Forever Vampire (27 page)

S
INCE ARRIVING IN
the mortal realm, Vail could think only of tracking down his bastard father and killing him.

Now, as he stood before Zett, holding the ash-wood quarterstaff one of Cressida's men had provided him, Vail cared little about Constantine de Salignac. The one enemy he had dallied with over the years stood not six paces away, armored in adamant jade and sneering at him.

Zett had stolen the innocence from many females on the night before they were to wed. He'd tormented Vail all his life because he was different, a filthy vampire. He wished to steal the throne from the missing Unseelie king. And he was trafficking his own kind to the mortal realm to be brutally used by vampires. He didn't deserve death, but he did deserve to be taken down by the one breed he hated most. And Vail was just the vampire to do it.

Swinging out the ash-wood staff, he met Zett's staff, tip to tip, in the traditional salute. Someone called out,
“Begin!” and Zett soared into the air, wings flapping. He would use an aerial attack to his advantage.

But Vail had the advantage of the mortal realm. Faeries did not spend a lot of time in this realm. And confined inside this huge iron and stone building? Couldn't be advantageous for any of them.

Blocking a smart stab to his left shoulder, Vail swung and, with a leap, managed to clip Zett's armored ankle. The faery shook it off, and landed on the concrete floor, swinging a furious figure-eight pattern in a blinding attack that forced Vail down the long arrivals platform between two resting trains.

The white globes from the streetlights that queued down the row glowed yellow in the twilight hour. A swing of Zett's staff nicked one of them, sending shards from the globe across the floor and onto the tracks.

“Is it so important to you,” Zett said as he deflected a blow from Vail, “my doings? I am not your competition, vampire. Or is it that you've not a home here, either?”

“I fight for the honor of all the women you have stolen from their wedding beds,” Vail said. “And for the one woman you will never have.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” Zett spit to the side, and then leaped into the air, flipping a somersault over Vail's head and landing on the opposite side of him. “She is filthy.”

“At one time, you thought she was worthy of your hand. Worthy enough to mark her as your bride.”

“We all make mistakes. Some of us are bold enough to correct them.”

“Is it so easy to take a life to make your life better?

“Says the vampire who is on a quest to slay a man for no more reason than he is his father.”

“Enough!”

Vail slapped the staff through the air and landed it across Zett's neck, which pushed the man, flailing, against an iron support beam. The faery's hand slapped to the beam and his skin sizzled and smoked from the iron burn. The crowd of sidhe observers hissed and cringed at the sight.

Zett tore off his face mask. “You deny your bloodlust for your father?”

“No.”

The faery lord's laughter pricked up Vail's spine. “Then you are like me, vampire. You do as your heart demands.”

Zett rammed his staff upward, crushing it through one of the glass globes. Glass shards again rained over their heads, and Vail dodged to avoid the cutting weapons. He blinked, felt the thin glass tear his eye, and knew the hot ooze was blood. His right eye filled with blood and blurred his vision.

A sharp thwack pounded across his back. He stumbled forward. He dropped his quarterstaff and it rolled onto the tracks. Landing on hands and knees, Vail shook his head but couldn't clear his right eye of the blood. A woman shouted and he knew it was Lyric.

You don't need your father's blood on your hands.
It will change nothing. Don't forget the real fight is for Lyric's freedom
.

Hearing Zett charge from behind, Vail dropped to his side and rolled to catch the faery lord with his boots. A well-placed kick sent Zett soaring away from him at such speed that the faery ended up on the iron rafters four stories above.

Using this opportunity, Vail took a running leap and, thanks to his new vampiric strength, was able to soar as high as the rafters. He landed on an iron crossbar and shoved a hand to Zett's neck, pressing the back of it against the iron.

The faery struggled and yowled. The iron burned his exposed hands, neck and the backs of his thighs. Vail tore off his chest plate, and shoved the faery over, burning him onto the iron.

“Enough!” Cressida shouted from below. The Mistress of Winter's Edge held the highest standing while they lacked an Unseelie queen.

But as her champion, Vail answered only to the Summer Queen.

“Do you yield?” Vail asked the struggling faery lord. “Do you swear you will never return for Lyric Santiago, nor send out your minions after her?”

Zett growled and lifted his chest, but the iron was eating through muscle now. The sickening smell of burnt ichor made Vail wonder how he could have ever consumed it. The wound would become irreversible within moments.

“Yes!” Zett cried.

Vail pulled the faery off the iron rafter and dropped
him. The Unseelie lord was caught by a sidhe and helped to stand.

Vail leaped to the concrete floor gracefully beside the Seelie queen. Going to one knee, he bowed his head, blinded by the dazzling gown, and offered himself as her champion.

“Vaillant the Vampire,” the Seelie queen said. “You have shown great skill and represented me well. Your banishment remains.”

“I accept that. And Lyric?”

The queen glanced at Lyric, who was still held by two armed guards. “By besting the Unseelie lord, you have fulfilled my need for retribution, and won the thief's freedom. We are gone.”

And with a flutter of wings, the entire Seelie court ascended upward.

 

V
AIL REMAINED
on his knees, quarterstaff held with one hand, his head bowed. Blood dribbled down the side of his head. Faery dust glittered in his hair. Her hero had won her freedom. But at what price? Would the dust tempt him back to his addiction?

Lyric ran to him and plunged to his side, hugging him and kissing him. Wrapping his arm about her shoulder, he hugged her against his chest. Blood scent tempted her, and she nuzzled her face against his, so close to the crimson trickles. But even more, she needed the embrace to feel his heartbeat thundering against her own.

“You're free now,” he said. “Free to do as you wish, go where you please.”

“You're not still suggesting I take five seconds?”

He shrugged and exhaled. He was exhausted from the battle. “It would please me to be yours, lover.”

“You are mine,” she confirmed with a kiss to the corner of his eye. “You're bleeding.”

“I'll heal.”

“And there's dust…”

“Ch'yeah, it's tingling like hell. I…I want to taste it.”

“Don't, Vail, please.”

“It smells great. I know it's bad for me….” He studied his forearm, sparkling with dust.

Lyric cast about for assistance, for a friendly face in the throngs who stood witnessing their fallen lord's defeat. Foolish to think any would care about a dust-riddled vampire.

“Please,” Lyric called, but not to anyone in particular. She didn't know how to help him now. If he tasted the dust she might never get him back as she had before. The addiction would steal into his heart and change him forever.

Off near the lockers, Zett sneered, while the gaping wound on his abdomen was attended by a second.

Cressida was the one who finally stepped forward, bringing a cool breeze upon all. She touched Vail's head. “Look at me, my vampire son.”

Vail tore his attention from the faery dust on his arm and looked into his stepmother's eyes. The Mistress of Winter's Edge bowed to kiss him on the mouth. And as she inhaled, the faery dust lifted from Vail's skin.
It fluttered out from his hair, dazzling the air about the two of them, and shimmered to nothing.

Lyric sighed with relief.

“Having defeated Zett,” Cressida said, “your banishment no longer stands.”

Vail stood and helped Lyric up with him. “I prefer to adhere to the banishment, if you don't mind. I belong here, with Lyric.”

The faery's lips curved into a sad moue.

“Though I would ask your favor to visit you on occasion,” he added, and with a bow, pronounced reverently, “Mistress of Winter's Edge.”

“Of course,” she said gleefully, and bowed to him, as if she were the one accepting the gift instead of him. “It pleases me you've found someone like yourself, Vaillant the Dark. She will give you the love your dark heart craves.”

Vail laid a palm over his heart and looked into Lyric's eyes. So much love lived in his eyes. She swallowed back tears at the tremendous feeling.

“One more thing.” Cressida addressed Lyric. “Where is Zett's mark?”

“Behind her right ear,” Vail said softly when Lyric could but shyly lower her head.

The faery ran her fingers along the shell of Lyric's ear. Her touch felt like needles of ice, and when she pressed firmly over the mark it was almost as though frost had affixed to her skin.

“Take care of my vampire son,” she said to Lyric.

“I will.”

“I know the sidhe do not take kindly to thanks,”
Vail said to Cressida, “but…thank you, Cressida. For all the years, and everything betwixt and between.”

Her wings fluttered with what Lyric suspected was unabashed joy, then the faery stepped back and lifted, soaring high toward the ceiling, where her troops, clothed in red, waited.

The remainder of Zett's troops followed in kind, leaving the train station exactly as it had looked an hour earlier, and with but a few frazzled mortals flapping at the air over them as if being dive-bombed by invisible insects. Some believed.

Vail kissed Lyric behind her ear, and infused warmth where Cressida's touch had frozen it. “It's gone,” he whispered. “You're safe from Zett.”

“Thanks to you, lover. Is it over now?”

He pressed his forehead to hers and nodded. “But there's something I still need to take care of.”

“Your father.” She slid a hand along his cheek. “You don't need to kill him.”

He kissed her, a sweet promise. “I know that now.”

Vail's cell phone buzzed and he answered. “Yes? It's Rhys and Tryst,” he said to her. “They're tracking Constantine. What's the address of the Santiago mansion?”

Lyric gave it to him. “Did they get hold of your mother?”

“Yes, but Rhys thinks it best to let her see Constantine, to put it all out in the open. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, and they rushed outside. “I want to get there before they do.”

C
ONSTANTINE MET
L
YRIC
at the door, and Vail lingered behind, assessing the situation. A week ago he would have rushed the bastard and staked him without a word.

But now? Constantine de Salignac wouldn't know the pain he'd caused Vail or his mother, because he hadn't known Vail existed. He did know Lyric, so it made sense to let her go ahead—bearing the bad news.

And while he clutched his fingers into fists, and fought to keep his heartbeats calm, Vail knew it wisest to play this carefully. At the least, he was thankful Rhys, Trystan and Viviane had not yet arrived. He wasn't sure what seeing Constantine would do to Viviane, but suspected nothing good would result.

No moon lightened the sky. The estate grounds were deathly silent. And when he thought he should be tight with anger, standing at the edge of the vanguard waiting to inflict some damage, Vail realized he was surprisingly calm. It was Lyric. She calmed
the incredible new power he had gained, and he liked that just fine.

“Why didn't you tell me about Charish?” Constantine's voice wavered as he stood in the entry hallway talking to Lyric. His tone was angry, but edged with a sadness Vail knew too well. “Who did it to her? Tell me!”

“Connor.” Lyric sighed and, with a glance at Vail, drew in a breath. “Constantine.”

“I asked Charish never to use that name,” he said. “Why would she tell you that? And who is this vampire with you? I thought he worked for Hawkes Associates. Lyric, your mother is dead!”

“Charish didn't tell me your name,” she said, and, with an acknowledging gesture to Vail, added, “Vaillant did. Constantine, I know you're upset about my mother.”

“And you are not?”

“I am. I've had some time to work through it. An amazing convergence of events has kept me from truly feeling grief. I know it'll hit me hard soon enough. But right now, the most important thing is that I introduce you to Vaillant.”

“I can't do this. If he means something to you—I just can't.” Constantine caught his head in his hands and turned away, obviously stricken with the news about his dead lover. “She was my world.”

So his father could feel deeply about a woman? At first Vail wanted to shout at him,
How dare you? When you harmed my mother irrevocably?
And then a small part inside him could understand the pain
the old vampire felt upon losing one he must have loved.

Had the centuries changed him?

Lyric held out her hand to Vail, not pleading, but merely waiting to see if he would take it. He could not resist her allure, the desire to connect with her, even knowing what she intended. Having her here with him, a liaison of sorts, made what he had to do easier.

He placed his hand in hers and joined her side. She kissed his mouth softly and gave him a confirming nod, which he nodded in return.

“Constantine, this is Vaillant,” she said to the sorrowful vampire who leaned against the wall, his arms slack. “Listen to me. You'll want to know this man. He is your son.”

The older vampire turned. His eyes, a pale blue, not so bold as Viviane's, locked on to Vail's. And Vail felt the man's intense and acrid scrutiny burn into his very soul.

“My son? That is…” Constantine looked Vail from head to his boots. “I have no children,” he offered sadly. “I have tried through the centuries to create progeny, but it was not to be. I don't know where you get your information, boy, but I am sorry.”

“Rhys Hawkes told him,” Lyric said quietly.

“Hawkes?” Constantine looked to Vail for verification, his eyes narrowing cautiously. “Of course, if you work for Hawkes Associates. What lies has my brother been telling you?”

With an inhalation to draw in the bravery he knew
he would need, Vail spoke, “You raped my mother, Viviane LaMourette. I am the result of that crime.”

Constantine's jaw dropped open, exposing a chipped fang.

“You violated her in 1785.” Vail relayed the story Rhys had told him. “As a result of some pissing match against your brother. And then you imprisoned her in a glass coffin, bespelled her and buried her alive beneath Paris for over two centuries.”

“I…” Constantine clasped his chest. “She was found? Alive? When last I talked to my brother…”

According to Rhys, Constantine had defied Rhys only hours before Viviane had been found, hissingly telling him he'd gotten what he'd deserved. That was the last time Rhys had contact with his half brother.

“Alive and insane,” Vail confirmed, finding that the vitriol he feared would make him irrational did not emerge. That allowed him to speak calmly. “Viviane gave birth to two boys, who had germinated within her over the centuries.”

“Two?”

“Myself, and my brother Trystan, who is Rhys's blood son.”

“But how is that possible? Two children from the same womb, yet different fathers?” The vampire breathed out and stumbled against the wall. “You tell me true? But why did not my brother? If you are my son… My son?”

Vail felt Lyric's hand at his back and it strengthened him. Standing straight, he nodded. “Before he'd met Viviane, Rhys unknowingly promised his firstborn to a
faery in exchange for the enchantment of his werewolf nature. When the Mistress of Winter's Edge came for her boon, she chose me over my brother Trystan.”

“Cressida took you to Faery? You've grown up there? How long?”

“All my life. I've been in the mortal realm a few months. Since arriving, I have thought only to find you.”

“Truly?”

“And then kill you.”

Constantine nodded, accepting, and then a broad grin stretched his pale mouth. The man drew up his shoulders, exhibiting a shadow of the great tribe leader he must have once been. “Vaillant. That is a fine name. You, who are my son. Do you know how I have longed for a son over the centuries?”

“It doesn't matter,” Vail said.

And it didn't. He didn't care what his father had thought of, strived for, or suffered over the years. None of it could ever erase the horrors Constantine had visited upon his mother.

“So you've come to kill me?” With a resolute nod, Constantine pulled a dagger out from a sheath behind his hip. He set it on the table beside him. “You would take away your only family, son?”

Vail cringed at the label. Constantine had no more right to call him son than he had to call him father. If anyone deserved the right, it was Rhys Hawkes, for his kindness and unconditional support.

He stepped forward, and touched the hilt of the dagger. Such close proximity to Constantine allowed
him to sense the elder vampire's heartbeats; they were slow and tedious. He smelled dusty, like something long forgotten in a dark corner.

Gripping the dagger hilt, Vail drew it up to inspect the blade. He eyed the flash of silver, but on the one side of the blade his father's deep blue eyes distracted him. “They are the same,” Vail said softly. “Our eyes.”

“Boy,” Constantine said. “Take your revenge, if you dare.”

Vail held his father's eyes just one moment longer, then flipped the blade expertly in his hand, caught it and placed it on the table.

He took a step back and nodded, confirming what he'd known all along but had never the sight to believe it. “This is not my revenge to have. You may be blood, but you are not family. You have been cruel and malicious to Lyric's mother. You drove my mother insane. You have never accepted your own brother—”

“Because he is a bloody half-breed! An abomination!”

Vail winced at his father's vehemence. For a moment he had hoped there was a chance, the slightest possibility of mutual acceptance, but it was not to be. “And what of your son who grew up in Faery and believes all vampires abominations?”

“You've been poisoned by the faeries! I, your blood father, am vampire.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “You, Vaillant, are bloodborn, the most regal and powerful of our breed. Come, my son.” Constantine held out his arms.

Vail felt the gentle pressure of Lyric's hand upon his back. She wanted him to step forward to embrace the man he could not conceive of loving? Blood was one thing, but he'd meant what he'd said about family. Constantine was not. Lyric, Trystan and Viviane, they were his family. He knew that now.

A shout outside alerted them. An SUV parked in the yard, the headlights still on. Figures moved in front of the lights, and Trystan rushed inside but slapped his hands on the door frame and paused on the threshold.

The brothers exchanged glances. Then the huffing werewolf asked, “That's him?” Vail nodded.

“Who is this?” Constantine demanded.

“It's Vail's brother,” Lyric provided. “Trystan Hawkes. Your nephew.”

“Viviane is in a mood,” Tryst said. “Rhys thinks it best to allow her to see him, but I'm not so sure, man. You didn't kill him?”

Vail almost laughed. He did like where his brother's head was at. “No.”

“So this is your half-breed brother,” Constantine said from behind Vail, not disguising the contempt.

“I'm one hundred percent werewolf,” Tryst said. “Want to test my talons, longtooth?”

“Tryst.” Vail shook his head subtly.

The werewolf was shoved forward into the hall as Viviane pushed by him and clambered into the room. Her azure eyes were bright and seeking. She held beauty captive in her pale skin and dark features.

No,
Vail thought,
I have my mother's eyes.

He stepped aside to clasp Lyric's hand and hold her beside him. He couldn't know what was best for his mother right now, but if Rhys wanted to allow her this moment, he would not interfere.

“Viviane,” Constantine said on a gasp.

Rhys Hawkes stepped beside his werewolf son. The two exchanged tense nods.

“It is you.” Viviane, her long, midnight hair bedraggled, and the hummingbird pin hanging low near her shoulder, boldly stepped forward and slapped Constantine's face. “Two centuries!”

Emboldened by his mother's brave approach, Vail hugged Lyric closer to him. Finally, Viviane would be granted the revenge she deserved. He could never understand her suffering, but would stand behind her no matter the outcome of this bizarre reunion.

“You bastard,” she hissed at the cowering vampire. “I am not dead! Do you know I thought of what I would do to you every day I was imprisoned within that hideous coffin?”

“Viviane, I wanted you,” Constantine pleaded ineffectually. “You were cruel to me, ignoring my affections, my kindnesses, my gifts! I would have given you the world.”

The vampiress snarled and slashed her clawed fingers across Constantine's neck.

Vail stirred at the blood scent. His brother growled lowly. Rhys held an emotionless expression.

“Yes,” Constantine offered quietly. He stroked a finger through the blood on his cheek and wiped it
along a pant leg. “You must take your anger out on me. I deserve it. And yet, you've given me the greatest gift. A son.”

“Never for you,” she murmured. “He is
my
dark prince. Not yours!”

Constantine winced and bowed his head. “What can I do to atone for my crimes against you?”

“I want to win this time,” Viviane said, head bowed and eyes raging.

Vail sucked in a breath. He felt his mother's rage swell in his heart and fill his lungs with a smothering heat. And he knew she had held that rage far too long; it was what had made her insane.

The vampiress shoved her pointed fingers into Constantine's chest. The vampire howled and gripped the vampiress's wrist. Viviane was too quick. She twisted her hand inside his body and yanked out a heavy mass of bloody muscle.

Vail pressed back Lyric when he felt she wanted to rush forward.

“I have your heart, Constantine,” Viviane pronounced coldly. She held up the pulsing muscle and squeezed. Blood spattered her face and Constantine's. “I win now.”

“So you have.”

The vampire Constantine de Salignac ashed. His body, formed of ash in human shape before Viviane, hung there momentarily, then dropped into a pile.

No one had moved to stop her. Vail, every muscle in his body tight, released Lyric and slapped his hands to the wall behind him for support. He thought he
heard Lyric whisper “Sorry,” but the thud of his heart drowned out noise.

Viviane turned and dropped the heart, which ashed before it hit the floor and dispersed in a gray cloud that settled upon Vail's boot toes.

The vampiress's bold stare sought everyone in the room, moving slowly from Lyric, to Vail, and then to her husband and werewolf son. She had destroyed her tormentor. A rightful death.

Reaching out, she gestured for Trystan to approach, and he did without pause. She hugged him to her chest. “My son. It is over.”

Vail swallowed, holding down his heart for fear it would dredge up a scream. He grasped blindly at his side, and Lyric's hand slid into his.

Viviane's bold blue eyes found his, and she smiled. It seemed genuine. Real. She smiled at him? A gesture with her free hand beckoned him forward.

Vail took a step. She wanted him to approach her? He rushed into his mother's arms, beside his brother.

“My boys,” she cooed. “I love you both.”