Читать книгу Blood Deep - Sharon Page - Страница 9

Chamber of the Scholomance

875 A.D.

Lukos awoke to find that he lay on a smooth stone floor in a lake of his own blood. It was encrusted on his neck, smeared on his freshly shaved scalp. The great gaping wound in his throat had somehow knitted together. It was still spongy and painful, but as he gingerly explored with his fingers, there was no longer a wide, open, bleeding gash.

Was he dead now?

His strength almost faded again as he struggled up to his knees, and he fought the lure of unconsciousness. Darkness surrounded him. It clung to him like grasping hands. Raw and cold, panic swept over him. Ever since he’d been a child, he has always awoken in the dark like this—sweating, frightened, terrified enough to run. He had hid these fears because it was his destiny to be a great warrior, but they rose up now, and made him whimper.

He was too old to make such sounds, like a child. And in the blackness, he looked around for the demoness. Had she left him for dead?

Slowly, he grew accustomed to the dark. And he saw her, curled up on a shelf of stone, watching him. A robe of dark crimson swathed her, and she stared at him with sorrowful eyes. “I am sorry, Lukos. But your eyes are next.”

He threw up his hands, but a sharp, searing-hot point slammed into his right palm. Instinctively, he pulled his hand away. This time the red-hot poker went into his eye. As he screamed in pain, something grabbed his arms and restrained him. He howled. He tried to fight. Some monster in the shadows had hold of him. He was raging against the grip, throwing his head wildly. The pain. God above, the pain—

But despite his wild struggles, the poker drove into his left eye, completely blinding him.

This would kill him.

Unless he was already dead.

Did the dead still feel pain?

He would have cried, but the searing heat had taken away his tear ducts along with his eye.

He smelled her. Over the stench of his own flesh, over the excruciating agony, he knew she had come to his side. She knelt by him. Her hands went around his bare shoulders, and in her sultry voice, she chanted. The soft, lovely sound flowed around him like a vivid light and took away the pain.

“You cannot see him, Lukos. It is not for you to see him until you have completed your apprenticeship.”

He laughed in anger and bitterness. “I’m blinded. I’ll never see.”

“You will. Lukos, he can give you ultimate power. He can easily give you sight.”

“What do you do now? Cut off my cock so I can’t fuck?”

“No.” The demoness’s voice was soft and soothing. “You have endured all that you must for now. I will take you to the chamber, and you will rest there. Tomorrow, you will begin to learn.”

Learn. With his eyes gouged out? His throat slit? Each breath was a torture, and he was rasping and wheezing like an old man. He’d run over corpses on the battlefield less wounded than this. “Am I dead?”

“You will be reborn, Lukos.”

She had opened his robe then and had taken hold of his cock. He had lost his eyes; he’d had his throat cut, but somehow she made his organ stand up. She straddled him, took him inside, and rode him. He could feel her slick heat engulfing his cock. He could smell her, smell the ripeness of their joining. He could feel her full buttocks slamming his groin. God, yes…

“You’re having sex with me—”

“No, I’m not. You are dreaming this, Lukos.” She slapped him. The sudden jolt of pain made his fantasy disappear. Instead of her creamy juices, he smelled the dankness of wet stone. Instead of warmth and pleasure, he felt sharp rocks beneath his knees.

“Sometimes men go mad from the fear and the pain, Lukos. They lose themselves in a world of darkly erotic fantasy. They believe they are always having sex, but they are trapped in the fantasy. They starve to death because they no longer know to eat. They are sometimes killed. Those who go among the mortals are killed or committed to asylums. But in their own minds, they are in a world of constant orgy.” Her laugh was wry and cold.

“But you are too strong to seek that kind of escape, Lukos. I would not have chosen to be the one to guide you if I did not believe so.” She took his arm. “Come with me now. For you are soon to be a demon born. And I know that you will be the strongest yet. You will make me proud, Lukos. You will give me the world.”

As she led him, he clung to her, the only thing he could trust in his newly dark world. He would have given her anything she asked for. If she’d wanted to cut out his heart, he would have let her.

He could taste the magic through her skin.

Zayan pressed his mouth to the Englishwoman’s delicate hand. Magic thrummed through her, snapping within her, raging inside her. He could sense she was resisting it. She was not willing to accept the unearthly power within her. It frightened her.

Through the contact between his lips and her silky skin, he could sense all these things. He’d had one glimpse into her thoughts before she had somehow shuttered them to him. He had seen a lavish bedroom, filled with white silks and fluttering lace curtains. Another young woman, a brunette, lay in the bed, pale and drawn, smiling a weak smile. Miranda, the fragile inhabitant of the bed had whispered, I feel so much better today, and I think it is because of you.

He felt in Miranda, the woman whose hand he was kissing, a love he had almost forgotten—a feeling of tenderness heightened by the need to nurture.

In an instant, the image had vanished. But now he knew the name of the dainty innocent-looking woman who possessed the strongest magic power he had felt in decades—in centuries.

Miranda.

He turned her hand and kissed her palm. Miss Miranda rewarded him with an unwilling shiver of pleasure. Now he understood what had intrigued Sebastien de Wynter about Althea Yates, the vampire slayer—it was all that sensuality trapped behind such rigid propriety.

As much as he hated Lukos, he had agreed to the game of seduction as an amusement, something to pass the time with their pretty captive. Something to distract him from the urge to kill the vampire who had once tried to destroy him.

Now he knew Miranda was much more to him than just a game. All that magic in her could be his last hope.

He needed it.

Which meant he had to dominate her. And now that he knew she was no an ordinary mortal, he would have to find a different way to do that. Even now, she was staring at him with narrowed blue eyes, and he felt her resistance to his seduction. She was fighting him with everything she had. And at the moment, she was winning.

Zayan admired her strength, though strong women could not be trusted. If they chose to be deceitful, they were more destructive than any army. More vicious. By the gods, he had seen women cut down their own men with axes when the males had retreated from battle.

If he wanted to control this woman and her magic, he would have to try harder.

Expertly, he dabbed his tongue in the center of her palm and made her whimper. Slowly, teasingly, he flicked his tongue over her wrist. He sucked her skin and felt the magic throb beneath his lips, along with her pulse.

Miranda moaned. He felt a surge in her power as she struggled against the desire he ignited. Suddenly, he realized how incredible she would be in his bed, in a bout of resistance and magic and surrender.

Years ago, he made a bargain with the red power. To bring his children back to life, it had demanded magic—it devoured every kind of power. It wanted the magic of youth. The energy released in sex. It had demanded the power of other magical beings. In that decade, before he had been banished into imprisonment by Elizabeth, one of the vampire queens, he had drained the energy of some foolish angels and a few demons, and like a slave, he had turned that energy over and waited obediently for his dream to be realized.

What a damned fool he’d been.

He had quickly understood what the red power intended to do. It would always hold his children as a prize, as a lure to make him serve it. But it would never give him what it had promised.

But now he knew a way to take control of the red power. He could take Miranda’s magic and use it to first tempt the red power, then blackmail the red power into giving him what he longed for—his children.

He ached to see them. He yearned to hold them again.

But to claim her power, he had to bring three words to her lips: I love you. It would open her heart and break through her defenses. In that moment, he could take her magic force and make it his own.

This was more than just a physical seduction, more than a game. He had to break through to her heart.

Miranda kicked out wildly. “Y-you can force me to feel pleasure, but you will never seduce me!”

Zayan jerked his attention upward to see Lukos stroking his fingers along the neckline of her pelisse. Miranda opened her eyes wide. They locked with his. Hers were vivid blue—the brilliant shining blue of the waves that lapped at the southern shores of Italy.

She didn’t look frightened. She looked…hopeful. It shocked Zayan so much, he straightened from her wrist. Strangely, he could not draw away from her steady, determined gaze.

“You won’t seduce me,” she said again. “No matter what you do. But I want to touch you. I believe I can return your soul, Zayan.”

Did she really think she could save him, the naïve child? His answer was harsh. “You can’t, angel.”

“Let me touch you,” she said.

He had not expected this. She spoke to him as his wife used to. He was the general, but his wife had spoken sharply to him, had expected him to obey her command.

Zayan jerked back as the woman’s hand struck his chest, her fingers splayed wide. Heat surged through his pectorals, a hot spear through his muscles, a fiery grip around his heart. Her power held him transfixed. He couldn’t move.

By the gods, she was strong with magic.

Far more than he’d guessed.

His temperature soared; heat raced through his veins as though he were being consumed by fire. Could she make him burst into flame? Could her touch make him explode, burn to ash?

“Oh! Oh!” she cried. Her body was convulsing. She moaned. She moved her hips in the fierce bounce of a woman caught in the throes of a powerful orgasm. Her lips opened wide as she rode out the pleasure.

Zayan’s nostrils flared at the tang of her juices. He could scent her cunny becoming wet and creamy. Lukos could scent her, too, he knew. Lukos could shift shape and become a wolf, which made the demon even more primal about sex than Zayan was.

“What in hell is she?” Lukos growled.

Still enduring the blasting heat, Zayan could barely speak. “Not a demon,” he managed. “Not a vampire.” He drew in a deep breath as the heat began to ebb. He wasn’t going to go up in a ball of flame. “An avenging angel?” But he didn’t think so.

Miss Miranda slumped back against the seat. Her chest rose and fell. Zayan saw the horror in her eyes. The stark fear. She stared down at her own shaking hands.

She didn’t understand her own power. He read it in her thoughts before her intense emotions became a blur that he couldn’t understand. He’d never had that happen before. The only minds that could shutter themselves from him were those of vampire queens, and demons who had been Lucifer’s apprentices. But he had glimpsed the most powerful emotion Miranda felt—she was afraid of herself.

You don’t know what you are, do you? he asked softly in her thoughts. He tried to shield them from Lukos but doubted he was successful. Zayan was the older vampire—and stronger, he believed. But not quite strong enough.

Helplessly, Miranda looked at him. “It’s never felt like that before. That’s never…never happened. I don’t know if I did anything.”

Sweetheart…Zayan had only ever spoken so softly and gently to his children. What exactly were you trying to do? You can’t believe your touch could return my soul.

Miranda couldn’t let them find out the truth. “I-I thought you could be saved,” she lied, “by a good soul.”

Lukos chuckled. “You thought what? The touch of a virtuous woman would drive his demons out?”

Mute, Miranda nodded her head. She prayed they thought she was just some impetuous do-gooder. What a fool she’d been to reveal herself. But she’d thought it would work. She had saved Aunt Eugenia, her brother, Simon, her sister-in-law, Caroline, the young boy in the park, and others over the last twelve years. She’d thought she could save a vampire.

Miranda rubbed her hand. It felt as though it had been burnt. She’d felt the heat and even thought it had gone into the vampire. It had seemed to bounce back into her.

That scorching heat had turned into desire—desire and arousal she didn’t want and couldn’t control. It had grown so strong. She’d ached and throbbed, and had needed to rub between her thighs. She had squeezed them together, unable to fight the yearning. Then she’d burst—she couldn’t explain it any other way.

She hugged herself. That explosive feeling must be what drove her brother and his new wife to their bedroom so often and was responsible for those agonized moans Caroline made that could be heard through the bedchamber walls.

It had to be. Her pleasure had been so intense she’d feared her heart might stop, or burst.

Her cheeks still burned. She couldn’t catch her breath.

Miranda stared at Zayan. He smiled at her. He still had fangs. So it hadn’t worked. And she didn’t believe she had returned his soul.

Why not? What had gone wrong?

Was it because he was not dead but undead?

She remembered the terror she’d felt when Simon had drowned, when she had been eleven and he had been thirteen. It had been like her heart had stopped along with his. She’d been almost physically sick, her stomach leaping upward, bile in her throat. Tears had been streaming down her face. She’d begged him to live. She’d touched his heart. Then he’d coughed and sputtered and had thrown up a lot of horrid, slimy water.

It had been the same when she had saved Aunt Eugenia—she had desperately wanted her aunt to be alive again. With her parents, she’d never had the chance. Her mother had died when she was very young; her father just over three years ago, but on shipboard while crossing from Calais during the heady newness of peace. His body had been lost.

She thought of the child in Hyde Park. Even though she hadn’t known the little boy, it had shattered her heart to think he would die. That he was dead. Each time, her heart had been broken and she had been determined to bring life back. Each time, she had truly cared.

She could never care enough about these vampires to give them their lives back. That avenue of escape was lost to her.

The carriage began to slow its breakneck pace. In the space between the window and the shade covering it, Miranda saw hints of light. They were in a village now. This—this would be her chance to get free.

She turned beseeching eyes to Zayan. “Please…I am so hungry. I need…” She blushed, as a respectable lady should while discussing the privy. “I need to relieve myself. Please?”

It was Lukos who answered. “We’ll stop. I need to feed.”

Coaches clattered into the yard beside the inn. Twilight had settled in, and only a strip of soft violet remained along the horizon. Lamps burned, and Miranda noticed both Zayan and Lukos hid their faces to ensure the light did not glint on their reflective eyes.

Lukos held her wrist and she could not break free of his hold. Could she scream to the surrounding crowd—the families and gentlemen and elderly ladies leaving coaches or approaching others?

There were children in the crowd.

And she remembered the magic that Zayan had done. He could possibly kill dozens of people with his power if he threw a bolt of it into the crowd to stop her.

She had no choice but to go along with the vampires. And then find a chance to escape.

“We’ll go to the dining room and you may have a meal.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to sarcastically thank Zayan for being so kind. But she bit down. Best to let them think she was so frightened she would obey them.

Lukos shook his head. His long hair fluttered in the breeze, and his eyes gave a betraying flash of silver. “I need to hunt.”

Miranda caught her breath. He meant he was going to hunt down an innocent person and take their blood.

“No, you can’t.” She pointed to her own throat. “If you need to feed, take the blood from me. I don’t care. But I won’t let you hurt anyone else.”

“You have no choice, love. And I can’t feed from you. But if you wish, you may choose the person I’ll feed from.” Lukos waved his arm to encompass the crowd of innocent people.

She stared. A mother embraced a child. A woman urged four young boys toward a stage that was preparing to leave. A couple gazed lovingly at each other in a tender good-bye. An elderly man patted the hand of his elderly wife. She couldn’t select anyone. Each person was loved and cherished by someone. They all deserved to live.

“You’re evil!” she spat.

“Yes, angel, I am. I served Lucifer. I was born to be evil.”

“If you must feed, why not bite Zayan! Or bite a pig!”

Lukos merely inclined his head. “I need a mortal’s fresh, rich blood, angel.”

Was there anyone there who deserved a vampire’s bite? A man who abused his wife? A vicious man who preyed on children? A woman who snared innocents for brothels? A murderer? A thief?

She could not do this.

But she couldn’t let him just select anyone. “Who would you choose?” she asked softly.

“When you eat, sweetheart, do you select the dish that tempts you most? Would you choose mutton over lamb? Or tough beef over a succulent roast?”

She shuddered. “You’d chose someone young and pretty, you mean.”

“Sometimes I choose children.”

Miranda clapped her hand to her mouth. “That’s unspeakably evil!”

Should she scream? Perhaps the vampires’ magic couldn’t hurt all these people—but what if her horror led to one death?

“I would choose children who had little hope, angel, and then I would change them. I would give them unimaginable strength and speed. I would give them the chance to turn the world upon its ear.”

She shuddered. “Can you not feed without hurting someone?”

Lukos winked. “For you, pet, I’ll try.”

She didn’t believe him. But Zayan had hold of her arm and Lukos strode away. He was so tall, so striking with his long hair and cloak that he did not vanish in the milling crowd—he stood out. Men watched him warily; women stared with obvious desire. He prowled toward the shadows.

She could not swallow over the lump in her throat.

Zayan’s arm slid around her waist. There were men walking with women this way. Those women wore low-cut gowns, had rouged lips, and were obviously doxies. People would think that of her.

She choked on a laugh. They would think her a whore. They would have no idea she was going to be a vampire’s victim.

“Aren’t you going to feed?” she whispered.

Zayan cocked his head. “I do not need to yet, my dear.”

Blast, she’d hoped he would want to leave her to feed. Of course, he wouldn’t let her go. She was likely to be his meal.

“But I expect you are hungry,” he said. “Let us get you some dinner.”

“What do you plan to do to me? If you intend to kill me, why feed me?”

A stage arrived, rushing into the yard before Zayan answered. He watched it in a pensive silence. The grooms jumped down, the doors opened. Boxes were thrown down as the people began to spill out. Other grooms hurried forward to unhitch the horses.

And others rushed forward to greet friends and to make ready to take their journey.

Was he watching to choose his victim? She had to act. She turned and pointed across the yard. “Look! Our carriage is leaving! It must be Lukos!”

As Zayan spun around, she pulled away from him as hard as she could. His surprise—and anger—had loosened his grip. Her pelisse tore, but she was free!

She yanked up her hems and plunged into the crowd.

“’Ere miss, have a care!”

Someone elbowed her in the back. She tripped, almost fell, but grabbed a man’s coat to stop herself. She stumbled forward.

She heard a roar behind her. That must be Zayan and she cringed, waiting for a bolt of his magical power to strike her.

A man shouted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man sail backward off his feet and land hard in the mud.

Zayan wasn’t using magic.

She squeezed and pushed her way between bodies.

Someone shoved her forward and she slammed against the side of the stage. Her wind flew out of her chest. Gasping, she raced around the large vehicle.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t outrun a vampire. Could she leap into a passing carriage? Three were leaving and she raced blindly toward them.

“There’s been a boy trampled!” someone shouted. “My god!”

Standing still amidst the cries of shock and horror, Miranda slowly turned toward the gathering crowd. She could not just run away now. She had to do something. Shivering, glancing around for Zayan, she made her way to the circle of people who were all trying to crush forward, to see. She had to elbow her way between these heartless people. They weren’t doing anything, they were feeding on horror and disaster like a vampire fed on blood. And it was like trying to fight a raging current.

“Move,” she commanded one man. She had to kick another to get him to jump aside. Through the gap between bodies, she saw a tiny form sprawled in the dirt and a woman leaning over him, screaming, tears streaking down her face.

She had to act now. She didn’t have much time.

From behind her, a hand clamped down on her right wrist, holding her captive. “Got you, you witch,” a man growled.

That voice. She recognized it. Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. Miranda twisted to meet the hard gaze of James Ryder—the vampire slayer who wanted to kill her.