Darkness Embraced (21 page)

“But,” the Dracule said, “the vampires should know of their origins. Despite those of us who hold you in contempt, we are the beginning and deserve to be acknowledged as such. Your pretty little vampires would rather pretend they were not born of the King’s sacrifice than show lineage to us.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Monsters and demons, they call us. Did you know?”

Renata gracefully bowed her head. “I am not one of the vampires that agree with that, Dracule.”

“Neither am I,” I said. I placed my hand on the Dracule’s hip.

“Then will you bear my sigil?” she asked. “Will you honor my mark?”

I sat up, resting my back against the pillows. I started reaching for the gray coverlet and stopped myself, realizing why I was doing it. Surely it was not for modesty’s sake, for once you sleep with someone you lose some sense of that modesty. I had slept with both women, reaching for the coverlet was merely a thing to do to distract my mind and hide myself. I didn’t need to distract my mind or hide. I needed to consider my options and to comprehend what the Dracule was offering and what would happen if I declined that offer. It was obvious, looking back on their meeting in the hallway, the way that the Dracule had initially acted toward Renata and me, that there was bad blood between our kinds. I had not known then that the history of vampires was so tightly wedded with that of the Dracule. It was no small disrespect for the vampires to turn their backs on their true Sires.

“If what you say is true,” I said, “then should not the Dracule honor and respect the angel Azrael?”

Her expression told me plainly that she did not grasp why I would say such a thing.

“Azrael did not strip you of your immortality, no?”

She looked at me then, as if I were a spider weaving a cunning little web and she was wary of setting foot in it. “No, he did not strip us of our immortality, only the King.”

“Then should you not, as you expect our kind to honor and respect yours, honor and respect the angel Azrael?”

“What are you are saying, Epiphany?” Renata asked.

“I am saying only that the Dracule should pay their respects to Azrael, for he is the one who gave them, as well as our kind, the ability to bring mortal lovers over.”

“There is wisdom in your words,” the Dracule said. “You are saying that the vampires are not the only ones who have acted in slight and disrespect?”

“Yes,” I said, “that is what I am saying.”

I forced myself to hold her incisive gaze.

“You are avoiding answering my question.”

“You haven’t answered mine,” I said, “not fully.”

“And what question is that?”

“What does bearing your sigil entail?” I tilted my head to the side. “If you expect me to bear it, to allow you to mark me, then I need the details. I will be able to summon you, to contact you?”

“Yes.”

“Will it make me your slave?” I asked. “Will it take away my free will? Will you be able to hear my thoughts? Will you be able to communicate with me telepathically?”

Renata touched my thigh then, but not to distract me sexually, to warn me to tread cautiously.

The Dracule apparently caught the meaning of the gesture, for she said, “I know you have the death blade and I know that you are able to communicate telepathically with your Queen. I will not invade your thoughts unless you so wish me to. I will not take away your free will. I will not make you my slave.” Her dark brows furrowed thoughtfully. “Think of it as an alliance, if you will. If you bear my sigil and wear it with pride”—she placed her hand flat on my stomach—“and do not hide it from others of your kind, then I will not lay a hand on any of those you care for. I will spare them, Epiphany.”

“Is that all?” I asked.

“You will have my protection,” she said, the pupils of her eyes expanding and shrinking as a wave of frustration emitted off her.

“And what will you have?” I asked. It was imperative to state specifics when discussing such a matter.

“You,” she said.

“But you said you would not make me your slave. Am I to be at your beck and call, then?”

“No,” she said, lightly shaking her head, sending the dark tresses slithering about her waist. “We will merely have an agreement. I would prefer that you come to my bed and body willingly.” She cast that gold and black stare at Renata. “There has not been an alliance between our kinds in many years. Would you prefer that your pet reject my offer?”

Renata’s eyes were full of intellectual calculation. “I would advise her to at least consider it,” she said very carefully.

“You think I should take it?”

Her shoulders rose in a shrug. “As she says, there has not been an alliance between our kinds in a very long time, and to have such an alliance on our side is not necessarily a bad thing. When considered, the price does not seem so very high.”

“And if the price was losing me to the Dracule?” I asked. “You have never been willing to share me, Renata. I remember that very clearly.”

Renata cupped my cheek in her hand. Her fingers stroked the hair at my temple.

“Would I lose you to her, Epiphany? Have the past two centuries meant so little to you that you would turn from me and give your heart wholly to the Dracule?”

It was almost the same exact thing I’d pulled on the Dracule. Had I spent too many years as Renata’s pet that I’d accidentally picked up some of her political maneuverings, her subtle manipulations? If so, had she noticed? I looked at the Dracule. She was beautiful in a heartbreaking sort of way. Then again, so was Renata. They were both dominant and powerful, both brunette beauties with porcelain skin and unrealistically magnificent eyes. I looked at them, really looked at them, and realized that out of the two, the Dracule was surprisingly the softer beauty. She was taller than Renata, which certainly said something of her height. Yet, in her human form, she seemed closer to six feet than seven. It was not the Dracule’s body that made her the softer one, for the spaded tail and leathery wings made her appear more like some dark fallen angel, but the bones of her face. Renata was feminine in every sense of the word, but her features were positively striking. Her beauty was sharper, more immediate. The Dracule’s was more subtle, slowly creeping over one.

Would my harsh and beautiful Queen lose me to the touch of the Dracule?

“You know me. Do you think you will lose me to her?”

Renata smiled gently. “No. You are attracted to her, intrigued by her. I would expect nothing less.” The gentle smile stretched into something more wry. “As I do know your type, Epiphany.”

“And what is your type?” the Dracule asked. “Do I not fit it?”

Renata laughed and leaned over, tracing the Dracule’s obsidian brow.

“If you did not, she would not have bedded you.”

“Is that true?”

I licked my lips, because she was staring at me, which made me feel strangely uncomfortable. “Yes. It is true.”

“Not many vampires would admit to such a thing,” she said, gold and onyx eyes so intense that I wanted to fidget.

“I am not one of them.”

“Prove it,” she said at length. “Accept my mark.”

“You will spare all our people?”

“Yes.”

“You will tell me the gender of the one who summoned you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me the gender first. Was it a woman?”

The Dracule began moving closer. “No.” She shook her head.

“A man?” I asked, as if there were any other options. If it was a man then obviously it was not Lucrezia. If it was not Lucrezia, who then?

“Yes.”

I bowed my head. “Then give me your mark, Dracule.”

I had no idea what to expect when the Dracule took my wrist. She raised my wrist to her mouth and before her lips touched my skin I knew she was going to bite me. I forced my body to relax. Fangs like oversized thorns sank into my skin. I gasped, eyes fluttering as the blood pumped out of my wrist. With her fangs sheathed inside of me, she locked her mouth around the wound and sucked at it, encouraging the flow of my blood.

It was, and wasn’t, similar to what Renata had done to my back. What was similar was that the wound began to burn. It burned with a power that was as hot and piercing as the fangs that had been driven into my flesh. The Dracule unhinged her fangs like a snake and I balled my fist in the blankets, fighting not to cry out in pain. She locked her mouth around the wound again, only this time the tip of her tongue darted out, dancing through the red blood on my white skin. I felt the wounds closing, felt the blood no longer flowing out of each hole every time my heart beat. It seemed as if time had slowed. I watched the Dracule back away from my wrist. Her eyes opened and her lips parted. She let out a breath that was as warm as a summer breeze.

The blood burned and pain returned like fiery needles. I drove my teeth into my bottom lip, sealing my mouth on a sound of pain. My blood bubbled at my wrist as if it were boiling. It burned like a brand before it sank into my skin, like water poured over earth.

The Dracule’s eyes met mine and the gold in them seemed like liquid flowing around black marble strokes. The look she gave me was darkly ardent. Her eyes flicked to my wrist and I looked. The blood darkened until it was as black as ink. It began to move as if it were crawling beneath my skin. Her sigil shaped itself like black vines flowing and curving on my skin.

What the sigil was of, I could not comprehend. I thought it was letters, but no letters I knew were quite so strange. The last black shape arched like a scythe spreading out toward the base of my wrist. When the lines stopped moving it looked like nothing more than an elegant tattoo.

“What is it?” I asked, admiring the dark ink against my white skin.

“It is the mark of my name.”

One long line curved symbol like the delicate arch of a flower’s stem.

“What is your name?”

“Iliaria.”

“It does not look like your name to me,” I said in a puzzled whisper.

“It is in no alphabet you would understand.”

“So it is an alphabet?”

Gracefully, she dipped her head.

“Why does it tingle?”

It tingled and itched very unpleasantly. It wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable enough that I wanted to scratch at my wrist.

“To let you know I am near. You will feel the mark whenever I am near. You may use that mark to call upon me.” She ran the tip of her finger over the graceful flowing letters.

“How do I do that?”

“You have but to think of me and I will know it.”

“You said that you would not invade my thoughts.”

“I said I would not invade your thoughts unless you wanted me to do so. By thinking of me, you invoke me.”

Iliaria left. Fretting for Vasco, I had asked questions about the vampire she had taken. Based on the description she revealed to Renata, it was blessedly not Vasco and had been some Underling I did not know. Mayhap, I should have cared more, but the truth was I didn’t, not as much as I would have had it been Vasco. It was regretful, yes, but I was relieved that it was not my only friend.

Renata and I were alone in her room. Renata stood. She paused by the two solid black doors that led to the bathroom.

“I need to bathe, Epiphany.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Is that an invitation?”

The corner of her appealing mouth rose. “Once, you would not have had to ask such a question. You would have simply followed.” She held her hand out to me. “Yes, Epiphany, it is an invitation.”

I took the hand she offered and allowed her to lead me through the doors. The Sotto did not have electricity. However, there were those of our kind some years ago that saw fit to invent some kind of crude plumbing. There were toilets, for us as well as the Donatore. Though we vampires did not excrete solid waste, there was water in blood that was released in a rather humanly fashion. When the Sottos had first been built, away from the rural places and hidden in nature, the earliest of our kind had seen the necessity of having water and grounds to hunt. It was not for us, but the Donatore, for they were human and needed to eat and drink.

Following the advancement of the modern world, we learned to dig and bury pipes, connecting them to rivers that were in constant rich supply. It was for that reason Sottos were almost always found near a natural water supply, no matter where they were in the world.

I had never seen the pipes myself, nor did I know how they had obtained the materials, though I imagine that had somewhat to do with the Cacciatori.

The water was cool or warm, never hot. When one took into consideration that we did not feel the cold as mortals do, it was not such a great downside. Of course, I’d never asked the Donatore if it bothered them overmuch. They did have more rustic means to heat whatever water they needed, if they so desired.

Renata set the stopper in the tub before turning the chrome handle. The water spilled in a rapid flow from the carving set into the wall. The carving was of a lion’s head and the water spilled from its gaping maw.

She stepped over the high edge of the bath and beckoned me with a glance. Renata swept her hair aside, guiding the cloak of silk over one slim white shoulder.