Crimson Moon (35 page)

"Nec—necromancy.” He gasped, flailing backward up the stairs and tripping. He kept moving away, stumbling in uncharacteristically clumsy movements.

The room erupted with powerful energy, the hum coursing over my skin. The people at my sides were thrust back, Trent and my Father taking their places. Their faces were fierce and protective, bodies braced for attack. I felt energy come up and over, surrounding me completely.

I had no idea what necromancy was—I stared at the gaping crowd—obviously it was bad.

The leaders of every house stood abruptly, staring with a mixture of amazement and apprehension. They converged together, speaking quietly amongst each other. Blace stared at me, his expression a combination of awe and bafflement. His lips moved quickly as he returned his attention toward the others around him.

"Cease!"

The Prince's decree echoed off the walls, silencing the room. My eyes flew up the stage, freezing when they met his. A white haze overcame everything, blanketing my vision in a heavy faraway cloud.

The Prince stood fluidly, walking in measured movements. Each of his steps were like ripples on water, smooth and calculated. His yellow eyes were shining, digging deeply, reaching past my eyes and into my soul. And I was helpless, trapped in their depths.

The purple jacket around his body billowed out, cloaking him. His hair flowed as if charged by some kind of magic, coming around to shroud him in light.

He reached me in seconds, lifting his fingers in a silent order. My hand raised of its own accord, stretched to him as an offering. He accepted it, ignoring Imar's cut and twisting my wrist. His teeth extended, canines lengthening. He struck like a snake, quick and precise, scoring me cleanly.

I didn't feel his teeth penetrate, stuck in a strange state of cloudiness. It was if I were witnessing a dream instead of partaking in the actual experience. I could see him before me; feel his lips against my skin. His flaxen hair brushed my arm, but the sensation didn't register.

He drank deeply, suckling at the delicate skin before he pulled away, licking the punctures closed and sealing the wounds. “After all this time—
astonishing
."

His voice penetrated the fog and I peered into his face. His eyes were so beautiful, the black edges and lines along the iris so vivid—so breathtaking—against the lustrous yellow. His chiseled face was radiant and stunning; his eyes, nose, and mouth were placed perfectly in his face, everything in absolute proportion.

"I claim this one for the house of the Prince,” he declared.

"She's already been spoken for.” My Father's voice was shaky, as if speaking each word cost him dearly.

I attempted to turn my head, wanting to see my Father. But I couldn't detach my eyes from the breathtaking yellow. My ears worked, and I was aware he stood beside me, but I was immobile, my body refusing to work properly.

"How so, Luca DeViard,” the Prince asked calmly. His voice ever regal and eloquent, soft but perfectly distinct.

"He speaks true,” Blace spoke loudly, acknowledging my Father's words. “I accepted her into our house two hours past."

The Prince released my hand, his golden eyes brightening inside his magnificent face. He glanced at my Father and said, “I offer your recompense for your debt, if you release her into my power."

"Thank you humbly, highness, for such an honor. But I must respectfully decline.” Dad's voice seemed far away, as if he had moved across the room.

"It is not wise to decline such a generous offer, Luca DeViard. Think before you make rash decisions. What I propose you is not to be taken lightly.” The words were spoken smoothly, the veiled threat hidden subtly within.

"Forgive me. I have already given her my word that she will reside among her family."

I watched his eyes flare, yellow glowing neon. “When will she embrace the change of this life?"

"In under a month, highness,” Dad answered evenly, “She is experiencing her last human sabbatical, as is our custom."

Canary eyes fixated on me and he ordered, “Speak your name."

"Emmaline Hope Johnson,” I answered automatically, the words escaping my lips before I could comprehend the question.

He skimmed his fingers along my face, down my neck and across my chest—but I couldn't feel it. My body was unable to move, my mind unwilling to think.

"We will meet again, Emmaline Hope Johnson."

Then, he left me, ascending the stairs and taking his seat once more.

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We left the ascension straight away. Trent and Dad escorted us quickly from the venue amid curious and fearful faces after the ceremony was complete.

I didn't understand what was going on, only that my mind was slightly hazy from my encounter with the Prince. The plane started, a combination of engines and rolling fan blades, picking up speed and lifting into the sky.

"Luca,” Mom snapped, her patience worn thin. Her eyes tracked his movements. “Tell me what is going on!"

Dad came over, raking his fingers through his thick hair in agitation. He paced the miniscule space, back and forth, talking to himself. His raven hair spilled across his forehead, concealing his eyes from view.

"We could never have prepared for this,” he said to her, glancing at me, his voice full of regret. “I couldn't have known."

"Known what? Luca, you're scaring me and Emma. Please, tell us what is going on,” she implored calmly, attempting to ease the tension.

"Necromancy is a very rare talent, one that isn't received well among our kind. I've only heard of necromancers in stories and legends, but their power to communicate with spirits and ghosts are renowned. Until she's changed, we won't know how far her abilities span.” He shook his head, pacing again.

"So she can communicate with spirits, what is the problem? Calm down, Luca, talk to me."

"It's a problem because a select few necromancers have a power that extends beyond controlling spirits. They can control any of the undead,
anything
that has died to the mortal world. That includes vampires. Do you understand what I'm saying now, Lily?” My Father barked out the words, his Scottish accent making him difficult to understand.

"How is it any different than mind control? Blace can mind roll just about anyone he wants to. I don't see why this is so devastating."

"How do you think the Prince became ‘The Prince'?” Trent asked, speaking for the first time since we'd departed.

"How would I know?” She lost her composure, snapping at him, “Since I'm not invited to the house functions, I don't particularly care to brush up on their history. And you and Luca have never been too keen on sharing your first hand information."

"The Prince is a necromancer,” Trent snarled. “He's the only one many of us ever encountered. He can control us, destroying our free will. That is why we have ceremonies with all of the house leaders present. He can take advantage, but if he does, it would transpire in the open. He doesn't want to face his own justice. That is how we allowed him into power in the first place."

Mom's face dropped and panic replaced her tranquility. Her brows knotted together and she didn't speak anymore, just focusing on Dad as he paced back and forth.

"What does this mean?” I asked softly.

Everyone stopped, as if seeing me for the first time.

"It means that I need to speak with Blace immediately. Your ability has marked you, and we need our house to rally together and make it clear you are one of us,” Dad spoke hurriedly, words chaotic and frenzied, “At the present moment, we are in the clear, and we have time. You're not to be changed for three weeks still."

"And after I'm changed, what will happen?"

"We'll see the extent of what you can do, and hopefully, it won't be enough to concern the Prince and he'll lose interest."

He and Trent exchanged knowing glances, talking to one another privately.

They know something they aren't telling me.

"And if he doesn't.” I held my breath. The reality that this wasn't something I could control settled in.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Dad answered evasively, refusing to elaborate.

We arrived home in the early morning and I barely had the energy to change out of my dress before crawling into bed. When my eyes opened, it was well into the afternoon, the sun attempting to break through the oppressing cover of clouds.

I yawned and stretched, basking in the relaxing warmth of the feathers and sheets, even though I couldn't sleep any longer. My mind replayed the events of the previous day, reminding me that stormy skies lay just ahead.

Like the clouds outside my window.

I groaned into the tranquil room. Necromancy was just my luck. Nothing had been cookie cutter simple since my entire foray into the supernatural. Why should my ability be any different? Judging from Dad, Trent, and Prince Decimus Watts, I might find myself in over my head—again.

I trudged out of the bed and chose a sweater and jeans from the closet. The temperature wasn't merely chilly in Scotland, it was hocking cold. I snagged my thick thermal socks, for added comfort and heat.

I took a quick shower and dressed in the steamy warmth created by the water, carefully brushing my hair and donning something to protect my skin from the cold.

A tray with coffee, cream and sugar awaited me on the dresser in my bedroom. Keith—the most amazing butler ever—was the man. I would be sure to tell him exactly that the next time I saw him.

I mixed a strong cup, sprawling in the antique rocking chair placed in front of my massive bedroom window. The sky was overcast as winter had finally arrived. For some, the manifestation of the darkened sky might be considered gloomy, but I thought it was romantic. It was sad, really.

All things that concerned matters of my heart came in shades of gray.

I closed my eyes, rocking slowly, remembering indigo blue eyes, sooty dark lashes and a face I yearned to see again. I didn't dwell on Caleb often, but from time to time I'd go back, remembering how right I felt sheltered in his arms. I wasn't angry anymore, but I did carry a weight of bitterness about it all. The pain he inflicted was done selflessly, but it didn't make it any easier to endure.

Sara's lack of contact following the letter should have been indication enough of where things stood. Maybe the letter did give him the comfort he needed, just as I hoped it might. Or perhaps he never read it at all. I tried to convince myself that our time meant more to me than it did for him. We bonded in days, not weeks. I ran my thumb over the white gold band on my finger; his final goodbye to me was better than nothing at all.

"Emmaline.” Dad's knuckles rapped softly on the door. “May I come in?"

"Hey, sure.” I tilted my head and he stopped beside me. His profile was deceivingly youthful, immortality preserving his handsome face permanently. It threw me for a loop sometimes, when I detached myself from his actual relation to me.

"I spoke with Blace. He's taking a flight out today to come speak with us. He was shocked, as all were. But now, he's fine with the revelation.” Dad's thick Scottish brogue made him difficult to understand and I had to concentrate. “I just wanted to let you know everything is going to be fine."

"That's good news.” I sipped my coffee and stared out the window. The clouds were darkening, collecting thickly, rain just on the horizon.

Dad studied me for several agonizing minutes. I could feel the weight of his eyes on my shoulders.

"Your Mother worries about you, Emmaline, and so do I. You seem so happy at times and then so detached at others. That wolf is on your mind again as of late, isn't he?"

"I'm sorry,” I sighed in apology, averting my face and avoiding his concerned eyes. “It comes and goes."

"Never apologize for your feelings.” His hand touched my shoulder gently. “Our emotions define who we are."

I wanted to speak up, to tell him emotions also leave you devoid, empty, and broken. I learned that painful truth first hand. But I didn't tell him the inner ramblings of my mind. He had sacrificed so much to save my Mother, and his indelible love for her gave me hope.

"Thanks, Dad.” I looked up and smiled, meeting his bright and warm dove grey eyes.

"I'll tell your Mother you're awake.” He returned my smile and exited the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him.

The concrete slab nearly crushed my feet before Trent yanked me out of the way. It fell heavily into the grass, leaving an impressive imprint. I'd foolishly asked him if we could do some energy exercises, but my mind was too frazzled. Manipulating objects required the utmost concentration.

Something I was undeniably lacking.

"I'm sorry,” I apologized, quite possibly for the millionth time in the day. It was embarrassing.

"Don't ask me to help you if you're not going focus,” he reprimanded me softly, standing straight.

"I said I was sorry, okay?” I walked past him to the manor. The clouds were lush and dark. The rain would fall heavy and fast shortly. “It's just a crappy day today."

"I know, Emma, believe me.” He shook his head in concurrence, adding, “I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself."

I didn't respond, quickening my pace to the back entryway. I pulled the door open in a swift yank, stepping inside and stomping toward the kitchen. A few of the servants scattered out of the way and I excused myself as I passed, determined to get my soda and drink it in peace.

I pulled open the stainless steel refrigerator door and squatted down to grab my Coke, slamming the door shut behind me.

"If you want to talk,” Trent offered, “I'll listen."

"You listen already,” I snapped, shaking my head. “You're always listening."

"You know what I mean,” he said, jaw clenching.

"Yeah, I do.” I breathed in deeply, anger receding. “Yesterday finally caught up with me. I'm doing my best to keep my head above water. I wasn't afraid before, but I am now."

"Don't be afraid.” His hand touched my arm, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

"If you and Dad weren't so freaked, it would be a whole lot easier.” They'd been tense from the minute we'd left London. It was impossible
not
to be frightened.