Prince of Twilight (27 page)

“Shut up, both of you! You're making me sick!” Beta turned and moved to where Tempest lay, bending to clasp her ankles in a brutal grasp.
“Sînge la sînge! Minte la minte! Corp la suflet! Al t u la al meu!”
She shouted the words, and then she shouted them again and again.

Around her hands at Tempest's ankles, a silvery mist seemed to take shape.

“It is working,” Beta whispered.

“No!” Vlad cried. “Stop this, Beta! I beg of you, stop it now!”

“Soul to soul. Mind to mind. Body to body. Yours to mine,” she chanted. “Tempest, out! Elisabeta, in! By the powers of the Underworld, I will it so. Tempest, out! Go! Cross the veil! Do it now!”

The mist around Tempest's body began to spread up her legs, over her torso. It was like a thin shadow of Tempest, rising from her form as she lay there, wide eyed, thrashing and fighting to hold on. And now there was a similar shroud around Elisabeta.

“Hang on, Tempest!” Vlad cried. “Beta, don't do this! I beg of you!”

“Out, out, out!” Beta cried, her head tipping back now, her voice growing softer, her eyes taking on a glow not unlike that of a hungry vampire about to feed. “Guardians of the Underworld, take her now!”

Vlad used his remaining strength to rush at her, hitting her body and knocking her over onto her side. Her hands were wrenched free of Tempest's ankles, her chanting silenced. But as he lay there, struggling with the blinding, crippling pain, she wrestled free of him, got to her feet and, drawing the gun once more, pointed it at him.

Vlad felt hope desert him, and then it returned in a rush as he sensed Rhiannon's presence. She had followed him. Just as he had known she would. He turned his gaze toward where he sensed his dearest friend stood, just beyond the shadows. He felt her there, felt her waiting. He found her mind with his, nodded once. “Do what must be done.”

And she spoke. “Now, Melina.”

There was no sound other than Elisabeta's sudden shriek as her body jerked backward, away from Tempest. Stumbling, she landed on her side on the ground, gazing, stunned, at the dart that was embedded in her chest. She lifted trembling hands, grasped it and tore it free with a whimper of pain; then she tossed it angrily aside.

Melina stepped out of the shadows, a weapon in her hand. A gun made to shoot tranquilizer darts. Lupe stood beside with a gun of her own. A real one. It was Rhiannon who rushed forward, bending over
Vlad, pressing a large piece of cloth to the wound in his chest.

“Don't waste time with me. It's Tempest you should be attending,” he cried. He stared at Stormy even as the mist that had been rising seemed to settle into her body once more. “Please, Rhiannon. Is she all right?”

Reluctantly, Rhiannon left him to crouch over Tempest, touching her, sensing her. She stroked a hand over her brow, then rose with a nod and returned to Vlad's side. “She'll survive. I'm not so certain about you.” She lifted her eyes and looked at Melina, who was kneeling now beside Elisabeta. “What about her?”

Leaning close, Melina spoke softly. “Brooke? Brooke, are you there?”

A clawed hand shot upward and raked Melina's face. She rocked backward. Lupe jerked her weapon into position and fired a shot at Brooke's body, but the bullet only hit the ground beside her, spitting sand and soil with its impact. Beta jerked at the sound, then went still.

“Are you trying to kill her?” Melina shouted. She whirled on Lupe, snatching the weapon from her hands.

“Elisabeta is still inside her,” Rhiannon said.

“It doesn't matter. We have the rite we need now, Rhiannon,” Melina said softly. “The one you wrote for us. We know how to set Elisabeta free.”

Vlad closed his eyes, moaned.

“What is it, Vlad?”

“I took the rite. I tried to use it myself, but Beta caught on. She burned it.”

“No matter,” Rhiannon said. “I knew it went missing—and hoped to the gods my guess that you had taken it was correct.” She glanced at Melina. “You'll find another copy of the rite in the library desk at the manse. Use it.”

“We will,” Melina said. “Tonight. There's still plenty of time to get Brooke back to Athena House and perform the ritual. We'll take care of it. I promise you that.” She got to her feet, and brushed herself off, then moved closer to Vlad, while Lupe removed handcuffs and shackles from a bag, and snapped them around Elisabeta's wrists and ankles.

Melina knelt beside him. “If you don't make it, I promise you, your love will be awaiting you on the other side. I'll see to it.”

Vlad shook his head, glancing toward Tempest, who lay still, barely conscious now, her eyes unfocused and wet. “No,” he said. “The one I love is here.”

Melina nodded and turned to Rhiannon.

“Take her and be done with it,” Rhiannon said. “I've work to do here.”

“I hope…I hope we're okay now. You and me,” Melina said to her.

“My issue has been with your organization, not with you, Melina. And that remains the case.” She thinned her lips. “However, I will concede that the Sisterhood of Athena has a few…worthy members.” Quickly Rhiannon gathered Brooke's ravaged body up into her arms. “I'll take her to the car for you.” She shot a look back at Vlad. “Don't move. And for the sake of the gods, don't bleed out.”

Vlad wished he could promise not to. Instead, he waited until she was out of sight and then dragged himself toward where Tempest lay. He pulled himself alongside her and then lay still, his head close to hers, one hand in her hair. He used what strength remained in him to free her hand from the rope that held it.

“Vlad?” she whispered. Her newly freed hand came up to cup his cheek.

“It's you, Tempest,” he told her. “Not her. It's been you all along. I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you. But if I had revealed my heart, she would have known. I had to make her trust me in order to save you.”

“Vlad, you're bleeding again.” She turned to the side, rapidly freeing her other hand; then she sat up, untied her ankles and cradled his head in her lap.

“Please, just listen to me,” he said. “There may not be much time. You were right all along. I barely knew Elisabeta. We met at a time of crisis, when neither of us had anything to live for. We clung to each other. But I didn't know her. You—I know you, Tempest. I knew you sixteen years ago. You are the woman I love. There can be no other. Nor has there ever been. Not really. Perhaps the reason I was drawn to Elisabeta so long ago was because she was foreshadowing of her spiritual descendant. Of you, Tempest. Only you.”

“Vlad, we have to help you. You're…you're…”

“No, love. There's nothing you can do. Just tell me, please. Tell me you believe me this time. I came here to save you, not to hurt you.”

“I believe you. And I love you, too, Vlad. I have all along. I've loved you for sixteen years.”

He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his soul, and he smiled. “Thank you, Tempest.” And then his eyes fell closed.

R
hiannon dropped to her knees beside Vlad, who lay still in Stormy's lap. She touched his face, and tears rained from her eyes. “My sire,” she whispered. “My beloved friend, my preternatural father. Gods, how I hate to see you go.”

“No!” Stormy shrieked the word, clutching Vlad's shoulders, shaking him. “He can't die. You can't just let him die. Rhiannon, we have to
do something!
”

“I…it's too late.”

“No. No, it's not. Give him blood. Give him mine, and then we'll patch the wound and keep him alive until dawn comes and—”

“I'm sorry,” Rhiannon said softly. A sob seemed to catch in her throat, and she averted her face. “You've no idea how sorry.”

“Step aside, Rhiannon.”

Stormy gasped at the deep voice that came from
the darkness. She'd heard no one approach, but then, she'd been entirely focused on Vlad. The man who stood there was dark, and exuded a palpable aura of strength and power. Stormy had seen him only once before, but she knew him. He was Damien—the once great king, Gilgmesh. He was the oldest, most powerful of them all. The only vampire alive older than Vlad himself. The first.

“Damien,” Rhiannon whispered, rising to her feet. “How did you know?”

Stormy stared at the man. He looked stricken and went immediately to Vlad's side, kneeling there and clasping his hand. “Though it's been years since I've seen him, Iskur is my brother, in a way. Our connection is powerful.”

“Iskur?” Stormy whispered.

“That was his name, before he adopted his new identity. It's the name of—”

“The Sumerian Stormy God,” Stormy filled in. Tears filled her eyes to brimming as she gazed at Damien. “Can you help him, Damien?”

“I don't know. If I can't, there's no one who can.” Damien rolled back his shirt sleeve, unfolded the pocketknife he carried and swiftly drew the blade across his wrist. Even as the blood pulsed from the wound, he moved lower.

“What are you doing? Aren't you going to…?”

“He's too far gone to drink, Stormy,” Damien muttered. “I only hope my blood is powerful enough to reach him this way.”

He held his wrist, wounded side down, over the wound in Vlad's belly. Stormy scrambled over the ground to tear the shirt away, giving him better access. But that gave her a horrifying glimpse of the bullet wound, and she had to close her eyes. It was too much. Too much.

“By the gods,” Rhiannon whispered. “Stormy, look. Open your eyes and look.”

Forcing herself to obey, Stormy opened her eyes and focused on Vlad again.

“Oh, God, what's happening?” There was mist, or steam of some kind, hissing and rising from the bullet wound as the blood trickled down into it. She'd never seen anything like this. Never even heard of anything like it. “What's happening, Damien?” she whispered.

“I'm unsure. I've never done this before, but it's the very method by which Utnapishtim gave me the gift of immortality. He was no vampire. His immortality was bestowed by the gods. He had no fangs, could walk about by daylight, exist on meat and vegetables. When he agreed to make me im
mortal, he sliced me open, right across the chest, then slit his own wrist and poured his blood into the wound.” Damien's gaze was riveted to Vlad's face.

“And created a whole new race.”

“I only hope…” He lowered his head, then lifted it again and shook it as if trying to shake away sleep.

“Enough, Damien,” Rhiannon whispered. “You're weakening.”

“Just a bit more,” he said.

“You've given all you can,” she told him, clutching his shoulder. “It will either work or it won't. Bleeding yourself dry won't make the difference.”

He sank back onto his heels, head falling forward, a lock of his hair slipping over his eyes. Rhiannon gripped his arm, rapidly twisting a length of fabric around it and yanking the knot so tight that Stormy thought she would break his wrist. She realized a second later that the cloth had been torn from the hem of Rhiannon's own gown.

Vlad's wound was still hissing, steam still emanating from it, but dissipating now, until it finally vanished altogether. She stared at Vlad, watching his face, praying, hoping,
willing
him to live.

And then he moaned and blinked his eyes open.

He was alive!

Vlad lay there, blinking and unfocused, clearly
confused. Stormy leaned over him, barely able to believe what she had just witnessed. “Vlad?”

He stared at her. “I didn't expect to be seeing you again, my love.”

He lifted a hand, cupped her cheek, and she fell against him, sobbing in relief and holding him. “You're alive. God, Vlad, I thought I'd lost you.”

“So did I.” His arms came around her, and he held her close. “Perhaps…there's a chance for us after all, Tempest.”

“There is,” she whispered. “There has to be.”

Then Vlad's gaze shifted to Damien's and widened. “My king,” he whispered.

“Your brother and friend,” Damien corrected. “I'm glad you have survived, Iskur.”

“Survived?” Vlad's gaze turned inward for a moment. “I feel…empowered beyond reason. Something new is burning through my veins.” He blinked as he took stock and sat up to stare at Damien. “You gave me your blood.”

“And it did the job,” Rhiannon said, reaching down to clasp Vlad's hand and draw him to his feet. “I suppose now that you have the blood of the first running in your veins, you really will be able to best me in a fight.”

“I already bested you with my own, don't forget.”

“Don't fool yourself, Vlad. I let you win that little battle.”

He crooked a brow.

“You two fought?” Stormy asked.

“He demanded the ring and the scroll,” Rhiannon said. “I wasn't sure whether he intended to use them to save you or to kill you.”

“And you fought him? For my sake?”

“Briefly,” Rhiannon said. “But don't get a swollen head, little mortal. In the end I decided to risk your life by trusting in my friend.” She smiled very slightly and turned to Vlad. “I'm very glad you didn't let me down.”

“I'm very glad you didn't fight too hard. I would have hated to have to hurt you.”

“You'd have hated more what I would have done to you, had I truly had the will.”

They held gazes for a moment, then Vlad shifted his to Stormy again. His eyes met hers and stayed.

Damien cleared his throat. “We should take our leave, Rhiannon. These two have things they need to…discuss.”

Rhiannon nodded, reached up to hug Vlad, kissed his cheek, then released him. “There's a boat docked a mile back that way,” she told him. “We'll
take shelter there before sunrise.” She looked at the sky. “You have several hours.”

“Is it midnight yet?” Stormy asked. She'd let herself forget for a little while how limited her own time might be.

“Eleven-thirty,” Damien told her. “Why?”

“We should leave them,” Rhiannon said. “I'll explain on the way.”

She sent Stormy a look of sympathy, encouragement and hope. Clearly she realized that if Melina and Lupe failed to free Elisabeta's soul from Brooke's body, Stormy might have only thirty minutes left to live. Then Rhiannon hooked her arm through Damien's and raced away, vanishing in a blur of darkness.

 

“Did you mean what you said?” Stormy asked Vlad. “That you feel more powerful then ever? You're really all right?”

His smile was slow and full of all sorts of promises. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her mouth tenderly, but deeply and long. “Shall I show you?”

“Yes. Yes, Vlad. And hurry. Because if Melina and Lupe—”

“Shhh. They're not going to fail. We couldn't have triumphed over all of this only to lose everything now.”

His fingertips brushed over her cheek, then her neck, and her tummy tightened in pure sexual need. She vowed not to think about what might happen when midnight came. She wouldn't ruin what might be her last time with Vlad by letting herself be distracted. If she had to die, she would die in his arms. And die happy.

He loved her.

He closed his arms around her, bending her backward and kissing her as if he would devour her whole.

“Vlad,” she whispered. He was kissing her neck now.

“Don't tell me to stop.”

“If you stop I'll stake you.” She smiled up at him. “I was just wondering if we could relocate.”

He lifted his head, his eyes glowing with passion and hunger. “Where do you want to be, Tempest?”

“The beach. The shore. In the sand. Not here, where—ugly things happened.”

He nodded, and before she could stop him, he scooped her off her feet and began striding away from the trees and boulders toward the beach. “No more delays, Tempest. You're about to be ravaged by a vampire.”

“By
the
vampire. Dracula himself. And not for the first time,” she said, gasping as he bent his head
to nuzzle her breasts right through the fabric of her blouse.

“Nor the last,” he promised.

He carried her down onto the beach, but they didn't get very far. Just beyond an outcropping of rock that gave them a little privacy from the vantage point of the road.

Vlad lowered her to the grassy, stony ground, laying her there on her back. Then he darted away from her, into the surf, where the washed the remnants of Damien's blood from his belly. It took him only a moment. He was back at her side a heartbeat later, sinking to his knees in the sand beside where she lay.

“I love you,” he told her.

“You'd have been stupid not to,” she told him with a teasing smile.

“The stupidest vampire in history.” Then he pushed her blouse up and attacked her breasts as if he couldn't wait for them. It was almost too much, too fast, the suckling and biting. She moved to push at his head, but he kept on, and she didn't want him to stop. Not really. So he didn't. He pushed her jeans down and impatiently removed his own.

She couldn't get enough of running her hands and then her lips over his chest. Oh, God, and his
belly. Washboard abs she couldn't stop touching. It amazed her to see no wound where the bullet had torn through him. Only a small pink scar remained. “You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen,” she whispered.

“Then no wonder I chose the most beautiful woman. I've waited for you, Tempest. Centuries, I've waited.”

Vlad pushed her knees up and outward as he lowered himself between them, and he slid into her so naturally she knew he belonged inside her, so deeply he felt like a part of her.

Her brought her to screaming climax twice there on the beach before he let himself achieve release. And afterward he lay beside her, cradling her in his arms as if she were the most precious, most cherished, thing he'd ever held.

Stormy lay there in bliss. But it was still bittersweet. She knew they were both thinking about her mortality, though neither of them had spoken of it. Not yet. It wasn't yet midnight. Only a few ticks of the clock remained. But even if she didn't die tonight, there was still a dark future looming ahead of them, and she thought it was time, now, to bring it up.

“Vlad?”

“Hmm?”

“You know…even if Lupe and Melina are successful tonight, this can't last. I don't have the antigen. I can't become what you are. There is a formula that could extend my life…but there's no way to be sure it would work on me, or that I could even get hold of it.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she felt his arms tighten a little, as if in response to the thought of ever letting her go. “I'll love you for your entire life. And even after that.”

She let her head rest on his powerful chest, felt his fingers trailing in her hair. “I'll grow old, but you'll stay young.”

“Not young, Tempest. The body doesn't age, but everything else does. I'm already old inside, though my body remains the age it was when I was changed over.”

“And how old is that?”

He smiled at her. “Twenty.”

Stormy closed her eyes fast and tight. “My God, I'm thirty-six. I'm robbing the cradle.”

“I've been alive for thousands of years, Tempest. I'm the one robbing the cradle.”

“Oh, I know that. But…physically, I mean, I'll age. And that's important, too.”

“Not to me. I've spent the last few centuries believing myself in love with a dead woman, one who had no body at all, don't forget.”

“I'll get wrinkles,” she whispered.

“And I'll love you.”

“My hair will go gray.”

“And still I'll love you.”

“My body will get flabby and saggy and—”

“And I'll love you all the more,” he told her, kissing the top of her head.

She drew a deep breath, lifting her head a little so she could see into his eyes. “I'll die, Vlad.”

He held her gaze steadily, intently. “Then maybe I'll know it's time for me to move on, as well.”

“Vlad!”

He cupped her cheeks. “I don't want to talk about this now, Tempest. Not now. There will be time enough for all that later. Now, I just want to be with you. To experience the joy you've brought into my life. By the gods, do you have any idea how long it's been since I've felt this way?”

“What…way?”

“Happy, Tempest. Truly happy.” He looked sky-ward and shook his head. “It's heaven. I'm in paradise because of you.”

He kept on speaking, but Stormy stopped listen
ing, because there was a sudden buzzing in her ears. In her head.

Frowning, she sat up and pulled her shirt on. It was long enough to cover her, so she didn't bother with the jeans, just got to her feet and looked around.

Vlad rose, his expression puzzled. He searched her face, spoke her name, but she could barely hear him because of the buzzing.