Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Kindred, Book 8.1) (5 page)

"Now more than ever you require the appropriate ear at your shoulder," she says, making several vampyres through the room stiffen. I don't need to check that they are pro the Prophesied. "A vampyre-mate you can trust."

Too far.

My fangs are down, my eyes have passed magenta and now bleed red. The snarl that swarms the room has claws and slashes at all who hear it, except Lucinda. Even when outraged I protect my rightful mate.

Seize her!
I instruct my guard. They move in on Petra in a wave of oppressive anger, she doesn't even fight back. A small amused smile graces her lips, which leaves me rigid with ice.

What is her game? I feel I have walked right into a trap, but I still cannot see the cage.

I stand immobile as they usher her out of the room, those humans present being glazed to overlook the display of vampyric power. The vampyres not glazing doing one of two things. Some are pretending they have not witnessed an outright challenge to the Champion. Some are openly watching to see what I do next.

I purposely flick my gaze around the room, daring any of them to step forward and continue what Petra has started. Not a soul moves. I turn to Lucinda, feeling more remote than I have for some time. She doesn't even blink at the look that must grace my face. Her gaze steady, eyes defiantly holding mine. I cannot glaze her, the joining does not allow. But to be stared at so openly by a human when I am so close to the edge of letting go of my rage is... unnerving. And, I realise, a relief.

I am not so far gone that my kindred wreaths me in Light, nor am I so cold that my look freezes her to the spot. She reaches forward, confidently, to grasp my hand. The moment the warmth of her skin meets the chill of mine something melts. Triple heartbeats call me back from the abyss.

This woman holds my heart, my future. My legacy.

The magenta dims, but my vampyre is not so ready to relinquish all hold on our anger. And those present need not see how my kindred soothes the fire inside.

She's Dark
, Lucinda says in my mind, pointing out something I am well aware of. Petra is coated in Amicus' Dark. She does not have a kindred like I.

"The Ambrosia is waiting in my office," I say instead of agreeing with her. Then direct her to walk from the still eerily quiet room with my hand on her arm.

I know conversations will not start up again until we leave. I also know none will be stupid enough to discuss what happened here now. My vampyres are plentiful in this space. So are those who support Lucinda.

"Samson should be here soon," she announces, sensing my need to move on. "I'll leave you to it and catch up with him."

"Very well," I murmur as we stop to part ways in the foyer. The Christmas decorations seem out of place with my mood. A tall twenty foot pine tree taking up pride of place in the centre of the grand, glass ceilinged atrium. Red the only colour adorning its branches and leaves.

Not cheerful Christmas red either. This is the red of blood. Eternal life in a sanguine hue.

I need to get this business with Petra sorted, my mind is elsewhere and Lucinda obviously knows it. I dip my head and lay a soft kiss against her lips, not allowing myself to linger any longer than necessary. I pull back and I can see the quiet question in her eyes. Worry washes off her in waves.

She wants to ask. She wants to understand. But the look I must give her makes her pause. We are too public here as it is. Lucinda has learnt to curb her tongue when the time is not right. I will seek her out when my business with the Ambrosia is done. Or maybe after I deal with Petra. Perhaps then I can make it up to my kindred, without the pall of my Sire's blood tainting the air.

"Take care of yourself,
ma douce
," I say, reluctant, despite my responsibilities, to tear myself away from her side.

"Oh, I always do," she replies with a small, calculating smile.

Why is it I feel like I am being played by so many sides right now?

I shake my head as I walk the distance to my office, mentally checking with Matthias that he is keeping Lucinda in his sights. She is not prone to slipping the net of her protection, but that look in her eyes has left me wary. My devious, minx of a wife is up to something. Matthias offers a sardonic mental reply, along the lines of,
You can't exactly miss her
.

I refuse to be pulled into the conversation, knowing he'd rat me out in an instant if I dared to pass comment on her current shape.

All levity leaves me when I enter my office and find the Ambrosia in conversation with Alain.

"She is contained?" I ask my vampyre, nodding in greeting to the Ambrosia who has offered a formal bow of respect. I settle into my desk chair, tempted to pull out the whiskey, but refusing to show such a dent in my armour in front of these men.

"Yes. Locked and under guard. She seems content," Alain replies.

My eyes lift to my Second's for a brief moment. He is as unsettled about Petra's behaviour as I.

"Is this something the Council needs to be made aware of, Champion?" the Ambrosia asks, and no other vampyre could step over that mark so openly without receiving a painful response. But I trust this man. Of all the Councillors, aside from Gregor and Lucinda herself, he is the only one whom I do trust.

"Not at this stage, but she is up to something," I reply, giving in to the desire to have a drink and pulling three glasses from the cabinet off to the side and pouring us each a finger of Scotch.

I hand the tumblers out, each man accepting the offer willingly.

"What do you need from me and mine?" the Ambrosia asks after taking a healthy swallow of the amber liquid.

I rest back in my chair, letting the burn replace the icy chill of before, and contemplate my answer. I am not sure what Petra wants, but I am certain it is something I cannot give her. Alain's spies are investigating her recent activity. Where she has been, what she has been doing and with whom. That leaves her contacts here in the
Iunctio
unaccounted for. Even Alain's vast network of spies needs a hand now and then and I decide the Ambrosia could fit the bill.

"She must have access to the
Iunctio
in some capacity to have entered our building in such a manner," I say, watching a calculating glint emerge in the Ambrosia's eyes. "It would help to know if any of our staff have had dealings with her since she arrived."

"My men are on it," he said softly. Then added, "Is there a chance she can harm the Prophesied?"

The whiskey tastes bitter when it goes down my throat, I force myself not to cough or show discomfort.

"Lucinda is well protected."

"Sometimes," the Ambrosia says, leaning forward to place his empty glass on the desk, "harm is not necessarily a physical thing."

"She will be monitored," I offer. Not only is she my Bonded kindred, my wife, my love. But she is also the Prophesied of the
Iunctio
, as important to me as to every other
Iunctio
Councillor.

"I'll be in touch," the Ambrosia announces as he rises to full height. I stand also. I may be the Champion, but years of respect for this powerful and ancient vampyre have honed my movements to the subconscious.

At the door to the office he turns and holds my gaze. Aeons of experience stare back at me, measured and laden in knowledge.

"Blood-kin pacts were outlawed for a reason," he states, and my heartbeat misfires. "They are never created equal."

And then he is gone, without further explanation. I stand numbly for a second and try to determine what the old vampyre means. Unfortunately, although his age can be beneficial in regards to power and insight, sometimes the passing of time can diminish his clarity.

"Could be that one partner in the pact is stronger than the other," Alain offers, aware I am trying to decipher the Ambrosia's code.

"Or one pact is different from another," I counter, adding more confusion to the mix. I shake my head, run a hand through my hair in frustration and return to my seat. "Any update?"

"It appears Petra Corvus has led a relatively secluded and cloistered lifestyle in Corsica for the past eighty years."

"Corsica is not large, and eighty years is a long time to remain hidden."

"Oh, she didn't hide. She was revered."

I glance back at my Second. "Like a goddess?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"So, she has delusions of divinity."

"And now she's set her sights on more than just an island near France," Alain says dryly.

A huff of an incredulous breath escapes me. "Is she mad?"

"It is a commonly thought impression, among those few she has forced from her lands."

"Why were they ostracised?"

"Because they did not worship her." Alain moves to sit opposite me, a motion he does not often undertake. Always preferring to remain standing, in order to react instantly should the need arise. "She has some seventy vampires under her line," he adds, crossing his legs at the knee.

I exhale another surprised breath. That is almost as many as I.

"All of which are devoted. And," he continues in a drawl, "appear to be waiting for their goddess to return."

"She came here without any entourage?"

"She believes it unnecessary. I think," he says, "she believes there is no escape from the pact and that you are already hers."

That was the problem, the pact was quite clear in its wording, the blood shared a vice-like bond.

I was indeed tied to this mentally unstable vampyre in the event our Sire expired, and obligated to let her into my inner circle, as one of my own. In return she would support me in all political matters, while making sure my private life was in every possible way conducive to my status and
role in the vampyre world. She could attempt to usurp Lucinda. Not completely, Lucinda is my kindred and always will be. No one could take that away. At least no one alive today would dare, the last fairy to do so is now dead and buried.

Still, despite Lucinda's right to be my kindred Nosferatin, her right to be my vampyre-mate is what would be in jeopardy. Should Petra decide Lucinda is not 'conducive' to my current status and role in the vampyre world, she could insist I break the mate-bond we share. It is not unheard of, but highly unlikely, in civilised circles.

Petra is not civilised, at least not where this would be concerned. But then, neither is my vampyre-within, my dragon an ancient being above the influence of others. Right now his rage at the suggestion this woman had any say in who we mate was unfathomable. Magenta a constant colour in my eyes.

Of course, none of us have considered Lucinda and what she would have to say. I open my mind up to my kindred, searching down the joining Bond connection to see where she currently is.

And immediately I am out of my chair, Alain beside me, both of us with fangs down and eyes glowing purple/red.

"She is on the prison level," I say, stunned at her audacity.

No, Lucinda would not stand by idly while we pussy-foot around, she has to go directly to the source of upheaval and set things right herself.

Merde!

Panic seizes me. I am barely able to control my vampyre-within. As it is, I am out of the office and hurtling toward the lower levels of the hotel at a speed beyond normal vampyre flashing. Alain cannot keep up. I do not care. I will bathe the cells in blood, should Petra harm my kindred. I will coat the walls in red to match the decorations in the grand hotel foyer.

Blood will run in rivers through the corridors, sending a message to all who dare to threaten my wife and children this festive season. A macabre homage to the Christmas tree three stories above where I find myself now.

I am momentarily shocked. The vampyres who were on guard are now milling around the corridor outside of the cells with bemused expressions on their faces, their eyes are blank. They are not alone in their vacant, but seemingly pleasant stare. Lucinda's guards,
my
vampyres Matthias and Marcus, are also here. I search those minds under my line, not having access to all the vampyres present. Just as Alain materialises at my left shoulder, my two shadow guards alongside him, I realise what she has done.

"Lucinda has glazed them," I say aloud. A note of pride coating the words, despite my anger right now.

"All of them?" Alain asks, shock evident in his tone.

"Yes, they will not re-enter the cells unless she commands it."

An amused sound escapes his lips, I do not appreciate the levity.

"Unlock the door," I instruct my Second. He approaches the keypad and punches in the daily code. It blinks red, and emits a piercing long beep.

"The code's been changed," he points out unnecessarily.

I cannot believe her gall.

Lucinda!
I shout out her name through the Bond we share, making it impossible for her to ignore me.
Open up the god-damned, fucking door!

I don't usually swear. I am hoping the crudity of my language shocks her into action.