A Hunger Like No Other (39 page)

Several more charges, each parried. Lachlain was out of practice, especially with his left hand. He sensed the other two returning and growled in fury, blocking a stroke from the back and slashing out with his claws, dropping one of the henchmen.

The other two put Lachlain between them. Before he could even register what had happened, Ivo traced to mere inches from Lachlain, slashing out with his sword, then tracing away. The blow ripped across Lachlain's shoulder and chest, sending him spinning to the ground.

D
amp ivy. Oak trees. Home. She'd somehow made it.

Or at least to the grounds of Val Hall. But her skin still smoked, and she was weak as a babe from her injuries. How much blood had she lost? Had she made it so far just to die at dawn?

She tried to roll over in order to crawl, but failed. The effort made her vision go blurry. When it finally cleared, she spied a massive, black-haired man peering down at her. Brows drawn, he scooped her up into his arms, then began walking up the long drive to the manor. Emma thought this was the drive. She could also be mistaken that it was a man.

“Easy, girl. I know you are Emmaline. Your aunts have been worried.” Deep voice. Strange accent. European and moneyed. “I am Nikolai Wroth.”

Why did that name sound so familiar? She squinted up at him. “You are a friend of my aunts?” she said, her voice sounding faint.

“With
one.
And it seems only one.” A short laugh with no humor. “Myst is my wife.”

“Myst married?” Was that where she'd been? No, no way. “That's funny.”

“The jest's on me, I'm afraid.” As they reached the
manor, he bellowed, “Annika, call off the goddamn wraiths and let me in.”

Emma stared up at the sky, seeing swirling red swaths of ragged cloth circling the house. Occasionally she spied a gaunt, skeletal face, but it would change to beauty if you met its eyes.

The price for their protection was hair from each of the Valkyrie within. The wraiths wove each lock into a massive braid, and when it grew long enough, they bent all living Valkyrie to their will for a time.

“Myst hasn't returned yet,” someone called from the house. “But you know that, or else you'd both be naked and fornicating on the front lawn.”

“The night's young. Give us time.” To himself, he murmured, “And it was a
field
a mile away.”

“Don't you have a tanning appointment to go to, vampire?”

Emma stiffened. Vampire? But his eyes weren't red. “Did you follow me?”

“No, I was awaiting Myst's return from shopping and sensed you trace into the woods.”

A vampire waiting for Myst? He'd said she was his wife. She sucked in a breath. “You're the general, aren't you,” she whispered. “The one Myst had to be pried from?”

She thought the corners of his lips quirked. “Is that what you heard?” At her solemn nod, he said, “It was mutual, I assure you.” He glanced away down the drive, as if
willing
Myst to return, and said almost to himself, “How much lingerie can one female need . . . ?”

Suddenly Annika was shrieking, running for her, vowing to kill him ever so slowly.

Amazingly, his body was still relaxed. “If you do not cease
trying to take off my head, Annika, we will have words.”

“What have you done to her?” she cried.

“Obviously, I clawed her, bloodied her, and burned her, and now, oddly, I offer her up to you.”

“No, Annika,” Emma said. “He found me. Don't kill him.”

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Emma saw Myst returning then, dropping shopping bags full of lace—and leather—to run toward them in all her heart-stopping beauty. Gaze locked on Myst, the vampire finally tensed, and his heart sped up, beating loud like a drum.

Then Emma felt a very decisive yank as she went from his arms to Annika's.

“I was on fire,” Emma told her. “I slew Demestriu.”

“Of course, you did. Shhh, you are unwell.”

When Myst reached them, she pressed a kiss on Emma's forehead.

“Myst, he found me,” Emma said. “You shouldn't kill him.”

“I'll try to refrain, my sweet,” Myst answered in a wry tone. Curiously, no one raised a sword against this vampire.

The others gathered round until she was surrounded by her coven. When Annika stroked her face, Emma succumbed to the blackness.

*  *  *

Lachlain hauled himself to his feet, then sagged against the castle wall, still holding his sword out.

“Perhaps I shouldn't have pushed so hard to have you tortured,” Ivo said. “But I can't tell you how many nights have been gladdened by the thought of your skin cooked from your bones.”

He was baiting Lachlain, stirring up the beast to render him thoughtless.

“I can't let you leave here alive. A Lykae after his mate . . .” Ivo tsked. “Annoyingly tenacious. You'd keep coming long after she's forgotten you. And she will forget you. I'll force her to take necks until you're a distant memory.”

Trying to enrage him. Vampires always sought to trigger the beast.

“Now that I've found the key to turning demons, I can turn her fully as well. A true vampire—a true killer. She was made for it.”

Stir the beast. Why not give him what he wanted?

Ivo smirked, so confident. “The first neck she takes will be my own.”

Lachlain cast his sword at the henchman like a dagger, nailing him through the neck. Then, with a mindless roar, Lachlain charged Ivo. As he'd known it would, Ivo's sword shot out for a killing blow. Lachlain struck it down with his fist, sending it plunging into his own thigh. He left it wedged there, pleased, and let the beast free. The sounds of cracking, tearing . . . . Through the haze, Lachlain saw Ivo's long, sadistic existence end with horror in his eyes.

Lachlain growled with satisfaction and dropped his body. He worked Ivo's sword free of his leg, and then his own sword from the remaining henchman's neck. “Video,” he snarled.

The vampire clamped a hand to his neck, scrambling to a small computer in the adjoining chamber. When he handed up the video, Lachlain rewarded him with a quick death. Several more vampires had crowded at the opened door, but Lothaire, an enemy of old, was at the front and appeared to be blocking it, keeping them out. How long had he been there?

Lachlain could guess. Long enough to allow Lachlain to destroy Ivo. He asked Lothaire, “You know about her?”

A tight nod.

Lachlain narrowed his eyes. Lothaire couldn't take the throne, because he wasn't a blood heir. Lachlain knew of no one who could except for Kristoff—unless they went after Emma.

He bared his teeth at Lothaire. “Follow their fates if you follow their actions. I guard her ruthlessly.”

Lothaire's lips subtly drew back from his fangs in answer.

No, Lothaire would never get Emma, so the Horde would surrender to the rebel king or descend into chaos.

Unless Kristoff had a sister.

Lachlain needed to kill them all, but needed to get back to Emma more.

He escaped into the sun, never so glad to see a cloudless sky.

*  *  *

Emma knew the cost.

She'd wakened, having dreamed of people pouring blood down her throat, but she couldn't hold it down. First came blood in glasses, and then everyone started shoving gashed wrists to her lips. But she drank directly from no one, unwilling to risk more memories.

Annika's voice was thrumming with worry. Myst tried to calm her. “Annika, we will think of something. Go speak to the Lykae downstairs. Maybe he knows something we don't.”

Ten minutes later, Annika stormed into her room. Emma cracked open her eyes to see a man lurch in after her, hands shackled behind him. Following were Lucia and Regin, faces pensive, swords drawn.

The man was tall with a shadow of a beard. His eyes were a burnished gold, and he'd been frozen into his immortality with rakish laugh lines fanning out from them.
He looked so much like Lachlain that it pained her. Garreth.

Would he despise her for her involvement with his brother?

Annika pointed in Emma's direction. “Is this who Lachlain should take his vengeance out on? We've all suffered at the vampires' hands, yet that dog thinks to punish our Emma, who is nothing but innocent and kind.” She uncovered Emma's leg. “Look at these gashes! They won't heal! What has he done to her? You will tell me or—”

“Christ,” he murmured. “That's his . . . no, it canna be.” He strode forward, but Regin yanked on his bonds. “Let me closer,” he growled over his shoulder. “Closer, or you'll get no help from me.” His voice grew deadly.
“Get her well.”

“We've tried everything!”

“Why will she no' drink? Aye, Valkyrie, I hear your whispers from her room. I know what she is. What I doona know is how she is my brother's mate.”

“Emma will never be a ‘mate' to one of you!”

“It has been done,” he grated. “I assure you.”

Emma opened her eyes, needing to explain—

Annika struck him, sending him reeling back.

“He's marked her,” Garreth bit out. “He'll be coming for her. I'm just surprised he's no' here already.”

Annika raised her hand again, but Emma didn't want him hurt. “Annika, don't . . . .”

“Force blood down her throat,” Garreth said.

“Think you we have not tried that? She can't keep it down.”

“Try other blood, then. Take
mine.”

“Why do you care?”

His voice was so strong, so like Lachlain's when he said, “Because that's my queen and I'll die for her.”

Annika was shaking with emotion. “Never your queen,” she hissed.

“Goddamn it, let her drink from me!”

“She
won't,”
Annika said, suddenly sounding like she was about to cry. That had happened only once before. Emma wanted to drink. She didn't want to die, but her fangs seemed to have grown small and useless. She feared Demestriu had poisoned her with his claws, and was so weak she could barely keep her eyes open.

Garreth said, “Let me talk to the vampire I scented in the house.”

“He wouldn't know anything—”

“Let me talk to him!” he roared.

Annika told Lucia to go get Myst and Wroth. Seconds later, Emma heard Wroth's deeply accented voice, and her lids flickered open. Then, as if in slow motion, Garreth shook free of Regin and lunged for him. They caught each other by the throat.

“Heal her, vampire,” Garreth bit out.

Low, deadly, all eerie calm, this Wroth simply murmured, “Don't do that again, Lykae.”

He didn't use the if-then threat. As if he knew the mere idea of his displeasure would terrify others.

Garreth released the man. Seconds later, Wroth let go.

“Heal her.”

“I don't know the old ways like some. For a price, I offer to contact Kristoff and ask this boon from him.”

“I'll pay it—”

Annika interrupted, “But then Kristoff will know of her existence.”

Garreth scoffed. “Surely the vampire's already told him?”

Myst said, “Wroth protects our interests,” but Annika and Garreth clearly appeared doubtful.

Garreth turned to Annika. “If we worked together, the vampires would no' hand us our asses like the last Accession. We ally, and we keep her from them.”

Wroth warned in a deadly tone, “Wait till I'm out of the room before you conspire.” No consequence clause.

“But Kristoff has my blood and I killed Demestriu,”
Emma whispered.

Myst crossed to the bed and stroked her hair. “I know, darling. You've said this before.”

Garreth asked Wroth, “What is your price?”

“I want my union with Myst recognized by all.”

Silence.

Lightning flashed outside, and Annika bowed her head.

While Myst gaped at her sister, the vampire traced to just before her. He cupped his hand behind Myst's neck, and stared down into her eyes. Breathless, she gazed up at him as though with wonder, and then they were gone.

*  *  *

On the jet, Lachlain pawed at the DVD player.

Harmann had downloaded the video to this machine, and he'd explained how to use it again and again, but Lachlain's hands were shaking.

He couldn't imagine what she had gone through. Even the strongest Lykae never returned from Demestriu's lair, yet she'd
defeated
him—something no being that had ever lived had been able to accomplish.

Lachlain needed to see even as he dreaded it, needed to find out why she hadn't returned to him. To Kinevane. When he'd finally gotten far from Helvita and staggered back to Harmann, he'd had Harmann call Kinevane.

She wasn't there. She'd traced to . . . her real home.

The player finally started, the video loop beginning with her alone in the room, just before Demestriu traced inside.