. She knew there would be no changing Liz’s mind. And Liz knew the Reader privately agreed. This was not a place of healing.

  Liz felt a shiver run down her spine and turned toward the fireplace mantel before they could doubt the strength of her will. The shuffling behind her meant Regina had talked the Truebloods into doing her bidding, no doubt attempting to prevent the bloodshed Liz was thirsting for. She took a deep breath, preparing to face Malcolm’s father, when something caught her eye.

  A jewelry box? Carved from one piece of ivory, beautiful symbols adorned the small container, drawing Liz in for a closer look. She picked it up, shock jolting through her system. Why did this seem familiar? Had Malcolm carved this for her—carved and then left it behind when they were turned away from the Abaddon estate? She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was meant for her. She slipped it in the pocket of her leather vest before turning to follow a suspicious Zander out of the room, Nicolette limp in his arms.

  She’d seen the blood servant go running as soon as they’d begun to pack up Nicolette’s things, so she wasn’t too surprised by the loud shrieking that followed them down the hallway.

  “Whore! Scot whore! You can’t take her—you ruin everything you touch. You always ruin everything.”

  Zander stiffened but Liz just patted his back, nodding toward the others, a silent order to keep walking. She turned to face Malcolm’s father. Time had not been kind to Elder Abaddon. His body was bent and frail, the robes that denoted a station he no longer held draped over a body that had lost much of its mass and power.

  Liz wrinkled her nose in distaste, and then she studied the blood servant more closely. Abaddon appeared to be starving, but the servant’s pallor and fragility indicated he’d been fed from, and recently.

  Not that she cared if the old man lived or died. In fact, she’d been imagining new and inventive ways to torture him since the first time they’d met. But her curiosity was piqued. “You look horrible, Pops. And weak. Too weak to deal with someone like me. So just accept that I’m taking Nicolette to get the help you won’t let her have here. And I have to tell you…” She lifted her hand to squeeze his paper-thin cheek, winking at the shocked servant beside him. “If I find out you had anything to do what’s happened to her. If you are aligned with the Shadow the way your precious Sebastian was—you couldn’t pay off enough Werewolves or travel far enough away to be safe from me.”

  Elder Abaddon stuttered, spittle flying from his cracked lips, his milky blue eyes wild. “N-n-no. No. You can’t take her. She is supposed to stay here. No one can leave. No one. He’s coming. He’s coming to kill me. You all have to stay…”

  Liz chuckled, an ugly sound that made her wince, yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. “If anyone is coming to kill you, old man, I can only guess they have a damn good reason. And you are a fool if you think anyone, least of all me, would stand between you and a bloody end. You chased away the only person who might have, and turned a blind eye to the demon spawn who had him killed.”

  His head flew back as though she’d struck him. “I had no choice. He was going to keep looking. Keep digging. It was best for everyone. But now it’s too late. He’s coming for me.”

  The servant put his arm around the shaking Trueblood, murmuring gently, in the way a mother soothed a crying babe. Liz turned to start down the stairs, her flippant words covering her shock at Elder Abaddon’s response. “Take care of him, I may have questions once Nicolette wakes up. Just don’t let him stiff you come payday. You’ve earned every penny. Oh, and have a steak or two…you both look like hell.”

  She refused to look toward the closed door where the painting of Malcolm hung, tempting her. Her fingers curled around the small, ivory box as she tried to calm her blood. That bastard had all but admitted what Liz had suspected for years. Sebastian may have believed he was pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes, teaming up with a Shadow Wolf to kill the heir to the Abaddon name and prestige, not to mention a seat on the all-powerful Clan Trust. He may have fooled himself, but apparently he hadn’t fooled his father.

  Elder Abaddon had known Malcolm was going to die. Known and had his own reasons for allowing it to happen. The desire to race back upstairs and watch the life force drain out of his open throat was nearly impossible to resist. Maybe that was why the pain hadn’t stopped. Even with the others dead, Mal’s father was still breathing stolen air.

  But no matter what he’d done to her husband, after seeing him, Liz could hardly believe he had anything to do with Nicolette’s current situation. He had looked…broken. She didn’t feel the satisfaction she thought she would at that truth.

  Because you are too good of a person, my love.

  That voice in her head again. “Don’t be daft, Malcolm. You were the good one. I’m the bitch. And as loony as your father.” How else could she explain the fact that she still talked to a dead man? There may be vampires and werewolves, even giants in the world. But as haunted as she sometimes felt, there were no such things as ghosts.

  Chapter Two

  Hannah watched the others work from her perch in the far corner of the loft. No one noticed her or invited her into the conversation. They’d moved her sire above the pub—the room Lux had invited Nicolette to stay in when she first arrived. Why had she left this place?

  “The Truebloods are fascinating, dearest. They all have such delicious secrets. It reminds me of Venice.” Had Nicolette said that only a few months ago? Hannah recalled expressing her concern at Nicolette’s mingling with the Truebloods, warning her that even though she’d been accepted into the Trust and given an equal vote, that didn’t mean everyone had truly gotten over such a long and deeply felt animosity.

  How many times had Nicolette herself told her stories of Unborns who’d been used up and discarded, even killed outright by Truebloods who’d declared their love only hours before?

  Even after all these years, the Devas and other Unborns still had to fight for every ounce of respect they received. Had to fight, often for their lives, against Truebloods and Weres who thought they scented weakness. Until a few years ago, most of their challenges had come from the Dydarren Pack, the Weres who lived on the border of their lands.

  Jasyn.

  It was hard on a girl—becoming a vampire. Especially when she found out the man she’d fallen top over tail for occasionally got hairy and fanged and, more importantly…he hated vampires. In particular the one who’d saved her life and was now connected to her more intimately than he had ever been. It was more than most women could take.

  He’d disappeared for over fifty years, leaving her to discover that absence did not, in fact, make the heart grow fonder. It merely broke it a little more each day, until it was hard to remember when she’d last laughed.

  She’d like to think a few years ago she wouldn’t have cared that Jasyn Dydarren had found himself in the hands of the Shadow Wolves. But since he’d been back, her heart had started beating again. And since he’d returned from his adventures with Kit and Jesse, he’d actually been…wooing her.

  First it was flowers on her windowsill. Yellow roses, her favorite. Then he’d sent her a note wrapped in a faded drawing she’d made for him on one of th
eir first dates. They’d been picnicking by the water and she’d sketched him as he slept on the blanket, unable to control the urge to capture his dark beauty. The note inside merely said, “I still dream of you.”

  For a Were, he had been remarkably patient. Taking it slow. Irritatingly slow. Nicolette had encouraged Hannah to make him wait, enjoy it while it lasted. She’d said, “Once you’re bitten it will be ‘Woman. Mine. Mate’. Not that that isn’t lovely, but there is something to be said for romance.”

  But Hannah wasn’t so sure. The truth was, she wanted to beat him over the head with his love tokens. She was over being angry, over with waiting. If she was his mate, she wanted to be taken. Mated.

  Soon after she’d made that decision, he was gone. Sylvain had come to explain that her husband Arygon had sent his Beta to England to deal with a sensitive matter. A year and a half had passed. The flowers and letters had dwindled, and Nicolette had been less and less forthcoming. Hannah had a feeling that neither one of them were being honest with her.

  She knew they weren’t having a mad affair, but now it seemed obvious the two had been working on some caper together and decided they shouldn’t tell her. She wasn’t a fool. They thought her too fragile to deal with whatever it was that was going on. Perhaps that was why Jasyn had always been so hesitant around her. He didn’t think she could handle him. Nicolette apparently agreed.

  Maybe they were right. When she’d heard Nicolette’s mental cry, and then silence, she’d been unsure of what to do. She wasn’t Reggie, with her ability to read minds, or Liz, who would know exactly who to hurt and how to do it to get what she wanted or even Madame Nicolette, with her abundance of wit and wiles, and her love of social game play.

  Hannah was just Hannah. A youngish Unborn vampire with an inability to fight her way out of a paper bag. It wasn’t until Sylvain had showed up on the steps of the castle to inform the agitated Devas of Jasyn and Nicolette’s attack that Hannah made her decision. The others would stay behind and hold down the fort. But she had to come here, despite everyone’s not so subtle attempts to keep her safe in the castle. A woman closer than her own mother and the man she loved were both in trouble, she had to be brave. Finally.