Darkfell Vampire Clan Boxset, page 25
This time when I looked, the mask was gone. I could barely catch my breath.
There was so much emotion in his face that he finally looked alive, fire kindling deep in those obsidian eyes, his face animated for once, as if lit from within. Never in a million years did I expect what came next.
“I was the one who helped Viktor steal the throne,” he finally said, not a trace of accent. “He had my family hostage. All I had to do was… look the other way. Vane Carpathian didn’t force me out. I left.”
I couldn’t have breathed if I wanted to.
“Luthor is strong.” He slanted me a glance. “Lyra was stronger. But if I’d been there that day, Viktor’s coup would have failed and nothing that’s happened these past years would have come to pass.”
He shook his head. “I was driven by desperation. I see that now. But at the time, I was sure Lyra was strong enough to stand against the Carpathians. My intel had never failed me before, and I believed Viktor didn’t have the support he needed for a successful coupe.”
I shoved down the urge to throw everything back in his face because it was obvious he was doing enough of that himself. But how could he think Viktor would keep his word and return his family?
“I didn’t,” he said flatly, and I reminded myself this was the oldest living vampire in the clan. Of course he could read me like a book.
“While Viktor was busy assaulting the palace, I was breaking into the prison to free them.” His hand, the one grasping the silver-topped cane, tightened until his knuckles turned white.
“There was nothing left except cages of revenants. One of them had my father’s signet ring fused into its clawed hand. I assumed the three monsters with him were my mother and my sisters.”
He sounded so desolate I wanted to pull him into a hug, but then remind myself, This is Deston.
He’s not a friend. And I do not trust him.
“In my mind, it was all worked out. Viktor would be defeated and hung on the Queen’s wall as a warning. My family would be safe. I’d return after my hiatus to serve as Lyra’s advisor, and no one would be the wiser.” I lifted my bowed head and found his eyes drilling into me.
“You are now the only person who knows the full truth of what I did.” He used his cane to push himself up, and I realized he needed the support.
“What you do with that information…” He looked away, and his throat bobbed. “What you do with that is up to you.”
When he looked back, his eyes sparked again as they raked over me.
Something was different about his penetrating gaze.
There was awareness there, as if he knew a deep, dark secret, but then it was gone, replaced by his usual mask.
“And if I need to die, then know that I accept my fate.”
43
SERAPHINA
I was still puzzling over the Deston problem, as I’d begun calling it, three days later.
His Highness was back to his pompous, snarky self, ordering us all around like we were his slaves or something, while attempting to instruct me to wield my magic, thankfully without conjuring up pretend monsters for me to fight.
Secretly, I almost wished he would.
So far, his illusion was the only thing that worked.
My fear had narrowed my concentration down to one target—or two—which allowed me to focus my magic into what he called the sword of power, although that sounded like something out of a B-movie and far too dramatic.
I preferred to call it death star magic.
Still from a movie, but a far superior one.
Deston had yet to appear this morning, but he was a late riser.
Luthor was watching me practice, which at the moment was standing in the middle of the walled garden and going through my breathing exercises.
Not technically part of my Deston-approved-training, but I found they helped me settle before I got down to the nitty gritty of calling up my magic and trying to make it do something.
I was still fifty-fifty on the magic part of the equation.
I nailed the breathing part.
“I’m heading to the house for a moment.” Luthor stretched those enormous arms, and even from here, I heard bones pop. “Can I bring you something to drink?”
“Lemonade,” I decided, closing my eyes and holding my somewhat shaky tree pose. “Lots of sugar.”
Magic calling and breathing exercises used a lot of calories, and it was really hot and humid today, so I had a solid excuse for the extra glucose.
“You got it.”
Feeling him leave was strange, and I hadn’t gotten used to it.
I sensed his magic grow more distant as he ghosted to the house, as if we were joined by some invisible tether. That bond had grown stronger these past few days, with all the feeding we’d been doing.
Even within the tall stone walls, I could pinpoint Cyrus—in the kitchen, eating a fistful of cookies—as easily as if he’d been chipped with GPS.
A trickle of sweat rolled down my spine, leaving a shiver of fear in its wake.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
My eyes popped open, took in the immaculate beds, not one blossom out of place.
Since Deston’s magic built this place, it made sense everything was perfect since he was such an anal, Type-A personality.
But then the air turned stale, dead, almost.
I planted both feet into the grass, my toes digging in deep while panic made my magic surge.
I fell into a half crouch that made me feel prepared, even though I didn’t know what was wrong. I sent out a mental plea but couldn’t seem to locate Luthor.
Or Cyrus.
All I got back was weird blankness, as if they didn’t even exist.
My body went loose when the first revenant loped through the arched opening, hunching its shoulders to fit. Another jumped onto the wall like before, the stone ledge crumbling beneath those long black claws.
Well, you wished it would happen, Seraphina, I scolded myself. Now just get your magic to work, and you’ll be fine.
A third creature crested the wall to my left, clearing it completely and landing in the border. The sharp scent of crushed grass hit my nose as it stalked toward me through the high roses.
“Look at you, Deston. Raising the stakes.”
Fine. I’ll raise mine as well.
I was just figuring out how, exactly, to do that when I realized something.
I didn’t feel the hum of the wards nor smell ozone.
A fourth creature appeared, scuttling along the top of the wall like a grotesque spider, heading straight for me, faster than I thought one of these things could move. The others stalked.
This one… it was attacking.
As reality hit me—the wards were down, these things were real—I desperately called up my magic. It rose… then sputtered and died as the thing snapped those double rows of teeth, frothy red spit flying.
From out of nowhere, Cyrus materialized in front of me then vaulted onto the wall to intercept. The revenant crashed straight into him, both of them tangling together as they fell to the perfectly groomed border. They turned the white lilies red as they fought, Cyrus finally snapping the arm that had raked across his face, leaving three gaping furrows.
“Run, Seraphina, run.” He gasped, catching a foot, but not before it gouged his belly, blood spurting everywhere.
Fuck. This was real.
Revenants were here, and the wards were down, and Cyrus was hurt and… where was Luthor?
“Don’t just stand there. Run.”
Like hell. My magic swelled as fear and anger rose, and I sent a blast toward the closest revenant. He collapsed into a shower of dust and bone. There was a sharp crack as Cyrus broke his opponent’s neck.
Three to go.
I readied my magic, even though it felt like a jumbled mess, and cast a black wave toward the last three.
It bounced off them harmlessly as Viktor stepped through the archway, his face a mix of rage and triumph. He flicked a hand Cyrus’s way, and I desperately threw my own magic, which wrapped around Cyrus like a protective barrier, a combination of glittering power and Luthor’s inky shadows.
I screamed as Viktor’s magic skated across mine, leaving what felt like a foot-deep furrow.
But beneath my cover, Cyrus seemed unharmed.
“The girl who would be Queen.” Viktor’s lip quirked upwards. “I’ve been looking for you ever since I killed your grandmother.”
Luthor, where are you?
I was trying to look everywhere at once.
At Viktor, who could use his magic to turn me into one of these things that were prowling even closer. To Cyrus, cloaked safely beneath my magic. To Deston, lounging casually in the stone archway, calmly watching all of this like some kind of macabre play.
“Luthor will not be coming,” Viktor assured me. “My pets have him cornered.” But even he stumbled back a step as I sent out a desperate summons for Luthor to answer me, my magic flattening the grass, crushing the flowers. The revenants stopped their advance as well, lowering themselves until they were almost lying on the ground.
Viktor sliced his hand through the air, and I threw up a wall of inky shadows between us, feeling a burst of pain as Viktor’s magic hit the barrier hard… then disappeared.
“You little… bitch.” Again, searing pain as his magic attempted to penetrate my wall, but again… it held. “Impossible.”
I wanted to find Gram’s courage, make a snappy comeback, blow a hole through him with a shotgun, but I was too scared.
Luthor… where was Luthor? Was he dead?
My scrambling emotions were sliced through by the razorblade of Cyrus’s anger and pain. The shadow wall slipped away, revealing Cyrus growling, trying to rise, his eyes targeting the King, ten paces away.
Viktor smiled, and in seconds, Cyrus’s flesh was covered with scratches… like the one on my arm. So many of them I stopped functioning for a second.
He’ll turn into a revenant.
He’ll turn into a revenant, and I’ll have to kill him.
I love him, and I’ll have to kill him.
“Interesting,” Viktor commented, canting his head to the side while he looked between us, a greedy smile on his face. His hand flattened out, and Cyrus screamed as he was crushed to the ground while more wounds exploded across his back.
“Enough.” Deston strode forward. “I said I’d give her to you, but I never said anything about my cousin.”
“Going soft, Rayne?” Viktor challenged, turning his back to a broken and bleeding Cyrus. I ran, gathered him in my arms, his blood smearing the both of us.
“Oh, Cyrus. Cyrus.” I smoothed his hair back and kept repeating his name over and over because I didn’t know what else to do. One scratch and I’d almost turned. He was covered in hundreds of them. I wiped my hand on my thigh and pressed it to the widest gouge across his chest, eyeballing the revenants, who’d resumed their stealthy approach.
Viktor and Deston didn’t even notice.
“Hardly. I need him.” Deston’s lips pressed together as he gestured to the ruined garden. “Do you really think this mess will fix itself?”
“You are going soft.”
“I’m a pragmatist, but if you want to call it something else, then be my guest. Take Fontaine and the girl. Leave my cousin to me.” Deston stepped closer, his hand tightening on the cane. “And take your death magic with you, he’s no use to me as a mindless monster.”
“I’ll take them all,” Viktor countered. “I am King of the Darkfell clan, after all.”
I don’t know exactly what happened then.
I think I blinked.
I know I didn’t purposefully conjure the solid wall of magic that plowed down the revenants, flung Deston out of the garden, pinned a struggling Viktor to the wall.
I know I didn’t purposefully stab that magic deep into the King, slicing and slicing like a phantom blade through his flesh, hurting him… hurting and hurting like Cyrus was hurting. Viktor was bleeding, the coppery tang of it filled the air while I diced him like a tomato, blood flying everywhere.
The coppery tang of blood filled the air, and his revenants stopped stalking me and started toward him, drooling.
With a thought, they disintegrated, crumbling into piles.
Another blink, and Deston’s cool, dry hand closed around my wrist, my magic vanishing.
Deston inclined his head in a parody of respect. “Restore my cousin, my King. Only then is the girl yours.” Deston’s eyes locked with my own. They were devoid of emotion, devoid of anything except glittering greed, and I wondered what Viktor had promised him.
Wondered how much our lives were worth.
Viktor flashed his teeth but capitulated to Deston’s demand. Cyrus groaned as the cuts on his back faded, his face knit back together, and my knees went weak. At least he’s alive. At least he won’t turn into a revenant.
An unseen guard banded my hands behind my back with heavy metal shackles, and once again, I was as helpless as a human.
“Your business here is done,” Deston said imperiously, magic sparking through the air as he and the King locked gazes. “Take her and if I never see her again, it will be too soon.”
Then I was being pulled along by rough hands, no idea where Luthor was, no idea of what came next.
Deston, at least, was predictable.
He dodged the piles of ashed revenants on his way over to Cyrus, where he crouched down, whispering something beneath his breath before throwing me a taunting grin.
“You, cousin, are all mine.”
44
SERAPHINA
I landed in a round courtyard of stone, the top open to the sky, the walls broken only by four identically padlocked doors. The masked guard who’d carried me here vanished the second our feet hit the floor.
My shoulders ached from the pressure of my constraints, and I was still trying to work out why Deston had betrayed us. If Luthor was dead. If Cyrus was any better off than I was.
I knew two things.
Because of the iron shackles, I was helpless.
And Viktor was going to die.
To do that, I had to get my magic back, which I assumed would happen if I could get these freaking magic-suppressing shackles off me.
Losing my power made me realize just how quickly I’d become accustomed to magic thrumming through me. The extra strength it offered me. The speed.
I pressed my tongue to my gums. I still had fangs but little else. I struggled against the metal bands, but it seemed the more I struggled, the tighter they became.
“Those restraints neutralize your magic by reacting with the iron in your blood. Conserve your energy, my Queen.”
Luthor’s halting, muffled voice echoed through the thick door, and at the sound, something inside of me just broke apart. Tears rolled down my face as I made my way to him, feet tripping over themselves as I pressed myself against the rough door, the padlock cutting into my stomach.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Not quite yet.” Luthor sounded like he was a hundred miles away, but at least he was alive.
“What is this place?”
“The royal dungeons. The Well, to be specific.”
I squeezed my eyes shut to try to stop the burning tears from falling. “You mean to tell me we’ve ended up where we started?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Can I get these metal bands off? Get my magic back?”
“Only Viktor or one of the guards can safely remove the shackles.”
There was something off about Luthor, and I reached out, my senses searching for the connection between us. I found nothing. Maybe our bond disappeared when my magic did? I didn’t know, but I hated losing him like this.
I’d gotten so used to knowing what he was feeling, and this empty space I found when I reached for him… I couldn’t stand it.
“Luthor?” I asked softly but got nothing. “Are you okay?”
“Do you remember that first night, when you woke up and told me you’d fight them when they came for you?”
I leaned against the door, tears falling so fast I couldn’t stop them.
“The guards will come soon. They’ll remove the shackles before they take you to Viktor. When they do, you fight them, Seraphina.” I heard a faint gurgle behind the door, and my heart froze. “Fight them with everything you have.”
Whether because of the shackles, or the door, or the magic that surely warded this place, I couldn’t feel Luthor. But that gurgle… Gram had made the same sound just before she died.
“I can’t lose you,” I whispered into the wood as I slid to the floor. “I can’t, Luthor. I’m not ready to do this by myself. You can’t leave me here all by myself.”
I sat there until the sky overhead was black, only a few tiny specks of starlight stuttering through the magical wards. My hands were dead, and I wondered if the circulation had been cut off for so long, I’d have to have them amputated.
Luthor was gone.
The faint sounds of life had stopped hours ago.
“Ah, the lovers reunited.” Viktor had come for me personally.
I supposed I should be honored.
Viktor got his coat caught on the door when he came through and was forced to stop briefly and tug it free, which was the only high point about this situation. What a fucking tool.
“Just get on with it,” I muttered.
I wasn’t being brave; I knew I was screwed, and I knew I was helpless. Shit, my hands didn’t even work. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you blather on about your Kingship power trip.”
Between the little clothing malfunction on his way in and my apparently apathetic attitude towards death—or worse—Viktor seemed thrown.
“You started this, you know,” I told him. “I didn’t even freaking know you existed, and would have gone on to live my perfectly normal—for a vampire—life. But you had to hunt me down and start this shitshow. Revenants and magic and God-knows what else there is in your creepy little fun house world.”
