Bloodcraft (2 page)

Victoria had once called their love “impossible” and that wasn’t far from the truth. But despite the odds, they made it work because the alternative of life without each other was not an option either of them were willing to accept. She stared out the window, her heart aching. She could never leave him, no matter how lonely she got.

On cue, she felt the soft mental brush on her senses as Christian’s car pulled up the long driveway leading into the estate. Victoria raced down the curving staircase to the foyer and flung herself into his arms as he was walking through the doorway. His blond hair was unkempt as if he’d scrubbed his hand through it a thousand times—as he was wont to do anytime he met with the Vampire Council—but his tired gray eyes sparked at the sight of her.

“I’ve missed you, chérie,” he murmured, his lips soft against her temple.

Despite her pleasure at seeing him, Victoria couldn’t help herself, the snappy comment slipping out before she could curb her tongue. “Well, you wouldn’t as much if you took me with you.”

Christian kissed the top of her head with a deep sigh, and she instantly regretted her outburst. It was no secret that the last few weeks had been hard for both of them. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “It’s just … hard. And lonely.”

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, tipping her face up to his. “But it’s too dangerous. Lucian hasn’t recovered from your blood attacking him or forgotten what happened in New York. He’s unforgiving at the best of times. I can’t take the chance that he won’t retaliate in some way. At least here, there are safeguards in place for your protection.” Something dark flickered in Christian’s eyes at the memory and Victoria cringed. Her witch blood had tried to murder Lucian through possession of Christian, and despite his casual manner, she knew that he had yet to recover. She bit her lip as he continued. “But I do have some good news. I invited Aliya to have dinner with us tomorrow night.”

Victoria brightened. Aliya was a high priestess of a witch coven in Paris, whom Victoria had briefly met during her last visit to Paris, and was someone that she had been looking forward to seeing during this trip to France.

“How did you get her to come?” she asked.

Christian smiled. “Simple. I told her you were here with me. She has been looking forward to spending more time with you since La Défense. And I know you have questions for her, too.”

“I didn’t think she would want to see me after the last time. I was pretty rude.” She glanced up at Christian, a twinge of embarrassment winding through her. Aliya had had the unfortunate timing to be there when Victoria found out about Lena—Christian’s vampire progeny—and Victoria hadn’t left the best impression. She shrugged off the sour recollection. “I’m surprised she agreed, but glad. She’s the only witch I’ve met, and I want to ask her so many things about magic and energy, and who I am, and … you know … all of it.”

“I agree, it will be good for you,” Christian said, shedding his jacket in the foyer and walking toward the back of the house. She followed. He sat on one of the chairs in the bright kitchen that looked out onto the rambling, expertly manicured gardens. Removing his cufflinks and rolling the cuffs on his shirt, he watched her with a smile on his face as she chewed the ends of her nails. “You have nothing to be nervous about, Tori,” he said as if he could sense the anxiety spearing through her. “Stop driving yourself mad.”

“But she knows about us. I sensed it that last time. Won’t she be against it? Against us?” Victoria asked.

“Chérie, she accepted my invitation—our invitation—in full possession of all her faculties. If she does know, then perhaps she is withholding any judgment until she can make up her mind for herself. Now come here,” he said in a deliberate voice that made butterflies erupt in her belly.

She complied, sitting in his lap at the table and winding her fingers through the soft strands of hair at his temple. “Yes, Your Grace?” she said demurely.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, especially when I was stuck in that boardroom with a handful of very serious and grouchy Elders. All I could think about was this.” His fingers grazed up her bare arm, making her pulse leap and the blood rush to the surface of her skin, every cell responding to his touch. “And this.” They lingered at her throat for the briefest of moments before stroking across her jaw and mouth. Her lips parted against them, her tongue darting out to moisten his fingertip, and his silver eyes flared. Christian bent his head and she closed her eyes. “And especially
this
.”

The minute he kissed her, she forgot everything. All she could do was melt into him, her lips parting beneath the pressure of his. Her body felt like it was separating into a thousand pieces as his mouth claimed hers, gently at first and then less so as desire took over. He nibbled her lips, drawing them between his, and then kissed her deeply. She arched against him. Christian’s fingers dug into her arms, drawing her to him as the tip of his tongue traced a hot path down her jawline, and then lower still. Her heart caught and slowed, his hot breath fanning against the hollow of her throat. Her pulse there leapt toward his lips.

Stop now
.

She didn’t know whether the ragged thought was hers or his, only that it was a warning, a desperate one. Breathless, Victoria pulled away from his grasp, her fiery blood racing like a wanton river, and struggled to control its wild surges. She knew it was daring him to take it. That was what her blood did—it taunted and tortured. Inhaling deeply, she licked her tingling lips and stared at him, her chest heaving. Christian’s eyes were stormy silver, latent hunger darkening their edges as his bloodlust rose in response to the dark call of blood.
Her
blood.

With a frustrated growl, he gently but firmly separated their bodies, composing himself with a harsh breath. Victoria sighed and leaned back against the table, watching a muscle work in his jaw. It should be getting easier, but it only seemed to be getting harder—
and riskier
—for them to be together. Every touch, every look, every
kiss
drew them closer to the edge of the abyss from which there would be no return—one mistake and one of them would die. Victoria took his cool hands in hers.

“I love you,” she said as his hands trembled in hers. Touching his cheek, she climbed off his lap, putting some space between them. Despite the distance, she could feel her blood churning wildly, tempting him, inciting him to take it, and she shivered at the volatility of it. Her blood’s siren call was near impossible to resist, and she knew how hard it was for him. He’d once told her that he’d risk the consequences of her blood’s appeal because he couldn’t deprive himself of never being able to touch her.

Seeing the savage transformation in his face and the tips of teeth pressing into his lower lip, she wondered whether he still thought the same. Christian stood and kissed her fingers, and with the ever-present apology in his eyes, excused himself from the room. Victoria watched him leave, his long, lithe body loping with an easy grace across the back gardens into the forest beyond.

The château sat at the edge of the Fontainebleau forest, which, as in the days of old, continued to fulfill its function as a royal hunting park, for Christian’s purposes anyway. She pressed a finger to her lips, the impression of his lingering on them. Sometimes she felt like the vampire, as if she were the one who couldn’t get enough of
him
. And most times, she didn’t know if those feelings were hers or those of her blood. Given the chance, her blood would devour Christian’s very essence until there was nothing left.

It thrummed in her veins as if sensing her ominous thoughts, its hunger unabated and ever-present. It, too, was voracious and would consume anything to sate its dark thirst—even the one she loved. Victoria shivered, wrapping her arms about herself and staring toward the forest lost in thought. She wasn’t afraid of Christian or the fact that he was a vampire. After all, she was more of a monster than he could ever be.

TWO

Desperate Measures

An hour away from Fontainebleau, Lucian stalked into the study of his palatial Paris apartment, seething with frustration. He poured himself two fingers of brandy and swallowed the amber liquid in one sip. Things were not going according to plan. Despite Lena’s new position on the Vampire Council secured by the House of Devereux, it seemed once again, that he had underestimated the Council’s suspicion of his motives. Lena had just imparted the news that the Council had been reorganized and enlarged.

With the death of Enhard, a respected Elder, the Council had been split into two groups, with the seven remaining Elders forming an additional line above the members of the general council. Together with the three vampires of royal blood, they were to be called the High Council. While the general council was expected to handle most of the standard affairs, the purpose of the High Council was to act as a final arbiter. In addition, the general council had also been expanded to twenty-five members. Previously a combined total of just twenty members, with the new changes, the governing body for the vampires was now a multi-layered organization of thirty-five.

The intent was not lost on Lucian. He knew that the reorganization was a calculated, strategic move by the Council to attempt to diffuse the power of the House of Devereux. His nomination of Lena had only forced their hand. They couldn’t remove her seat, so they had gone the only route available to them—creating the High Council to discuss information that Lena and, by default, he, Lucian, would not be privy to.

To make matters worse, his brother’s recent return to Paris meant that as a vampire royal, Christian would claim a seat on the High Council. Even though they both descended from royal blood, Christian was first-born and held the title of the Duke of Avigny. It infuriated Lucian that he wasn’t the one to hold the station when Christian had never wanted it in the first place and had renounced their ways, to the point of disappearing in some desolate town in North America. And yet, they all revered him.

Lucian scraped his hands through his cropped golden hair, his mouth pulled into a sneer. And now, his prodigal brother had returned, and with a witch as his consort, no less. Although Lucian’s own credibility with the Council was at an all time low, given that they had unanimously voted for his execution just a few months before, he vowed that he’d find a way to rip Christian from his venerated pedestal. That witch would be the key.

Striding to the window to peruse the sea of bodies on the street below, a familiar ache started to burn in his chest. His jaw tightened. Perhaps a meal would calm his rotten temper. He’d just made up his mind to go for a stroll when the door opened and Lena walked in. Her pale skin held a becoming flush as she glowed with stolen radiance.

“Did you just feed?” he asked sourly.

Lena’s mouth thinned at his tone, but she headed over to where he was standing. “Yes. Care for some?”

She embraced him, her blue eyes flashing at the sharp feral hunger in his. Lena knew he liked it this way—it gave him a thrill to take something that she had just taken into herself moments before. Without a word, she tilted the long column of her neck backward in silent invitation. Her fingers bit into his shoulders when he sank his teeth into the side of her throat, feeling the still-warm life course into him as he crushed her unbreakable body to his.

It felt like hours before he emerged from the desperate feeding haze that enveloped him, but Lucian knew that it had only been moments. He felt better. Clearer.
Calmer
. As much as he liked taking blood directly from the humans, he enjoyed it this way, too. Something about the combination—desire and bloodlust—was an electrifying mix. He licked her neck, sweeping away the last weeping droplets from her translucent skin.

“Better?” she asked, fixing her hair and watching him, her expression unreadable.

“Yes, thank you.”

Lena straightened and walked towards the fireplace where she sat down and studied him. The wound on her neck healed in seconds and the flush that had tinted her skin earlier disappeared, leaving her perfect face like pristine alabaster. Her long pale blond hair fell in a silky curtain over her shoulders. She waited for him to speak.

“What of the Council? Have they discussed Le Sang Noir?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.

“Yes and no,” she said, her husky voice low. Lucian raised his eyebrows at her answer. Le Sang Noir was what the Witch Clans called the Cruentus Curse—the terrible blood curse that had been his obsession for decades. Only when he’d finally found it, his
brother
had been the one to take its power. And even though its terrifying magic had almost destroyed them both, Lucian could never forgive Christian for claiming what was meant to be his … for always taking what was his.

His fists clenched as Lena continued. “The Council is close, based on what the Watchers are saying, but the Witch Clans have not been able to identify the witch from the prophecy. They are still looking,” she added. “Even though she’s right under their noses.”