Darkfell vampire clan bo.., p.71
Darkfell Vampire Clan Boxset, page 71
Luthor, can you hear me…
I turned my face to the light. Water dripped down my cheeks, ran off my chin. It tasted salty.
Luthor Fontaine. Pull yourself out of it. You're the fucking Commander of the Knightsguard, now act like it.
I was once a Knightsguard commander before I was entombed here.
Cyrus and I had discussed our freedom so many times….
Hot as lava, hatred ripped through me.
Cyrus Rayne, the vampire I had to kill.
I had to kill him. His death was the only thing that mattered. But Cyrus had been my friend for centuries. Locked down here together, we’d sworn if we ever got free…
What came after that? I couldn’t remember.
Cyrus had kept me sane for a hundred years. He’d served by my side, was the last one standing beside me when Viktor took the throne room.
Why did he have to die, again?
I turned my palm and cupped the sunshine. The light grew bright enough I could take stock of my surroundings, and I realized this was not the prison at all. I was in the east wing of the palace, but I couldn’t remember getting here.
Find me Luthor, I’m right ahead of you. Come and find me, love.
Her voice was both melodic and demanding, and I stepped out of the sun and followed it, the corridor now illuminated by glowing torches. I saw a flicker of movement, the barest flash of fabric as someone rounded the corner ahead of me. I hurried when I caught a familiar scent on the air. Honey-sweet jasmine with the barest hint of wood smoke.
I broke into a run. Racing, just to catch a glimpse of her.
This time when I rounded the corner, I saw her dark curls. Her laughing face turned back to make sure I was still behind her, golden eyes flashing, a smile curving her red lips.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted everything with her.
I want forever.
And you will have it.
When I opened my eyes, all I saw was Seraphina smiling down at me, hot tears dripping down onto my face. Her smile lit her face up from within.
“Welcome back, Luthor.” She curled herself into me, pressed her mouth to mine. “God, I’ve missed you.” Her lips were warm, she tasted like honey, and I ran my hands up her arms, wove my fingers in her hair.
“Now let's go save Cyrus.”
27
CYRUS
I surveyed the chattering, brightly dressed courtiers surrounding me. Their empty words and shallow praise skimmed off me like flat rocks across a still pond. There was a time when I’d aspired to this indulgent existence. A time when all I wanted to be was accepted as an equal by my kind.
But admiration was not respect, and their acceptance was as empty as my wine glass.
Back then, I was young and foolish and naïve. But the draw of living in the royal palace had been impossible to resist, and while I hated this life on so many levels, there were certain perks.
A wave of my hand had a servant filling my glass, and music filled the vast chamber choked with burning candle wax and heavy perfume.
I rolled my shoulders beneath the heavy armor, the neckline of my undershirt cutting into my throat. Tonight, I was on duty, but even a Knightsguard had to eat.
Sipping my wine, I watched my Queen at the head table, laughing, eating, flirting.
On the table before Queen Lyra were the remnants of the Yule dinner—the deer carcass nearly picked clean, half-filled wine glasses, the stems of grapes, bread crusts. Vane Carpathian sat to her right, standing in for my cousin tonight, called away on some family emergency.
It was unlike Deston to miss a grand event, but I didn’t miss his cutting sarcasm nor his arrogance. And while I didn't trust these people as far as I could throw them, Lyra enjoyed their company, even their hollow flattery.
Perhaps she’d just grown used to their lies, perhaps she didn't care anymore.
I knew I didn’t.
I was only here for the wine and the women and the…
The air in the room shifted, it became charged with electricity and I searched for the reason why. There was a disturbance near the door, some hushed argument. Settling back, I motioned for more wine. If I had to endure these fools, I’d best get as drunk as possible.
Then a female screamed.
I sprang to my feet, unsheathing my short blade.
Commander Fontaine would not be pleased if something as mundane as an argument ruined the royal banquet on our watch. Doubly so, if he discovered I was sitting on my ass getting as drunk as possible when I should be on duty. I straightened my armor and circled the table, heading toward the open doors leading out to the foyer.
I was closest when the first attackers came through, five of them, fully armed with swords, magic coating their hands.
While I grappled with how that could be—Fontaine had activated the dampening wards, so no one could use their magic here—my training kicked in, and I raced toward them, drawing my blade.
The royals fell before the intruders’ onslaught, some crawling away, only to be finished off with a sword through their neck. Others were killed where they stood.
On the other side of the room, Fontaine and three Knightsguard shoved through the crowd to reach my position, but they’d be too late to save anyone. A flare of light had me ducking; but the stream of red-tinted magic brushed my face on the way past.
An acidic burning spread down my neck, across one shoulder.
I looked down and my entire side glowed scarlet, the magic sinking into my skin.
My own magic was worthless when it came to battle. I could manipulate people's feelings, little more.
But I could fight.
I dematerialized, appearing behind the magic-caster.
With one quick move, I slit his throat, then pushed him aside, his magic spilling from his hands and coating the floor in a red glow. I stepped away, noting how it seemed to cover everything in its path.
My sword in my right hand, a short knife in my left, I cut three of the invaders down before the other two even realized I was in their midst.
Then I killed them, too, and wiped my face, the burning growing stronger from where the red magic had struck me.
“More,” Fontaine shouted, pointing behind me. “A second wave.”
I braced myself, but the entire throne room had descended into chaos.
The throng of screaming vampires scattered, turning into a tangle of limbs and silk dresses, canes and top hats, while they scrambled to escape the carnage. Parents dematerialized with their children. Bodies fell, one after another as more and more attackers appeared, as if from nowhere.
The next wave of attackers fared no better than the first.
I cleaved my way through them with cold precision, using as little energy as possible, calculating how many more might come through those doors. My sword arm grew heavy, and when I spread my hand wide, my palm glowed red.
Why tonight?
And how could they use magic inside the wards?
By now the hall was nearly empty, only Lyra remained at the table. I didn’t know if she was too frightened to dematerialize, or if Vane Carpathian hadn't thought to get the Queen out of danger.
“Carpathian,” Luthor roared across the room. “Get the Queen to safety. Now.”
More attackers were pouring in, mercenaries from the looks of them, well-trained and deadly. I left two face-down on the floor bleeding out, but others were right behind them.
Who did they work for?
“I'll hold them off,” I called to Fontaine. “Get the Queen out.”
“Carpathian. Get her out.”
Luthor's roar was still echoing off the chamber walls when I recognized who was behind tonight’s attack.
The barest look—little more than a shallow nod—between Vane Carpathian and the enormous warrior barreling through the doors told me everything.
Vane’s cold gaze skimmed over the remaining guard before he nodded my way. The giant’s eyes followed that look, and then the man was bearing down on me. He was huge, taller than me by a head, his curved blade longer than my arm. With a reach like that, he’d cut through us like cordwood.
I dodged in front of him, ducking under that sweeping blade, thick enough to sever my head from my shoulders in one blow. Rolling, I buried my knife in the back of his thigh, then yanked it sideways to slice through his hamstrings.
He stumbled to the floor, then recovered, swinging his blade and catching me in the shoulder.
I had to get to my Queen, but I was still twenty feet from Lyra. Just a few feet away when Vane Carpathian pulled the knife from his thigh sheath and slit my Queen’s throat from ear to ear.
She fell to the ground like a grotesque doll, blood pouring down the front of her white gown. Carpathian pointed the knife at me, then Luthor. “No one leaves here alive.”
We fought. Until there were only two of us, Fontaine and me. Back-to-back, we hewed down attackers, the red magic coating me until I couldn’t raise my arm again. I was forced to the ground, inches away from Lyra's empty, staring eyes.
There was an impact, then the sliding burn as a blade was rammed through the back of my head, never stopping until the point struck the floor beneath me with a reverberating thud. I was pinned. Helpless.
Cyrus…
I didn't know how Lyra could speak; she was dead.
Cyrus, can you hear me? The woman's voice was pleasant, vaguely familiar, and wholly unexpected amidst the carnage.
I blinked in confusion. Perhaps I was dying, and she was here to take me beyond the Pale. I was still pinned to the floor. Lyra was still in front of me, her eyes filming over.
Cyrus, I know you can hear me. You have to listen. Can you do that?
I had no desire to listen to anyone. I wanted up off this floor. I wanted my knife in my hand. I wanted to kill everything in this room, starting with Carpathian, that fucking traitor. Then I’d kill his men. I’d watch them bleed out. Then I’d kill whoever was left.
But Vane Carpathian deserved special attention. I would take my time with him.
I would make him suffer.
Cyrus, it’s Seraphina. You remember me. You have to remember me. We’re best friends, two peas in a pod, besties.
“Keep these two alive. My son has plans for them.” Vane’s cold order echoed across the sea of broken bodies. More of them than us, I noted with satisfaction.
I couldn't turn my head, but I clearly heard Luthor’s wet, mucousy wheeze. He was moments away from death. I’ll bet he didn’t expect to die tonight. I never thought I’d die like this, disgraced on the floor of the throne room I was supposed to protect, inches from the Queen I’d failed.
Cyrus, you have to come back to me, you have to. The woman’s voice floated through my head. She had to be an angel, there was no other explanation. Luthor came back. You can find your way back too.
The sword slid out of my head with a slick, metallic grind, and warm blood gushed over my face, into my mouth.
Do you remember the grotto in the crypt at the graveyard? The one we never got to enjoy? Do you remember?
The memory hit me out of nowhere.
A dark-haired girl with laughing, gold eyes. Her hands on her hips, her bottom lip stuck out while we argued. She’d tasted delicious, and no matter how many times I’d had her, I still wanted more.
Luthor's wheezes grew wetter, and darkness ate away at my vision.
Not that I minded dying so much. All this time alone, surrounded by money and wealth and privilege. None of it meant a single thing.
Not until I’d met…
I struggled to come up with her name. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite get there.
A pair of black boots stopped right in front of me. One shiny toe kicked out, rolling Lyra through the pool of blood before he placed his boot on my head. “My son will enjoy torturing you, boy. Perhaps he will manage to kill you.”
I was far from caring.
Cyrus, you have to fight hard to get yourself free. I'm right here, I'm touching you. Can’t you feel my hands on your cheeks?
All I knew was the cold floor beneath my face, the press of Vane’s boot against my head, the pressure as he ground his heel into my face, my other cheek crushed to the wet stones.
Warm breath blew across my face, into my lungs. It tasted sweetly of flowers. Of crackling fires, of a warm bed, and a woman’s soft curves pressed against me.
Warm lips touched mine, tasting of nectar.
And then I was free. I wasn’t pinned to the floor anymore. There was no pain slicing through my head, no Vane Carpathian. No Lyra.
I shook my head in confusion. Pressed my hand to the back of my head. It was still wet with blood, but there was no pain.
That's it, Cyrus, stand up and come back to me. Her voice seemed to echo from outside the room. I heaved myself to my feet, swaying.
Magic and vampires were always an odd combination. I didn't know what kind of illusion this was, but at least I wasn’t dying on the floor beside Lyra and Luthor.
As I staggered toward the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the walls of mirrors that lined this hall. I wove back and forth like a drunk, covered in blood, leaving a trail of it behind.
That's it, you’re almost there. Open your eyes. I love you. We all love each other.
I stepped over bodies and felt a distant kind of regret, seeing how many royals had perished, but now the emotion felt old, as if this had happened a long time ago.
Keep moving, Cyrus, don't let them steal you away.
My feet stopped moving. This was an illusion. The voice wasn’t real. None of this was real. It had to be magic.
That's right, it's magic. Terrible magic, the pleading voice says.
Fight hard, Cyrus. Your mind is holding you prisoner, like when you and Luthor were prisoners. Like when Viktor turned you into a thrall. Don't let it win.
Another press of warm, willing lips against my mouth had me raising my hand, only to find nothing there.
But she tasted incredible, so I closed my eyes and drank down this phantom ghost. A warm brilliance flooded through me, awakening my synapses, tingling through every cell, the hairs on my body standing up straight.
When I opened my eyes, an arm was banded tightly across my chest, her warm breath was brushing over my cheek, and the smell of Seraphina surrounded me.
“Welcome back, Cyrus.”
28
SERAPHINA
“Katarina’s plane just touched down at a private airport. Sebastian’s people are keeping an eye on their progress. Markus and Marie have fortified the outer wards the best they could, but I expect it won’t take Katarina long to break through. Which means we have to get moving.”
Trying to condense the developments of the last few hours into a two-minute presentation was like trying to write a blurb for a five-hundred-page book. You might cover all the pertinent highlights, but it was lacking the important details that really made the story sing.
Luthor moved like a man in a daze; Cyrus acted like he still had one leg in the dream world. Whatever that curse was, the corrupted magic left lingering aftereffects.
I needed my males to be at their savage best today—channeling all that misplaced anger right where it belonged—on the bitch who had done this to them in the first place.
“Come on guys, we don't have a lot of time,” I urged gently, catching Cyrus by the arm when he swayed against me. “Deston? Is there anything you can do to speed up their recovery process?”
Deston was still healing, but we only had a few moments to get these two moving. We couldn’t beat Katarina without their help. This would take all of us.
“Ma cherie, are you sure?” Deston sounded almost like he was trying to convince me. “They are quite pleasant in this state.” He quirked an eyebrow at me suggestively. “Fontaine, especially, is delightfully absurd.”
“I heard that, asshole,” Luthor slurred. “Once I get my bearings, I’ll show you pleasant. With my fist.”
“Do you see what I mean?” Deston sighed dramatically. “We could leave them like this, you know.”
He seemed inclined to do just that, but I grinned at Luthor’s take-no-shit-attitude. My males were back. We just needed them in their right minds. “Deston, I don’t care how you do it, fix them. In the next five minutes we have to be headed toward the prison.”
I’d promised the wraith I’d deliver Katarina to him, I reminded him silently. And I mean to keep my word by delivering her in a pretty bow, all wrapped up for the taking.
Deston shot me a sideways look. I expect Vane Carpathian to make an appearance today, as well as the Dubois, and perhaps some of the Bouderaux, if they decide to get their hands dirty.
I nodded. “All the more reason to get moving.” I tipped my head toward Luthor and Cyrus, who looked like they were still trying to get their bearings.
“Your wish is my command, mon amour.” Deston slammed his hands into Luthor's chest, and the spot where his palm met Luthor’s flesh flared with light. Luthor's eyes immediately cleared, his body straightening as muscle memory took over, stiffening his spine, squaring his shoulders, his hands gripped into fists. His eyes were still glazed, but there was a growing awareness that was encouraging.
“Get the fuck off me, de Rayne.” Luthor shoved my mate away, who threw me an affronted look.
When Deston did the same to Cyrus, I winced at the hollow impact of his palm striking his cousin’s chest. Cyrus shook his head, loose blond hair tumbling, and then his face visibly cleared, his eyes back to their silver-green. Luthor was disoriented, but Cyrus…
Cyrus was in a panic, searching the room for a moment before the rigid lines of his face softened into confusion. When I went in after them, their emotions had been all over the place, their hearts racing. Luthor had been stuck in the prison, Cyrus reliving the night of Lyra’s murder.
“Hey.” I lay my hand on Cyrus’s arm. “It’s okay. You’re back now. You’re safe.” He blinked, then nodded.
A renewed sense of cold, clear hatred rippled through me.
She’d messed with me for the last fucking time.
