Blood Eternal (11 page)
A road sign flashed into Elizabeth’s mind, as clear as a photograph.
Thanks. Can we drive there by sunset?
Thanks. Can we drive there by sunset?
Probably.
There was a pause, then:
I won’t let them kill Luk. That’s for me to do.
There was a pause, then:
I won’t let them kill Luk. That’s for me to do.
I know.
Her throat closed up. She wanted to say,
I miss you
, but the connection was already broken.
Her throat closed up. She wanted to say,
I miss you
, but the connection was already broken.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Disoriented as she always was after initiating telepathy, it took a moment to register that she sat in the villa’s living room with the three Hungarian hunters. She dashed the back of her hand across her forehead and said briskly, “They’re in a cave near this village. I can’t pronounce it.” Reaching for a pen and paper from the table in front of her, she scribbled down the name Saloman had shown her. “And they’re with the commune vampires already.”
Dante, still relishing every nuance of his new energy, poked Luk with the toe of his shoe. “Wake up. The sun’s setting.” He wanted to go out into the beautiful night, drink blood, grow stronger, collect followers. . . .
Luk, who seemed to sleep with his eyes open, if he slept at all, sat up wearily. He’d been increasingly morose since yesterday evening, when he’d run off on his own. Whatever he’d done hadn’t made him happy. In fact, it appeared to have made him furious, for after feeding, he’d thrown the body of his victim at Dante. Even with his new strength to help withstand the force, Dante had fallen in an undignified heap with the bloodless corpse on top of him. He’d punished Luk with a tongue-lashing and a cold shoulder, neither of which the Ancient appeared to notice, so this time, he thought he’d try a little kindness.
“Now that your wound has finally healed, are you happier this evening?” he inquired jovially.
“No,” said Luk. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too. We’ll wake the others and go out. What makes you unhappy, Luk?”
Luk threw back his head and laughed. “This.” He stared at Dante, the laughter dying to fury and pain on his still lips until Dante’s new blood ran cold. Then he uttered, “Tsigana.”
Dante blinked, taking a moment to place the name. “Tsigana? She’s been dead three hundred years.” He grinned with vicious satisfaction. “Took Saloman out before she went, though.”
“Saloman.” Luk shook his head violently. It might have been rage or hurt. Or simple madness.
“What made you think of Tsigana?” Dante asked. “Did you go looking for her last night?”
“I found her. She told me she’s dead. But she isn’t undead.”
Dante turned away. Sometimes talking to Luk was just plain pointless. Except . . . He looked back over his shoulder. “You found someone you thought was Tsigana? Perhaps Tsigana’s blood ran in her veins?”
Luk nodded.
Dante laughed. “Elizabeth Silk. I’ll bet you anything! Did you kill her?”
Luk shook his head impatiently. It could have meant anything.
“I hope you did,” Dante murmured. “Especially if she had her tame hunters in tow.” Another possibility struck him, wiping the smile right off his face. In his admittedly limited experience, where Elizabeth Silk turned up, Saloman was rarely far away. He seemed to regard his Awakener as some kind of pet. Dog-in-the-manger-like, though he hadn’t yet killed her, he was damned if he’d let anyone else enjoy the privilege.
Dante glanced at Luk with frustration. So far, the Ancient had defended him from other vampires’ instinctive aggression, but he shouldn’t rely on such protection lasting forever. And looking at him now, hunched, unreachable, twitching with hunger and God knew what else, Dante couldn’t see him troubling the might of Saloman. What self-respecting rebel would choose to follow this miserable creature?
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he snarled.
The color of the sunlight had begun to change, darkening the shifting shadow patterns on the forest floor. Saloman could move now in safety; in another few minutes, he could even leave the shelter of the forest. Before the vampires left their cave, he could be there, waiting for them.
Except, trailing up the hill from the village, Elizabeth and the hunters were approaching. By the time they found him, he could have killed Dante and the others, returned Luk to sleep, and shown their followers the error of their ways. And everyone could go home. But Saloman refused to give up his long game, the wooing of the hunters that he’d begun with the rescue of Josh Alexander from Dante in Budapest. Their working together had to be more than a one-off, more than a vague idea. It had to be visible and real. And so, while the vampires stirred in their cave, he waited for the hunters. And for Elizabeth.
She moved through the trees with all the poise her new physical confidence had given her—part of the protective group of hunters who surrounded her, watching out for themselves and one another. It caused a pang of pain in Saloman that came dangerously close to jealousy, for the hunters would always be a part of who she was now.
Elizabeth had changed and grown over the last year as she recognized her strengths and dealt with the realities of her new life. Saloman was proud of her—proud too of his role in her growth. He’d shown her the way to develop her telepathic and sensory powers, through which she would reach whatever full potential awaited her. And he’d broken through her shyness, her inhibitions where love was concerned, taught her the giving and receiving of joy. And yet she remained the same person who’d intrigued and touched him when she’d accidentally awakened him—compassionate, intelligent, vulnerable, funny, unexpectedly sweet, brave, thoughtful, loving. . . .
Loving. Saloman’s loins tightened as he watched her approach. Her red-blond hair was tied carelessly behind her head, revealing all the delicate beauty of her face; the skimpy top that he’d once called a whore’s bodice emphasized the contours of her breasts and waist. Yesterday evening’s hot, irresistible fuck hadn’t been enough, not nearly enough. But then she’d overanalyzed, as she was prone to—it was an intellectual’s failing—and wanted to punish him for a perceived lack of respect. Although her frail humanity was a large part of what drew him to her, sometimes it was totally incomprehensible.
But at least she smiled when she saw him, the quick, spontaneous smile that warmed his heart and drove his borrowed blood straight to his cock. Despite the presence of the grave-faced hunters, she came right up to him, and although she didn’t kiss him, she threaded her fingers through his and squeezed.
“Are they still there?” she asked, just a little self-consciously.
“They’ve left the cave.”
“Got them!” the Hungarian, István, exclaimed with satisfaction. He was examining one of his bizarre instruments on which the hunters relied to a ridiculous degree. Their detectors were clever, Saloman allowed, and he applauded their ingenuity, but the hunters seemed blind to the fact that by the time the instrument gave out any warning, a vampire could already be biting the owner’s throat. A decent vampire moved a lot faster than their technology.
And so it proved. They scurried up the hill, past the cave where Luk and Dante had sheltered with their followers, and their instruments went dead.
“Follow in the same direction,” Konrad ordered. “There’s a decent-sized town on the other side of these hills. I’ll get Mustafa to meet us with a car.”
Saloman spoke to Elizabeth.
Go with them.
Go with them.
She glanced at him, her expression uncertain. A frown creased her brow, as if she were annoyed by his instruction, and yet the softness of her eyes showed only that she’d miss his company, that she regretted her exclusion from whatever he was about to do. Sorry for it, he caressed her mind with his and slipped out of it as he lifted the sheltering branch that protected the cave, and stepped inside.
Saloman had to close his eyes as the echo of Luk’s presence surrounded him. The strength of it was overwhelming, so much so that it almost entirely eclipsed the signature of the other, lesser vampires, including Dante. Crouching down, Saloman ran his fingers across the stone and earth that was the cave floor. He found the place where Luk had lain to rest, placed his palm flat, and let it all in, all the lingering essence that was Luk.
This was why Elizabeth could not be here. Because Saloman could not bear the pain of Luk’s hopeless ignorance. This was worse than the insanity that had clouded and tormented his cousin’s once-great mind; this was as if the mind had been completely wiped, just leaving enough for Luk to know that it happened. And yet the soul was the same; it was still Luk.
Blood pounded behind Saloman’s aching eyes. He wished he could weep to release the excruciating pressure, to honor the Luk he’d loved. But tears were the one thing beyond him now, as if some vital organ had been damaged on the night of his betrayal by those he’d loved the most: Maximilian, his first “child,” and Tsigana, his lover. Tsigana, whom he’d forgiven so often because her human flaws had fascinated him. And yet he’d never imagined she would ever commit the ultimate betrayal and assist in his murder.
Tsigana. The whole cave was redolent with her echo. She’d filled Luk’s mind as he lay here, as if he imagined he’d lost her to death. What would it do to him to know that she’d been back in Saloman’s bed the day of Luk’s burial? To Saloman, that had been a necessary if slightly perverse honoring of his cousin; to Tsigana it had been an imagined triumph. To Luk . . . Well, Luk didn’t even know who Saloman was anymore.
Or did he? Saloman ground his fingers into the stone until they bled. He couldn’t follow the lingering memory of Tsigana back to its source, Luk’s mind, for fear of harming or even alerting Luk before he was ready. But the image left from Luk’s thoughts was accurate, as was the scent, the feel of Tsigana, except, surely, it altered occasionally to fit the more vital, open face of Elizabeth, in whose veins ran Tsigana’s blood.
Something was returning to Luk. He was holding on to Tsigana, using her memory to try to reach others, to work out how the other woman’s blood smelled of Tsigana.
Saloman released the earth and stone between his fingers and rose to his feet. The dirt fell away from his skin, which began to heal over the abrasions he barely noticed. If Luk was remembering already, then Saloman, Elizabeth, and the whole world had better look out.
Outside the cave, Saloman lifted his face into the wind. He could smell Elizabeth and the hunters, hear their grumbles because they still could not pick up the trail of the vampires. There was a reason for that, of course. The hunters were heading in the wrong direction. Either Luk or Dante had worked out that they were being pursued. Perhaps Luk had mentioned seeing a woman who smelled of Tsigana, and Dante had put two and two together. Either way, the vampires had swung around in a large arc and were heading back south by a more western route.
Elizabeth. You’re going the wrong way. Follow my signal.
If they timed it right, he could kill Luk and keep the fight going long enough for the hunters to arrive and take part. Another cooperative venture would then be won at very little loss. And Saloman could turn his attention to the rebellion rising among the vampires of Istanbul. Without Luk, it would be simple to quell.
Saloman began to run, lengthening his stride to massive leaps so that he covered the uneven ground faster than the human eye could see. The vampires were using some erratic, haphazard masking to disguise their presence. Saloman applauded their caution, which, however, was useless against him. If Luk ever troubled to mask, things would be different, but at the moment, Saloman was invisible to them while able to track their every move.
When they were finally visible to his naked eye, hundreds of feet below his vantage point, he acknowledged that he had to look into his cousin’s eyes when he killed him. He owed him that. Again. And for that, he needed surprise on his side.
He jumped once, landing on a lower ledge, darting forward and downward before any of them could glance up. Dante led the pack at a moderate, resting pace now, with Luk trailing along in the rear, occasionally shaking his head as if plagued by some massive twitch.
Oh, yes, Dante would die.
A moment longer, Saloman listened to the beat of his own heart. Then he grasped the sword at his hip for strength and jumped again.
He landed lightly behind Luk, who must have felt the rush of displaced air, for he turned his head without interest to glance over his shoulder.
Saloman spoke softly, in the Ancient language of their people. “Greetings, Luk.”
Luk froze, his mouth open, his eyes wide. Ahead, the others didn’t appear to notice that Luk was dawdling again.
Luk turned slowly, as if he couldn’t help it, and stared at Saloman. Oh, yes, they were Luk’s eyes, hazel and luminous, the eyes of a seer and prophet. But curiously blank as Saloman had never seen them before—half-dead because only half-awakened. Without the memories that had formed him, he wasn’t yet Luk. His lips moved silently; some huge, internal struggle crossed his face and ended in his eyes with a flash like lightning.
“Saloman.”
It came out as a whisper, and yet the stupid joy of his recognition crashed around Saloman’s ears like an earthquake.
Look out, world.
Look out, world.
Luk took two steps forward. “Saloman,” he said again, loudly enough to catch the attention of the vampires in front. Saloman ignored them. Luk’s lips twisted with effort or pain or both. Blood gathered at the corners of his eyes and he smiled.
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