Читать книгу Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night - Jennifer Armintrout, Jennifer Armintrout - Страница 22

Happy New Year

When I woke the next night, Cyrus was gone. I curled into the space he’d vacated, expecting warmth but finding none. Of course. Vampire. No body heat. I sat up, chuckling at my stupidity, but my good mood vanished at the sight of Dahlia leaning against the closed door.

“What are you doing?” I pulled the sheets up to my chest and groped through the bedclothes for my nightgown.

Dahlia’s face was emotionless, and she didn’t make eye contact with me. “Do you love him?”

I had no idea what to say that wouldn’t set her into a flying rage. I hoped the truth was good enough. “No.”

“Then why are you still here?” She kicked the door with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“I can’t leave.”

“I wish you could.” She laughed, not in the crazy way I’d heard before, but in a dry, bitter laugh of weariness. “I wish I could.”

“You can.” I felt a little guilty for lying to her. In less than twenty-four hours, I planned to have her fed to the Soul Eater. I bolstered my resolve by remembering the time she’d stabbed me in the gut, burned down my apartment, attacked Nathan, and the fact she was pretty much the reason I was stuck here.

She looked me straight in the eye. “Are you familiar with the Stockholm Syndrome?”

Am I ever. I nodded. “It’s when the victim of a hostage situation forms an attachment to her captor.”

“You probably think that’s what’s going on here, right?” She ran a hand over her mussed curls.

“Maybe,” I said quietly, reaching for Cyrus’s robe at the end of the bed.

Her eyes dropped to the black silk in my hands, and narrowed when I pulled the robe over my shoulders. But she didn’t move from the door, or cease her cadenced kicking. “You don’t know shit about why I’m here.”

“Dahlia,” I began, wetting my parched lips. I needed to feed, and soon. Her plump neck was beginning to look far too good for my liking. “Are you in love with Cyrus?”

“I didn’t know he was a vampire. Not before.” She pressed her palm to her forehead as tears slid down her face. “He told me he loved me.”

I tied the robe and hurried from the bed over to her. I didn’t know what else I could do but stand beside her and offer a shoulder to cry on in her misery. “He probably did—does—love you.”

She sniffled. “He was fascinated with me, with my power. And now I’m trapped here.”

“He’s afraid of you,” I blurted. Her face was the picture of hopelessness, and it broke my heart. As much as I disliked Dahlia, I sympathized with her. “He’s afraid of your power. That’s why he won’t turn you.”

“I know,” she snapped. “But that doesn’t help me, does it.”

“It could. There are going to be a hundred vampires here tomorrow night. If you could find just one of them to turn you, you could get away from Cyrus.” The thought of Dahlia with unlimited power smacked me in the cerebral cortex about a half a second too late. But the words were already out there and I couldn’t take them back.

To my relief, she shook her head and her old venom returned. “Right. Because it’s so easy to just get a vampire to make a fledgling.”

I couldn’t help my sarcastic reply. “It was for me.”

In an instant, her hand left a stinging impression on my cheek. Her eyes flashing with rage, she whirled around and waved at the air as though she were batting away a fly. The door flew back, practically tearing off the hinges, and she stalked into the dark anteroom.

Trembling, I pulled Cyrus’s robe tighter around me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d either just performed an incredible act of mercy or made a huge mistake.

Saturday night arrived with a flurry of flamboyantly gay party planners and confused teenagers who thought they’d been invited to a rave. The former were led quietly around the side of the mansion to set up a garden party in nearly freezing temperatures, and the latter were lured into the house with promises of alcohol and social drugs. Ziggy and I stood on the balcony in the foyer and watched as guards herded a group of the hapless victims toward the cellar.

“So I’m basically toast, is that what you’re telling me?” Ziggy wore a neatly pressed dress shirt and slacks, a stylish black tie draped around his neck. Even with the change in wardrobe, he looked antisocial and slightly intimidating. But not to those who knew him well. I could practically see the word fear written across his forehead.

I hoped he didn’t share my keen insight. I wouldn’t seem so reassuring if he could tell my insides shook like barren branches in the winter wind. “You’re not toast. I get to pick who the Soul Eater takes. Cyrus will turn Dahlia, and then he’ll throw you to the crowd. It’s all very simple.”

“Right.” Ziggy stretched the word out. “Thrown on the mercy of hungry vampires. And yet I’m somehow missing the part where I’m not toast.”

“You know how to fight, and Nathan will get here in time. Don’t worry about it. I’m not.” I was, but there was no point letting him know that.

“What about the secret service down there?” Ziggy pointed toward the guards below. “Nate and those guys can’t touch them. They’re human.”

“Then they’ll be easier to subdue,” I pointed out. “Besides, there aren’t many of them here tonight.” It was a protective measure, Clarence had told me before he’d left for the guardhouse earlier in the evening. Fewer humans meant less chance of a feeding frenzy. Most of the guards had been dismissed already. The mansion now ran with a skeleton crew on hazard pay.

It seemed a little strange that Cyrus would leave the party so vulnerable. Of course, there was the Soul Eater’s own security team. They were apparently scary enough that Cyrus felt comfortable entrusting them to guard a house full of Movement exiles on the most notorious night of the year.

Again, another fact Ziggy didn’t need to worry about. “Now, get back to the room before somebody mistakes you for cattle.”

His eyes were fixed on the herd in the foyer. “You’d think someone would miss these kids.”

“I guess he moves the party around every year. He said he can’t stay in one place for long without people getting suspicious.” Then the sadness in Ziggy’s words made me realize he wasn’t referring to the teenagers below us. “Nathan does miss you. He loves you.”

“Yeah, well. I guess we’ll find out tonight, huh?” With a grimace, he shoved off the banister and headed toward the hallway.

I wanted to follow him, to go into my room, lock the door and sleep wherever I fell. I’d spent the day with a pillow over my head, trying to drown out the sound of Cyrus cursing and shouting in his room as he agonized over every new development, from parking to table decorations, until I was as stressed about the party as he was.

If he thought things were going badly now, I couldn’t wait to see how he reacted when his uninvited guests showed up.

There was no telling how events would turn out. In just a few hours I could be safely away from this house and all the temptation inside. Or I could be dead. Ziggy could be dead. Cyrus could be dead. Hell, we could all be dead at the same time from some freak accident. I wasn’t ruling anything out.

To get my mind off such grim meditations, and because guests had begun to arrive, I went to my room to dress in the new gown Cyrus had bought me for the occasion. When Clarence had delivered the garment, all my bad feelings about the night had multiplied. It was a floor-length, red-and-black ball gown with thin shoulder straps and a tiered tulle skirt. I’d quickly zipped up the garment bag and assured myself it wasn’t so bad.

I was wrong. In fact, it was much worse on second observation.

“I’m going to look like a ballerina from hell,” I whined out loud as I picked at the sequined bodice.

Not to mention the fact that running—hell, even standing—in the shoes he’d bought to match would be impossible, at best.

I pulled the offending footwear from the box with a frown. I slipped the patent leather pointe slippers onto my feet and wrapped the deep red ribbons around my calves. They would have been comfortable if it weren’t for the tall spiked heel that ensured I stood on perfect tiptoe.

I teetered into the sitting room where Ziggy stood like a real gentleman, an expression of pure disbelief on his face. “You look really good.”

“Thanks.” I touched my hair self-consciously, checking to make sure the long, blond strands remained in the French braid I’d put them in. “I feel like a clown.”

“You look like a Goth boy’s wet dream. Hell, I’d go straight if you made an offer right now.”

For a moment, his wicked smile reminded me so much of Nathan it seemed impossible they weren’t blood related. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And I’ll pass.”

There was a soft knock at the door. I called out permission to enter, expecting Clarence.

One of the guards opened the door instead. “The Master wants you in the foyer, so you can greet his father.”

I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on my skirt. “The Soul Eater is here?”

“Master Seymour is in transit,” the man corrected me in a warning tone.

“Fine,” I replied with an equally stony glare. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

The door closed, but I knew the guard waited outside. I motioned Ziggy closer. “When they bring you down for the party, stay close to me, because—”

“Because I’m your life insurance policy. I know, I know.” He blew out a long breath. “You’re not going to change your mind at the last minute and let them eat me, right?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” My heart felt like a solid mass of lead in my chest, and I reached out impulsively to hug him.

His back tensed beneath my arms as his breath hitched. The little boy that still lived in some deeply buried part of him appreciated the comfort. But I wouldn’t offer him empty reassurances. I had no idea what would happen, and I wouldn’t pretend to. “I’ve got to go downstairs.”

I wouldn’t allow myself to look back as I went to the door. The guard waited to escort me, as though I didn’t know the way on my own. He walked fast and didn’t offer me his arm, so I kept up as best as I could without spraining my ankles.

Teetering precariously down the stairs, I caught a glimpse of the guests that were gathered in the foyer. Vampires of various ages chattered among themselves in excitement. Everywhere I looked I saw expensive fur and jewels in exotic styles. Even the Fangs seemed to have dressed for the occasion, though they probably would still be kicked out of higher-end truck stops for breaching the dress code.

Cyrus stood at the front doors. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt his excitement at the prospect of reuniting with his father, and the nagging fear that something seemed out of place, that something wouldn’t go right. I pushed through the crowd with an air of confidence. It wouldn’t do any good to let him sense my own anxiousness and have all of Nathan’s planning go down the drain at the eleventh hour.

I wobbled on my spiky heels and fell against a slender vampire with a bald head. Two small horns protruded from his forehead, and his thin black mustache quirked in annoyance. He looked like the cartoon devil on a package of Red Hots. “Excuse me,” I said, struggling to right myself and not stare.

When I finally reached his side, Cyrus slipped his arm around my waist. He pulled me close and kissed my cheek. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks. But maybe next time you could let me pick the footwear.” I peeked distractedly at the vampires around us. “Who are all these people?”

He waved dismissively. “Friends of Father’s, friends of mine. Allies, acquaintances. The Fangs.”

I smiled at the disgust in his voice. “Aw, but they’re wearing their Sunday best. Are they all vampires?”

“Yes, but some are mutts.”

“Mutts?” I looked back at the horned man. “As in mixed with something else?”

“Mmm. The vampire you just collided with has some demon ancestry. There are some lupins here, as well.” He wrinkled his nose. “Do take care around them, they’re liable to hump your leg.”

“Lupins?” I remembered something Nathan had told me. “You mean werewolves?”

Cyrus shushed me. “Werewolf-vampire hybrids. But that’s not the politically correct term. Lupins are making great strides at becoming semicivilized, and they prefer not to be lumped in with their lesser wolven brethren. My God, those creatures are still living in the woods, running in packs. Who would want to be associated with them?”

A guard stepped forward. “Sir? They’re approaching.”

Cyrus took a deep breath and turned to me. “Are you ready?”

I wasn’t certain what I was supposed to be ready for, but I nodded. Still firmly clamped to his side, I walked with him as guards opened the doors.

The night air was cold as it hit us on the top step. In the moonlight, I saw the gate at the end of the driveway open. A long sedan pulled up, followed by a hearse. Another sedan completed the motorcade. They rolled to a stop at the top of the drive, the hearse in position in front of the door.

Eight men, identical in height, features and their black suits, exited the cars. A chauffeur stepped out of the hearse. He opened the back door ceremoniously, exposing a gleaming, bronze coffin.

Cyrus straightened at my side. I thought I saw a tear on his cheek, but it might have been a drop of blood from his deteriorating replacement eye. He wiped it away with an unsteady hand.

The men lifted the casket on their shoulders and carried it to the house. Cyrus turned and guided me back inside. I glanced over my shoulder to see the pallbearers follow us.

The crowd parted and allowed our procession to pass. I saw some of them bow their heads as we walked by. Those who didn’t either looked on in interest or boredom, and the Fangs lifted their beer bottles in salute as our weird caravan moved through the foyer.

Guards opened the study doors. Inside, the furniture had been removed to make a place for a large dais, ringed with tasteful arrangements of black and white carnations. The pallbearers moved past us and slid the coffin gently into place.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Cyrus said quietly. “My guards will see that you are adequately fed.”

The doors closed, leaving us alone with the Soul Eater. Cyrus knelt at the side of the coffin and laid his hands reverently on the bronze lid.

He bent his head, his hair falling forward, obscuring his face. He pressed his lips to the lid’s surface, and I heard him whisper, “Welcome home, Father.”

I felt guilty for watching this exchange. Cyrus was vulnerable, and I stood there as if I wasn’t about to jab the proverbial knife in his back.

He rose and turned to me, one arm outstretched to invite me closer. “Carrie, come meet my father.”

Wicked butterflies rioted in my stomach. I knelt beside the casket as I’d seen Cyrus do, and slid my trembling hands onto the lid.

Never in my life had I felt hate so strong. It radiated from the coffin beneath my fingertips and wound around me like tendrils of bloodred smoke. My arms shook as I struggled to pull them away. All I could hear were screams of death. When I closed my eyes, pain and torture surrounded me. Fangs and claws tearing flesh. Blood pumping from severed arteries. I opened my mouth to scream, and when no sound came out, I realized I hadn’t been able to move my mouth at all.

When the insidious power released me, I jerked my hands away. Sweat beaded my forehead.

Standing next to me, Cyrus didn’t appear to notice. He stroked the smooth metal of the casket as if hypnotized by its reflective surface. “Father, this is Carrie. My fledgling, and your new daughter. I hope you find her worthy of your blood.”

Something told me my new father-in-law didn’t think I cut the mustard. I bit my lip and silently prayed Cyrus wouldn’t see what I had felt and kill me right there. But whatever he experienced when he touched his father’s casket, Cyrus’s expression of serene pleasure never changed.

“I’d like to spend some time alone with my father. Will you see to the rest of the preparations for dinner?”

I nodded slowly, my gaze fixed on the casket. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t win Daddy Dear over by ensuring the napkins were properly folded, but anything was better than witnessing this macabre family reunion. “Sure. No problem.”

I wandered around for a while, scoping out the attendees more closely. It was fun trying to figure out who was a vampire, who might be werewolves, and how much money they might have spent on their outfits.

The guests milled around the foyer and dining room, sipping blood-infused cocktails and chatting about politics and art. A row of chairs had been placed along one of the dining room walls, and a few unlucky pets were chained to them. They slumped over unconscious, and thirsty vampires dispensed blood from taps in their necks. The pets who’d already expired were tossed unceremoniously onto a pile in the corner, and guards wrestled replacements in.

The Fangs had already invaded the garden. Some lounged in the delicate chairs that were rented for the occasion and rested their heavy boots on the immaculate tablecloths. Another group had brought out a beat-up stereo and blasted heavy-metal music to drown out the string quartet playing on the terrace. I thought I should remind them of their manners, but then decided against it. I wanted to see Cyrus’s face when he learned his elegant garden party had become the Head Banger’s Ball.

By eleven forty-five it seemed the entire vampire population of the world had crammed onto the grounds. At least, the entire evil vampire population. Cyrus entered the foyer at five before the hour and greeted the assembly there. Then the guards ushered them into the garden. I was right behind them when Cyrus stopped me.

“Wait.” He nodded to the only remaining guard, who then mumbled into his headset.

“You wanted the privilege of choosing. I won’t deny you.” Cyrus dropped something hard and heavy into my hand.

When I uncurled my fingers, I gasped. The dragon pendant lay against my palm, but the diamond had been replaced by a huge ruby.

“Do you like it? I thought it was time for a change.” He pressed his lips to my cheek. “You have no idea how much it means to me, to have you at my side tonight.”

Two guards escorted Dahlia and Ziggy down the stairs. She looked triumphant and sure of herself. He looked terrified.

“Hey,” I whispered, giving him a small wave.

Cyrus stepped forward to inspect the pair. “Dahlia, you look lovely as ever.”

She shot me a smug grin, and then turned back to admire Cyrus. He moved on to Ziggy. His dapper appearance clearly impressed my sire. “Are you nervous?”

Ziggy shook his head.

“Good,” Cyrus continued. “There’s no reason to be.” He paced back and forth in front of them for a moment. “As you know, every year I must make a difficult choice. Of all my pets, two must survive this night to make our celebration complete. Still, only one may take the place of honor in our festivities. Until now, I’ve been charged with deciding who receives that honor.”

Dahlia’s eyes grew wide. “Until now?”

“Don’t interrupt the man while he’s talking,” Ziggy quipped. I shot him a warning glance.

Cyrus paused. “As I was saying. Until now, I’ve had to decide who receives that honor. This year, I have the pleasure of seeing my fledgling perform this office. Carrie?”

I stepped forward, and without hesitation, pointed at Dahlia. “Her.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”

“Why do you say that?”

But he had already pried the pendant from my hands. Dahlia squealed and clapped her hands, then leaned forward, lifting her hair. Cyrus slipped the chain around her neck and stepped back.

“Master, the first course is ready.”

At the sound of the guard’s voice, Cyrus turned to me. “We don’t want to keep our guests waiting.” He held out his arm and I took it, casting a reassuring glance at Ziggy. Cyrus faced forward and Dahlia was so preoccupied with her new prize, neither of them saw me mouth stay close to him.

We stepped onto the terrace to a round of applause. A guard stopped Ziggy and Dahlia from exiting with us. The glass doors swung shut, leaving them inside.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cyrus called, his voice cutting through the excited chatter. “Thank you all so very much for coming. It warms my heart to share this night with such good friends.”

There was a polite smattering of applause. I tried not to scan the garden walls for signs of the Movement. It had to be nearly time now. Nathan promised they would come tonight.

The cavalry didn’t show up. Not during Cyrus’s longwinded speech about the importance of tradition and the looming threat of extinction.

God, it’s like he’s running for office.

Finally, he ended with some sugarcoated platitude about old and new friendships, clapped his hands and signaled the guards waiting inside the French doors.

“As you know, our guests of honor will enter in a moment. Please remember that one of them is for the Soul Eater, and the other is our traditional first course.”

Dahlia and Ziggy joined us on the terrace. As I looked at her beaming face, a pang of guilt shot through me. She thought she’d been chosen for a great honor. I’d condemned her to a fate worse than death, once Jacob Seymour consumed her soul.

Cyrus waved Dahlia forward. I expected him to bite into her, to start the process so she’d be turned quickly for the Soul Eater.

Two guards stepped forward and grasped Ziggy by the arms. I assumed they prepared to throw him into the crowd.

Nathan, where are you?

I felt sick to my stomach as I saw Cyrus’s hand twine around Dahlia’s hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen, bon appétit!”

Then he threw Dahlia off the terrace.