Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Kindred, Book 8.1) Page 3

  I suck in an unnecessary breath and miraculously - or disturbingly - am saved from my admission by a knock on the door. I startle, having not heard the mental warning until too late. Lucinda on the other hand has silver in her palm, her eyes on me and not the offending door.

  "What the fuck, Michel?" she says so inelegantly.

  I run a hand through my hair and then straighten my tie. Nervous ticks I haven't used since London.

  "You better tell me what the hell is going on after we deal with this," she warns in a voice laden with threats.

  Once I would have relished the reprimand, now I am fearful of upsetting her too much.

  "Come," I say, authority returning to my tone. Lucinda has pocketed the knife by the time Shane crosses the threshold.

  "My apologies, Master," he says, his blond curls bobbing as he offers a formal bow. No matter what I insist he still refuses to drop the formality. "Mistress," he adds when he rights himself again.

  "You're here for your evening report?" I query, having lost all track of time.

  His gaze flicks to Lucinda, a concerned edge to his look.

  "What is it?" I demand, letting a little of my dragon free of his chains. I've had enough of this evening already, and we're no more than a few hours in.

  "Alain couldn't reach you," Shane advises. "He sent me to check."

  My eyes narrow. Had I been distracted by Lucinda, Alain would not have sent a scout.

  "Well?" I ask archly. "There had better be a decent reason why my Second deems it necessary to send a messenger to my door."

  Lucinda inches closer, her Light reaching out and wrapping around my frame. I turn my head to look at her. Had she thought the Dark was encroaching? She smiles, it's small but blinding. I reach up mesmerised and cup her cheek. I have forgotten we have an audience. She does that to me. Completely capturing my mind and heart.

  "Tell us what has Alain upset?" she asks Shane, her eyes and attention on me as her Light winds itself around and around my frame, sealing me from everything but her magic touch.

  "The visitor is still in the bar," Shane says and my attention snaps back to my junior vampyre.

  "And?" I ask, Lucinda's Light retreats at the sight I am back in control of my faculties again.

  "And she's got an audience," Shane advises. "A rather large one, consisting of several Iunctio Councillor’s vampires and their entourages."

  Oh, this could not be good.

  "And what is she regaling them?" I ask, slipping my hand into Lucinda's, knowing my time is up.

  Shane looks pained. He is my youngest, and my most soft hearted. Vampyrism has not yet tainted his soul.

  "Alain respectfully asks that you attend, Master. Or give him permission to deal with the issue swiftly. Damage is being done."

  "I get the feeling I'm missing something here," Lucinda says dryly from my side.

  I offer a strained smile, and ask, "I don't suppose you'll wait here while I deal with this?"

  She just laughs, removes her hand from my grasp and crosses her arms over her protruding belly.

  "Not a chance," she quips, eyes flashing a delicious challenge.

  "Tell Alain we'll be there in a moment," I instruct Shane, barely aware he leaves the room with just a nod.

  It is time to act like a kindred Nosferatu. Hell, it is time to act like the Champion of the Iunctio.

  "Ma douce," I start, and she holds up a hand to halt me.

  "I'm not going to like this, am I?" I shake my head to say no. "It involves a woman, doesn't it?"

  I grimace, but am unable to deny the claim.

  I watch as she glances down at her body, at the rounded stretch of fabric straining to contain her swollen belly. I hold my breath. I know I should just come out and say it, tell her everything, let her know she has nothing to fear.

  But I am scared. Of harming her. Of watching the despondency from earlier creep back onto her face.

  This isn't something I can fix with soft words and careful platitudes. This is a part of my past come to haunt us. History I cannot alter, but had never thought I would have to relive.

  "Friend or enemy?" she finally asks, chin up, shoulders back, Nosferatin show no fear on her pretty face.

  I love her so much.

  "Enemy," I reply with venom. "But it's complicated." She nods for me to go on.

  "Petra is my blood-kin, Amicus her Sire." Lucinda looks suitably shocked. I've never mentioned this vampyre before. Remiss of me. Stupid of me. Pride before the fall, she'd say.

  "OK," she voices slowly, dragging out the word. "What's the catch?"

  Having a connection to Amicus is more than enough of a catch and she knows it, but Lucinda is intelligent, a master of political games at such a tender age.

  I am so proud of her.

  "Often blood-siblings are sworn to pacts that retain the bloodline should the Sire meet the final death," I say, the words hollow, coming from somewhere inside me I never thought I'd have to go. "Blood is what keeps us strong. What protects us. Our blood-family is often all that stands between us and annihilation. In times past it was considered a prudent political move to maintain those blood connections. Most vampyre today do not adhere to it, but Amicus was Old World Vampyre. He insisted we have a pact."

  She stares at me, the cogs of her intellect spinning inside her mind. I can see the calculation behind her expressive eyes.

  "So, within days of turning you against your will he made you sign a deal with his daughter," she surmises, rather accurately. I nod. "Tell me," she adds, and I know the tone. It's Lucinda winding up, gathering her armour, preparing for attack. I just don't know if she plans to attack me or Petra. "Was it a non-breakable pact? An accord?"

  I am both relived she has come to the correct conclusion and ashamed I have not told her of this part of my past before. It affects us both. It affects Auckland. Merde, it affects the Iunctio now that I am the Champion.

  "An accord," I hear myself say.

  She doesn't make a sound. She doesn't sway on her feet, or pale. She palms her stake, from God knows where she managed to claim it, and settles hard eyes on my face.

  "She can't have you," she declares and I realise it's my Light that bathes the room. The part of me that is so inextricably entwined with Lucinda, through the rejoining the Ambrosia performed. The magenta of my vampyre-within and the white of my Light, makes an intriguing display of mauve spread throughout the room.

  "I think I'll go introduce myself," Lucinda adds and I'm instantly blocking her path to the door. "Oh no you don't, vampire," she grinds out, between gritted teeth. "Stand aside."

  I can't help it. I love her when she is like this. I offer a smirk, a chuckle accompanies it, and for the first time since Petra walked back in my life I feel... not exactly happy, but calmly and readily prepared to face whatever the bitch has brought.

  My hand slips into my kindred's and we both walk out the office door.

  Chapter 3

  Blood-Kin Pacts

  Fear is getting the better of me. We'd discussed my tendency to be overprotective when we found out Lucinda was pregnant. My vampyre-within equally capable of caging our kindred as I. But with a concerted effort I can often counteract his desires. Overrule them with logic.

  Logic tells us Lucinda will not be contained. Logic tells us that life with a kindred Nosferatin kept locked behind safe doors would be hell. So, it has been with logic that I have battled my vampyre-within, allowing Lucinda to have a normal amount of freedom for a pregnant woman in today's society.

  It has been hard. But I am comforted by her ability to fight back. This morning, however, watching her despondent mood almost overwhelm her and witnessing the difficulties her larger shape has created in mobility, I am finding logic a poor argument.

  Yet, here we are walking through the halls of the Iunctio's quarters in The Plaza, heading towards a vampyre I consider an enemy with my heavily pregnant kindred at my side.

  My heart beats a frantic rhythm vampyres are aware of as I
pass. Some of the vampyres are not mine. I need to get a handle on this and the only way I can adequately manage that is to summon Amisi and Gregor to us. As the Champion I can do so with relative ease and they would not ignore the summons. As friends, I need only ask. With a simple thought I order Alain to contact the Master of Wellington City, sending an urgent request for their attendance.

  I feel a modicum of relief having organised a suitable back-up, one Lucinda will not baulk at. In the next instant I am confirming with my vampyre stationed at Sensations that Georgia is working tonight. If she senses the Pull, she will respond to it immediately. The Nothus is half Nosferatin, after all.

  By the time we have come to the main foyer of the hotel I have done all I can to shield my kindred, and yet the greatest threat lies in the bar, not less than twenty feet away. My pace slows, Lucinda automatically matches it. I greet a few vampyres as we meander through the foyer, note the level of Sanguis Vitam on the air, and focus my attention on the bar itself. Picking up an alarming amount of excitement.

  Ordinarily this would not be unusual for The Plaza, this is the seat of the Iunctio. But right now the excitement is laced with uncertainty. The vampyres within unsure how to take this new information they are receiving. My eyes seek out our guard. Lucinda's and mine are dotted about the periphery, my shadow guards acknowledge my attention with a mental nod.

  We are as prepared as we can be, but it will not be enough.

  I pull on a fraction of the Iunctio's combined Nosferatin and Nosferatu power, aware I have now alerted the Keeper to my concerns as well. It cannot be avoided. Petra is powerful, not as strong as I, but having come from the same Sire, our power-base matches. To fight her, Sanguis Vitam to Sanguis Vitam, would be a challenge. And that is not even considering my pregnant wife being used against me.

  If Lucinda knew I was having these thoughts she would be appalled. There is no way my kindred sees herself as a weakness.

  I flick a glance to my side to see her expression. She is alert, on guard, the epitome of vampyre hunter. There is no fear on her face, if I couldn't sense her emotions through the Bond we share, I would not know she felt it. She smiles benignly at those vampyres who greet us. Murmurs a word or two to those of my line. Her heart rate is steady, as are the babies'. She is in control, regal, beautiful.

  I feel eminently proud to walk in that room with her on my arm.

  I feel so full of fear it almost floors me.

  I let my vampyre-within out. Right now I will not show mercy.

  Immediately magenta washes the marble tiles of the foyer, making Lucinda flick an intrigued gaze at my face. I see her thoughts there, I don't have to hear them. Hello, dragon. I smile, my fangs are showing.

  Her fear spikes, but I know it is not at the sight of my vampyre, it is because I am not attempting to hide him.

  She gets control of the emotion immediately, the only sign of her disquiet is the movement of her free hand into her jacket pocket. She is fingering her stake. I am quite pleased for her to be doing so. Right now I am the Champion and she is the Prophesied.

  We walk into the bar and the room hushes. It takes a moment to place the most powerful of those vampyres present, and send mental commands to my guard to position themselves near each one. There are no other Councillors here, but the Ambrosia approaches. Called by the power I am displaying right now.

  My eyes land on Petra and the group of vampyres she has accumulated to herself. I purposely stare at each one. It takes mere seconds for those weaker to fall away and flash from the room. She is left with three. Two belong to the Imposter, the last to the Diviner. Both Councillors now washed in Lucinda's Light, but I will never truly trust them.

  We have made inroads into the Dark that had encased the Iunctio for so long, but that does not mean we are home free.

  "Michel," Petra purrs, flicking a perfectly manicured hand, with over-long red lacquered nails, through her blonde hair. The movement practised, but casual in appearance. "I'm so glad you've chosen to join us. I was just telling these lovely vampyres how we first met." Her hand lands possessively on one of the 'lovely' vampyres, a vampyre I know can sever heads with just a flick of his fingers. Lovely is not a word ever associated with William.

  His eyes, burning a slight tinge of rust-red, lift to mine. He holds my gaze when others would have looked away. My vampire-within snarls. The sound audible in the room even when I haven't opened my lips to make it. His eyes lower, but not before I see his lips twist in a smirk.

  "You took to vampyrism with such aplomb," Petra is saying. "Of course, it helped that you had me to show you how to control those urges."

  Her tone of voice says everything her words fail to convey. I sense Lucinda's shock and disgust. She has assessed this threat and found it distasteful, and now she is alarmed I have entertained that which she finds beneath me, at one stage.

  It was not a conscious choice. At the time I was... not myself. Explaining that now is useless, there is greater danger before me than at my side. Lucinda is not a fool, she understands more of our world now than ever.

  "It will be like old times," Petra declares and I have had enough of this show.

  "There will be no walk down memory lane, Petra. You speak out of line." I am not merely any vampyre, I am her Champion. To speak thus is considered treason by some.

  But it appears I must spell this out for her as she continues to ignore my warning.

  "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.