Mosi heaved a great sigh. Stopped screaming. Blinked away the white from his eyes and stared at the ceiling. His lower lip trembled. ‘I was dying. I could feel it.’
Crawling towards him, Saar tugged the smaller man’s head into his lap. ‘No, young one, not dying. I’m here. I’ll protect you.’
‘My strength was fading. Like the very essence of me was draining into that bowl.’
Saar gave it a cursory glance. ‘There’s nothing there. I promise. You are well.’
It was several minutes before Mosi agreed to move. When he did, he skirted wide around the bowl and refused to touch it again, even when Saar slung it into the sack over his shoulder.
As they mounted the altar and leapt up to catch the lip of the hole in the ceiling, Saar looked back again at the room in which his whole life changed. He frowned.
Outside, having climbed through, he looked left and right until he found Alexandria; a smudge of dark shapes against the horizon several miles away.
‘Remember this route, Mosi.’ He started to walk.
Still disorientated and jittery, Mosi clutched his arm. ‘We must never return. That room is evil. That bowl you carry is evil. It should be buried in the sand and forgotten forever.’
Saar gnawed his thumb nail. ‘Remember this route so we know never to come this way again. That room must never be found. Later, I will return alone and block the exits so none may find it.’
Beside him, Mosi heaved a sigh of relief.
Chapter Seven
Lenina woke on the floor. Her fingers burned.
Kallisto stared down at her, eyes bright with joy.
She groaned. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Never.’ Kallisto clapped her dainty hands. ‘This is the proof I require—soon I will see my father returned. In your unconscious speech I heard him. You spoke of things only he could know.’
When Lenina sat up, every joint in her body creaked in protest. She rubbed her eyes and waited, wary of Tristen’s presence blossoming in her mind again. Though his gaze was trained on Kallisto, Lenina knew his attention remained on her.
‘The second sign.’ Kallisto leapt to her feet and retrieved the bowl, cradling it like a small child. Her eyes became vacant. ‘Soon. I’ll see you soon, dearest Father and when you return I’ll never leave you again.’
Lenina wiped Saar’s smile from her lips. ‘When you say ‘return,’ what does that mean?’
‘He will live again. Your blood carries his essence and with the correct rituals we will bring him forward that he may live, act and speak through you.’
The news should have surprised her, but it didn’t. Not really. Instead it merely confirmed that creeping sense of mounting dread she’d felt for the past two days. She nodded slowly, not accepting but thoughtful.
The Vessel will awaken Saar.
She stared at her reddened fingertips. ‘But what will happen to me?’
‘He will consume you.’ Kallisto beamed as though explaining Christmas. ‘It will take some time to become accustomed to his new form, but my father can overcome anything. Even death cannot defeat him. You are proof of that.’
‘I’ll be dead?’
‘You’ll be gone.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, closing her fingers across her palms. ‘You can’t.’
‘I am the oldest living creature on this planet—I have gifts you cannot dream. The things I want have a curious habit of coming to me.’ The smug smile matched the youth of her delicate face. ‘Saar’s Fang will come soon and the three signs will be complete. We must prepare.’ Age and experience dropped from her voice, leaving her breathy and child-like. She paced them room, curling a strand of hair around her finger.
‘Tristen, you must order the wolves to retrieve the rest of the family. The ritual requires their blood and I see no need to wait for the third sign. My brothers and sisters must join me.’
She kept talking, reeling off orders, making plans, but Lenina heard none of it. Her insides seized. A cold, thick hand closed around her throat until she gagged on a surge of fear.
‘Family?’ she whispered.
Kallisto stopped pacing. Smiled. Her voice once more took on that sing-song quality. ‘Your human family are a key component of this ritual. Saar will use their blood to strengthen himself that he may free his essence from the prison of your mind.’
Lenina stiffened. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’ Disbelief briefly overtook the fear. ‘Dad’s already gone . . .’
The smile on Kallisto’s lips drooped on one side. ‘Gone?’
She saw him again on the path, heels hammering the floor, stomach gushing. She felt his fear and the weight of his pain and her own crushing helplessness. Sudden tears blinded her.
‘He’s dead.’ Saying the words made it real. She hugged herself. ‘Darryl—the wolves killed him before we came.’
The air became very still.
Kallisto’s eyes blanked out and fangs sprang from her gum line. ‘Raymond Miller is dead?’ A strange stifling sensation filled the room. Lenina felt it brushing against her arms and face, crawling down her throat. She swallowed.
‘Yes.’ Her jaw ached.
Kallisto’s slammed a hand against a panel of small buttons beside her keyboard. ‘Darryl! Come.’
Tristen cleared his throat. Under Kallisto’s glare he stooped into a half-bow. ‘The moon puppies were never suited to such a delicate job. They’re incompetent and pack politics makes them unreliable at best. A liability more likely. If you’ll allow me to return to Leicester I’ll find Raymond Miller myself and—’
‘Be quiet.’ Though she spoke softly, the menace was palpable.
‘But I can find him. If I could only—’
‘When I want your services, I will take them. Be silent.’
Frustration boiled down the sire-childe bond. In a small, childish way, Lenina found a measure of satisfaction in it.
The door to the library crashed open. Darryl stalked through, his eyes burning a deep gold. ‘I ain’t no dog to be summoned, Kallisto. Do not call me like—’
Kallisto stepped up to him. No flash of power, no blur of motion, just a step from one side of the huge room to another, that happened in the space of an eye blink. With the same stunning speed she drove her fist into his stomach. He doubled over, gagging. His knees wobbled, then hit the floor. The tiny girl grabbed his chin and glared into his watering eyes.
‘You. Are. My servant.’ Fangs glimmered between lips dotted with spittle. ‘You are less than the lowest god-touched in this mansion and a mere step above the human you guard. Question me again and I shall show you what happens to servants who displease me.’ Her fingers dug into his flesh until little beads of blood welled up around her fingernails. ‘Do you understand?’
Darryl made a thick, wet sound that may have been consent. Kallisto took it as such and loosened her grip. He coughed, wiping the five smears of blood from his chin. When he next stood, his entire body sang with tension, muscles tight across his neck and shoulders. His hands curled into fists.
Lenina watched and understood that he was far more dangerous than Kallisto gave him credit for.
But Darryl didn’t attack. He rolled his head, making his neck click, before unfurling his fists. Red indentations lined his palms. ‘What can I do for you, Kallisto?’
‘Is Raymond Miller dead?’
A fractional hesitation. ‘I don’t know. Luke cut him up pretty bad—we left quickly.’
A tingle spread from Lenina’s gums. She ran her tongue over them, willing her fangs to stay in place. The anger was new, but she embraced it, clutching it close to a her chest like a babe in need of protection. The warmth it lent her formed a welcome counterpart to the fear.
Saar gave an approving growl.
No.
She gritted her teeth. We’ll see about that.
Back at the desk once more, Kallisto trailed her hands over the stone bowl. She ran a finger around the rim, two slow circles, before she spoke. ‘Raymond Miller, his wife and son are vital components of Saar’s rebirth ritual. You were to bring me the girl—I said nothing of human casualties.’
‘It was an accident. We didn’t plan for—’
‘Enough!’ The word cracked through the room like the lash of a whip. ‘Return to Leicester, find Raymond Miller. Bring him here. Alive or dead, I want him.’
‘But—’
‘Do not make me tell you again.’
Darryl cast a helpless gaze about the room. When his sights fell on Lenina, she tilted her chin, delighted to see him sweat. Never mind how desperate he looked, this was his fault.
His shoulders sagged. ‘They’ll be here by this evening.’
Kallisto waved her hand at him in silent dismissal.
Lenina forced herself not to watch him go. Instead, she spoke to the opposite wall, measuring her voice to ring clear and firm. ‘Leave my family alone, Darryl.’
The heat of his stare scalded her back, but still she refused to turn.
Footsteps shuffled.
The door clicked shut.
Kallisto smirked. Propping her chin on the back of one hand, she tapped her bottom lip with the other. ‘How long have you been of The Blood?’
‘Why?’
The amused look died. ‘Do not question me.’
Anger’s heat chilled rapidly beneath that stare. ‘Two days.’
‘Hmm.’ She nodded. ‘New god-touched generally cut all human ties with their first tribute. Their loyalty shifts first to their sire, then to the rest of their line. Those who don’t are either incredibly strong-willed or destined to become Elders. Usually both.’ When Lenina didn’t respond, she continued. ‘To me, you appear as neither, though your instincts undeniably are remarkable. Few god-touched have them so highly developed at such a young age.’
Lenina gazed at her toes. The awkward, backward compliment made her more uncomfortable than most of the conversation so far. Kallisto, though crazed and volatile, had a curious and almost grudging respect for her.
‘Then why kill me?’
A smile. ‘Because that is your purpose.’ She faced Tristen and made another of those flicking gestures. ‘Take her upstairs. House her with the human then return to Leicester—you too must seek out Raymond Miller.’
‘Gladly.’ Tristen offered another half bow then seized Lenina’s arm. She offered no complaints as he hauled her from the room.
#
The rest of the mansion was just as large and impressive as the lower levels. More panelling, deep carpets and exotic lighting options. Lenina saw only a fraction of it. Once clear of the library and walking back down the hall she broke away from Tristen and ran. It was stupid, and pointless, but the thought of Darryl and his cronies hunting down her mother and brother made her desperate.
I can’t be responsible for any more deaths.
She made it three steps before Tristen snagged hold of her, not physically, but with a lazy flex of the sire-childe bond. He forced the sensory memory of their shared night down the link and effortlessly rekindled the pleasure they shared.
Lenina grunted and lurched right. Muscles low in her stomach clenched and turned her knees to mush. She pressed her thighs together and clung to the wall, panting as the scent of peppermint swirled around her.
‘Don’t be stupid, Lenina.’ He stopped in front of her and tucked his finger beneath her chin. His skin was hot and smooth. She longed to slip the slender digit into her mouth. He grinned, as if reading her thoughts. Perhaps he had. ‘Where are you going?’
‘My family—’
‘—Are as good as dead. Forget them.’ His finger stroked her cheek. Traced her bottom lip. ‘Or don’t—an escape attempt would give me just the excuse I need.’
She flicked out her tongue. Lapped his fingertip. The taste of his skin set off an explosion in her mouth. She closed her eyes. ‘Excuse for what?’
He tilted her head. Their lips brushed. ‘To kill you.’
Lenina jerked back. Her arm hit the wall, one of the framed portraits jabbing in her shoulder. She leaned hard on the corner, using the pain to bring herself back.
He shrugged. ‘It would be an accident of course. A tragic miscalculation of powers. Much as I love these romantic interludes of ours, you’re dangerous. I’m the only person who wants Saar back less than you do. Remember that.’
The gentle calm of moments ago clung stubbornly to her memory, at violent odds with the thick pulses of anger filling her head. Not Saar’s anger, but Tristen’s manipulation of the link they shared through blood.
She forced away more thoughts of kissing. ‘Then why are you helping her?’
‘Would you prefer I kill you now?’
‘No, but—’
‘My reasons are mine and so are my plans. Don’t worry, it’s all in hand.’ He grinned at something over her shoulder. By the time she looked, there was nothing there.
Once again his hand closed over her arm. The power he held over her simmered on the point of erupting, without ever tipping over the edge. It allowed her to think and feel, even with his skin against hers. He walked across the landing, avoiding the continuation of the stairs to higher levels of the house. In the corridor leading to the western wing of the house, he stopped outside the first door, head cocked.
Lenina twitched. ‘What now?’
Two familiar voices rang out on the floor above.
‘. . . Scrape and bow before that blood-sucker. It’s not right. It’s not our way.’ Luke’s voice trembled with rage, yet retained its sharp, clipped cadence. ‘Every time you bow to her, you make yourself look weak. You make us all look weak.’
Darryl’s answer was soft and calm. His own passion shone through regardless. ‘We are weak. Dress it up any way you like, we ain’t nothing against the likes of vampires until we shift.’
‘Then why give up the only leverage we have? The Millers are safe with the rest of pack—if Kallisto needs them so much, now is the time to make demands.’
‘This whole deal hinges on our cooperation. You know that word, right? Cooperation?’
Luke snorted.
Lenina stared at Tristen. He shrugged.
Footsteps tramped across the ceiling, soft and muffled. They approached down a set of steps, both men still arguing.
Tristen put a finger to his lips then crept along the hallway. His steps were silent, his movements smooth as liquid. Lenina followed. As she neared the landing, Darryl stalked into view. He aimed for the main stairs but Luke grabbed his shoulder and spun him round.
‘Giving them their leader won’t make us stronger. If I were alpha I’d make sure that—’
Darryl snarled. He grabbed Luke by the collar and jerked him close before thrusting him away. The other man stumbled against the banister, arms flailing. Darryl followed and pushed until the smaller man’s feet left the floor. His upper half leaned backwards, far over the rail, open to the twenty foot drop to the hallway below.
Though his eyes widened, Luke neither flinched nor cried out.
‘You’re not alpha.’ Darryl kept pushing until Luke was lying almost backwards. ‘I am. I earned it. The pack is mine, understand? I’m the one charged with making sure we all survive.’
‘And I’m the one keeping you alive. Tell me what you’re planning.’
‘No. All you need do is what you’re told.’
Luke growled. ‘You sound like Kallisto.’
The dull thud of a punch echoed through the air.
Lenina winced as blood spurted from Luke’s shattered nose. The smell of it called to her, but Tristen’s grip on her arm prevented any movement. He watched, eyes aflame with mirth.
‘I ain’t nothing like that creature.’ Darryl’s arms and shoulders trembled. His voice finally quivered and broke with rage. ‘You’d
be dead long ago if I were.’
Through a face full of blood, Luke smiled. ‘Better dead than a whipped dog.’
Lightning quick, Darryl lashed out with his fist again. The second punch made Luke’s eyes cross and he lolled limp in Darryl’s grip. ‘Ain’t nothing more important to me than this pack, Luke. If protecting it means fetching a young blood-sucker or picking up a few humans, I’ll do it.’
‘You’re insane. You’ll kill yourself and the rest of us too.’
‘If you think you can do better—’
‘I know I can.’
Darryl yanked Luke back over the rail and stepped away. ‘Then you know what to do. Defeat me in combat. That’s the way it works.’
Luke eased away from the banister. He spat a glob of bloodied sputum at the carpet. A tooth gleamed white beside it. ‘Oh I’ll defeat you, but not like that. I don’t need brute strength to show you’re no longer capable of leading this pack.’
‘Good luck with that.’ Darryl pointed down the stairs. ‘Now get the car, we’ve got a lot to do.’
Chapter Eight
Lenina sat on the end of a soft, plush bed. The quilt was thick and hand stitched, even squares of many different materials. It covered the entire bed, top to toe and draped over the sides like a shroud. Beside her, Shawn stared at his fingers, occasionally picking at a torn edge on his thumbnail. He didn’t speak or look at her, just sat. And picked.
‘I’m sorry . . .’ She had no idea how to finish. What apology could possibly cover all she had to feel sorry for?
The large room dripped more of the self-assured confidence exuded by the rest of the house. Deep burgundy wallpaper with thin blue stripes and a green carpet with spots of red. Solid oak cabinets filled with clothes and drawers stuffed with more of the same. And shoes. Dozens upon dozens of shoes.
Searching the room hadn’t taken long. Nor had establishing there was no way out, no matter how much she wanted to save her mother and brother. Two god-touched patrolled the ground outside the window two floors down. Another three loitered in the hallway outside. They looked utterly normal when she first burst through the door but the air around them crackled with a curious energy, the same she associated with Tristen. When she spoke with them, Saar stirred inside her and applauded their obvious power.
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