Vanquished (32 page)

She fell to her knees beside him and felt her spirit crash back into her body.

“Holgar!”

He was alive; she knew he was alive. She didn’t know if she felt it or if someone had told her, but she knew that
much. But to look at him he seemed lifeless. He was wrapped in dressings, and the sheets were pulled up to his chin. The only part of him that she could see was his head. His face was gray, and jagged blue lines crossed his cheeks and forehead. His lips and eyelids were nearly purple.

Father Juan appeared behind her and gripped her shoulders tightly. His voice was fierce, piercing through her fog.

“We’ve done everything we can for him, Skye, but he was shot with a shell filled with silver pellets. We’ve dug out as many of them as we can. But there are a couple around his heart that we can’t reach. We’re afraid that if they touch his heart, he’ll die.”

“If they touch his heart,
I’ll
die,” she whispered.

“One of the monks is a doctor. He performed the surgery. He’s tried everything in his power.”

Skye took a deep breath. “But you haven’t tried everything in my power.”

She lifted her hands and placed them on Holgar’s chest. She drove her energy, her senses, deep inside until she could feel the silver. Father Juan was right—the pellet was less than a hair’s breadth from his heart. Anything could be enough to drive it in, even moving him, or if he breathed too deeply.

She closed her eyes and centered herself.

“Skye, no,” she heard Father Juan protest. “I know what you’re going to attempt. It could kill you as well.”

Ignoring Father Juan—this was not his battle—she began to call the silver to her, pulling it away from Holgar’s heart, out of his flesh. It didn’t budge at first, so she dug deeper. Still nothing. She took a deep breath and linked her body up with Holgar’s. She had done it so many times to heal other wounds, which were so small by comparison. Her body convulsed in agony as she felt what the silver poisoning was doing to him.

If it stayed in, even if it didn’t move, it was going to kill him. She pulled and pushed, feeling as though the silver were ripping a path through her own chest. She screamed with the pain of it.

She could feel a warmth and healing filling the room and realized that Father Juan and her witches had joined her and were lending their energies, their healing, their prayers to the task at hand.

With them behind her, and Holgar’s life in her hands, there was no way Skye could fail.

A piece of silver flew from Holgar’s chest and hit the wall on the opposite side of the room, falling harmlessly to the floor. She kept going. The muscles around her own heart began to cramp and contract, causing uncontrollable spasms. She nearly lost her grip on the remaining bits of silver, which threatened to fall back to their resting place. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself harder.

She began to shake violently, and her control slipped even more. Then there was a massive shudder from Holgar’s
body, and she cried out in anguish. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, fighting to concentrate.

When she opened them again, she was staring straight into Holgar’s eyes. He could see her. His lips twitched, trying to form her name.

It was all she needed. With a shout she yanked the remaining pieces of silver free.

Instantly, Holgar’s body began to change. The blue veins receded; the purple lifted from his lids and mouth. Faint color rose in his cheeks. She felt the healing, far slower than she’d ever known his body to repair itself, but at least it was happening.

She collapsed with her head on his chest and sobbed in relief. After a moment she felt a hand come down on the back of her head.

“I missed you,” Holgar said.

She looked up at him. He smiled faintly, and then closed his eyes and slipped into a deep, healing sleep.

After a minute Skye staggered to her feet. There were gasps, and several of the witches close to her fell back a step. She glanced down and saw that the front of her shirt was covered in blood—her own blood. As she had been doing to his body, so she had also been doing to her own body. The pain sent a wave of nausea through her, but she managed to keep her feet.

“I’ll be fine,” she slurred.

And that was when she realized that she hadn’t broken her
connection with Holgar. Her body started healing faster than it should have without magick. She breathed in and realized it was in time with his breath. Skye knew she should break the connection, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not yet.

She sat down wearily on the edge of Holgar’s bed. Father Juan took her hand and squeezed it. Gently she let go of him, to maintain the link with Holgar.

The crowd parted, and Jenn made her way through. She looked older and more exhausted than Skye had ever seen her. Jenn looked from her to Holgar and back again.

“Thank you,” Jenn said. Beside her, Father Juan and another priest gazed down at Skye.

Skye forced a smile. “That’s what teammates are for.”

Jenn glanced around meaningfully. “It looks like you brought us a lot of new ones.”

“Yes, I’ll introduce you all later,” Skye said, struggling to keep her eyes open. She gave up and let herself sink back, her head on Holgar’s thigh. A moment later she, too, was asleep.

As Skye slept with her head on his thigh, Holgar gave permission for another visitor to see him. Viorica paused when she saw Skye, then smiled at Holgar.

“I heard that you were shot.” She spoke in Russian, her voice soft, almost a purr. “I swear to you that I had nothing to do with it. The werewolves who tricked you were Radu’s followers, trying to get back in the good graces of the vampires. They have been dealt with.”

“I believe you,” he murmured. He marveled at the sound of his own voice. For a while he had thought he would never speak again.

“We’re ready to stand and fight Lucifer with you. I have a plan.”

He listened.

Skye stirred and slowly opened her eyes. Viorica studied her a moment, then smiled again.

“Thank you for saving Holgar,” she said to Skye. She gave Holgar a pointed look and left the room.

“I’ve studied his blood for hours, run so many tests. I’m telling you, there’s nothing different about it,” Dantalion told Lucifer, his voice tired and irritated.

“There must be something,” Lucifer insisted.

Sitting out of their range of vision, Aurora just shook her head. Were they willfully ignorant? It had nothing to do with the blood and everything to do with the heart. Antonio’s heart was pure, still fixed on his God and his precious Jenn. Love wasn’t in the blood; it was in the heart and soul and spirit. It couldn’t be measured or calculated or observed.

But it could be tested.

She rose to her feet and went to join the two men. The magnificent welcoming party she had planned would be starting soon, and she wanted to make sure that it was a success. A girl needed something to obsess about, after all. She’d been pushed out of the high-level discussions between Dantalion and Lucifer, treated like nothing more than a pretty companion, a plaything. Had Lucifer forgotten the many times she’d crossed his enemies off a very long list? The centuries maintaining her own court? Surviving the forced unmasking of the vampire race itself by that interloper, Solomon?

Yes. Yes, he had forgotten all of it.

So far it had been a very irritating, infuriating, disappointing day, and when she had discovered that the black sequined gown she had planned to wear to the festivities was missing, she’d almost risked her luck and taken it out on Flavia by ripping off her head.

But she had restrained herself, barely, and settled for nearly draining someone she’d mesmerized not to tell. It didn’t make her feel any better, though. She just wished she could figure out what had happened to her dress.

Instead she was wearing a red dress, strapless, hugging her curves. True, red was her signature color, but she’d been in the mood for something darker. And Lucifer always complimented her when she wore black.

“Gentlemen, shall we?” she said as she walked up to the pair. Lucifer wore a long black robe, as had the Spanish
gentlemen of their time. Dantalion had on a tuxedo, which didn’t suit him at all. He still looked like the Russian peasant he’d been in life.

Dantalion swept admiring eyes over her, which irritated Aurora more than usual because Lucifer didn’t.

But Lucifer gave her his arm, and together they walked to the great hall of Castle Bran, where more than two hundred of their illustrious guests were gathered. She nodded at so many she knew from her own dealings: Vampire princes, clan leaders, rulers of vast territories, powerful renegade loners—all had been summoned in anticipation of the great battle. Back home their generals were massing their armies, preparing to lay waste to humanity. Lucifer was ready too. Nothing could stop him. From the words of the master himself:

For it is written that in the Blood Times we shall walk in the light with our gods, and all shall be as has been foretold. We cast down the scourge of humanity, and inherit the earth. This is our holy calling, and our crusade.

Lucifer himself had written those words centuries before her birth. How old he was, she didn’t know, nor if he had preceded other births important to humanity—generals and saviors.

Glancing at him—stately, magnificent—Aurora shivered with excitement. She’d been foolish to fear reprisals
for losing Antonio. She had always been Lucifer’s favorite. Together they would savor these fine moments before he took down the human race and killed that moron Solomon. Tonight he would reveal his plan of attack. He would signal the next step in his unholy crusade to establish the Vampire Kingdom on earth. Solomon had forced them to this day by stepping out of the shadows . . . but this glorious moment would have come to pass eventually. Lucifer was the anointed, and she was his beloved. At least she was at his side, if not in his war room.

When the trio entered, it was impossible not to feel like royalty, especially when everyone stopped to applaud. The great hall was festooned with black and red bunting and hundreds, if not thousands, of winter roses. Gold and black cages held sumptuous humans collected especially for the feast—elite soldiers, athletes, celebrities, fashion models. The so-called “beautiful people” of a doomed race.

The assembled vampires were even more beautiful. Black candles in gold candelabra shone down on the overlords of territories who had flown in from all over the world to stand with her sire on this momentous occasion. They were brilliant, ruthless survivors, one and all. They stood arrayed in splendid gowns, perfectly cut tuxedos, and exotic robes.

The applause was for Lucifer, of course, but she could dream that it was also for her. As Lucifer accepted the accolades, she regally inclined her head.

“Lucifer! Lucifer!” the crowd cried. Some were so moved by the night and all it meant that tears of blood dribbled down their faces.
“Lucifer!”

Vampires came forward to embrace him, to drop to his feet. The rafters shook. Vampire after vampire kissed both of Aurora’s cheeks, shook her hand, embraced her.

“Lucifer!”

They were halfway into the room when her eyes fell on a young woman she didn’t recognize wearing a stunning black dress.

Aurora blinked in shock.

Wearing
her
dress.

* * *

Heather knew from the way the other Cursed Ones and the human servants were looking at her that she was breathtaking in the black gown. The reaction she was waiting for, though, was Aurora’s. When the vampire came in on the arm of Lucifer and saw her, Heather was rewarded by the look of outrage on her face.

Aurora froze, and Lucifer cast a surprised and irritated glance at her.

“Why is she wearing my dress?” Aurora asked in clipped, precise syllables, sounding very Spanish, very . . . human.

Heather smiled, because she had caught Aurora completely off guard and the “queen” was showing her own weakness. And because Heather had more than one secret planned for the bitch.

Lucifer raised a hand, signaling silence. The tumult in the room faded away.

As the party guests murmured quietly with fascination, Heather stepped forward grandly. All the glowing red eyes in the room were on her . . . including Lucifer’s, whose gaze swept her from head to toe. She glanced at him from underneath her lashes and was rewarded by the smile that curved his lips.

“Why are you wearing my dress?” Aurora said again.

“Because I look so much better in it than you do,” Heather responded.

A hush fell over the crowd as Heather came to stand within a couple of feet of Lucifer and his lady.

Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” she asked.

Heather dimpled. “Don’t you recognize me?”

She could see the confusion in Aurora’s eyes: Heather was familiar, but she couldn’t place her.

Panic started creeping into Aurora’s voice. “No.”

“Next time you keep someone in a cage for days on end, you should bother to look at them once in a while,” Heather said, lifting her chin.

Understanding slowly dawned on Aurora’s face.

Heather took a step closer. “That’s right. My name is Heather Leitner. My sister is Jenn Leitner. And once upon a time I prayed that she would kill you.”

“And now?” Lucifer asked, amusement thick in his voice as Aurora took a step backward . . . or tried to. Lucifer held her fast.

“Now I’m ever so grateful that she didn’t.”

Just as Aurora started to look relieved, Heather struck. In one swift move she grabbed the stake hidden in her skirt and plunged it into Aurora’s heart. “Because now
I
can,” Heather hissed as Aurora turned to ash.

The crowd erupted. Heather took a step back and closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of victory. She heard the screams and shouts around her, and waited for death. If it came, it came.