Blood Legacy: The House Of Alexander Part 15

But instead, she turned her head and with immense effort, pushed him away.

The two mortal enemies stood feet apart, staring at one another across a chasm that had just grown deeper but more narrow, seeing in an instance an outcome that was both impossible and inevitable.

Ryan did not know what to expect from Aeron, did not know if he would be furious with her, or if he would take her by force, which he was surely capable of. And, she admitted to herself, it would only be by force for so long because her embattled will would quickly fade.

He surprised her, because he did none of these things. He stood without moving, then slowly smiled. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

"You are even more than I had hoped for."

Ryan's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Aeron continued.

"When I take you," he paused for emphasis, "and let there be no doubt that I will take you. I expect that it shall be the most extraordinary experience of my life."

Ryan's eyes flashed in anger. "And your life might end shortly thereafter."

"Perhaps," Aeron said, amused. "but I think not."

He reached over to the chessboard and moved his queen across the board, removing the rook that Ryan had just placed there. He set the castle to the side with the other captured pieces.

Ryan gazed at the board for a moment, then turned to leave without a word. But halfway to the door, she paused, then turned around. There was a dark intensity in her gaze.

"Nineteen," she said, nodding to the board. "Now it's nineteen."

And then she was gone, leaving Aeron staring at the empty s.p.a.ce where she had been, marveling at the audacity of the girl.

Edward stood in the anteroom as Ryan pushed through the double doors of Victor's chambers. He did not speak, and nor did she until she was at the door leading to the inner stateroom. There she paused and turned to him.

"I require nothing further this evening, other than not to be disturbed."

Edward nodded and disappeared into the adjoining suite.

Ryan pushed through the door into Victor's chambers, and was so suddenly overwhelmed by his presence that she stopped short, closing her eyes. As the door whispered closed behind her, she breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent, his very essence. The longing welled up in her, so different and so similar to the ache she had just experienced.

She glanced around the room at the furnis.h.i.+ngs, as masculine and elegant as her father. She walked over to a highly polished mahogany table and picked up an ancient book. It was an original copy of "Le Morte D'Arthur," the same one that he had given her as a gift centuries before. It was probably priceless now, one of the few still in existence. She smiled at the thought that he had kept it.

She wandered through a few of the rooms, wondering if this is where he had spent time recovering from her attack on him. She had to move quickly from this thought, because it reminded her that she might well be responsible for his current condition.

She moved into the bathing room, which for her father was always one of the most elaborate living areas. He had gained his appreciation from the ancient baths in Damascus. Prior to her birth, he had been a great admirer of Turkish medicine, far more advanced than its barbaric European counterpart. And although he had no personal need of medical care, he had an intellectual appreciation of their sophisticated knowledge.

Ryan smiled in remembrance. Prior to her Change, Victor had been a shadowy figure in her life, protecting her from afar as she was raised as a boy by a peasant family. He felt that she would be safer that way, hidden from the Others and protected from his own dark desire. He did, however, lay out certain seemingly arbitrary requirements of her human parents, one of which was that she had to bathe everyday, fully clothed. In a modern context, it did not seem unusual, with the possible exception of bathing fully clothed, but in a medieval context, it was unheard of. The filth they unknowingly lived in was obscene by modern standards. It was likely that Victor's understanding of the connection between hygiene and disease, gained from the Turks centuries before, kept Ryan from contracting any number of the hideous maladies that plagued medieval peasants. Ryan smiled at her father's foresight. Bathing fully clothed had not only disguised her s.e.x, but had made her wash her clothes as well.

She moved into his sleeping chambers, gazing at the huge, ornately carved bed. It was neatly made, as if awaiting his imminent return. She ran her fingers over the smooth lines of the dresser, then moved to the closet. She found a comfortably loose pair of nightclothes and changed into them, and was again overwhelmed with Victor's ghostly presence. It brought her solace, however, and when she settled into the luxurious bedding, the comfort it brought was immense.

She stared through the darkness at the ceiling. As thick as the walls were, she could still here the murmurings of the Others as they went about their various trysts and a.s.signations. She shut them out, returning to her examination of nothingness on the ceiling.

She wished desperately for Victor's counsel now. She wondered if he would change his mind about telling her to Share with the Old Ones if he knew what she had gotten herself into. Having Shared with no one other than him for centuries, and now having done the deed with both Marilyn and Kusunoki in such short order, it seemed as if her dark thirst was growing. Victor's power had so satisfied her that she rarely wanted. But now, paradoxically, it seemed her appet.i.te was growing by satiating it.

And it did not seem an entirely physiological thing, although the pleasure was almost unbearable. The psychological aspect of it was as addictive, if not more so, than the physical. The interplay of power and relations.h.i.+p, of role and role-reversal, was both arousing and disturbing.

Ryan stared up into the darkness. She wondered if this was the conundrum of the Old Ones, that the more powerful they became, the less likely they were to be satisfied by anyone or anything. She wondered if they would eventually move to a place where they would never be satisfied at all. She marveled at how neatly Victor had side-stepped the entire issue by creating her, and was oblivious to how dangerous a position this placed her in.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She could smell the wonderful spice scent of her father and ached from missing him. It seemed she could open her eyes and see him, and she avoided doing just that so that she could maintain the illusion.

But as she lay with her eyes closed, a different scent wafted toward her, one of cinnamon with a touch of ginger. She spoke into the darkness without opening her eyes.

"Remind me to fire Edward."

Marilyn kneeled on the bed and ran her hand through Ryan's hair.

"Ah, ma Cherie, maybe he thought you needed company."

"Hmmph, not likely," Ryan said, rolling on her side to face the woman. "It is more likely he was bewitched by your rather lethal charm."

Marilyn gazed down at the girl, eyes gleaming in the darkness. "And why is it that I do not have that affect on you?" She s.h.i.+fted so that she was closer. "Or perhaps I do." Her hand settled lightly on Ryan's waist.

Ryan suppressed the urge to pull away, as well as the urge to do its complete opposite. Marilyn glanced down as something caught her eye, and she lifted Ryan's wrist for closer inspection. There was a light bruise circling it, one that was rapidly fading, but still visible. She looked to the other wrist, which had similar bruising. She gazed at the girl with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Ah, little one, I see you have been playing with Aeron."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "And is this the voice of experience talking?"

"Perhaps," Marilyn said. She examined the injured wrist. "He is an indulgence best partaken of infrequently."

Ryan rolled onto her back, looking up at Marilyn. "And why is that?"

Marilyn caressed the bruise on the wrist she still held in her hand. "Because he is a very dangerous man, ma Cherie. Particularly to you."

Ryan was having a difficult time concentrating on the conversation, as serious as it was. She brought her attention back to the matter at hand. "And why not to you?"

Marilyn held Ryan's gaze as she raised the wrist to her lips. "Because I am not a threat to him," she said, kissing the bruise. She feathered her lips across the veins on the inner wrist. "I am not the crown prince of our Kind."

Ryan was really having a hard time concentrating now. The importance of the conversation was being overshadowed by the sensations shooting up her arm and spreading out to the rest of her body. "I have a hard time believing you're not a threat to everyone," she said, half under her breath.

Marilyn smiled. "You don't have to be afraid of me," she whispered, "I won't hurt you."

She then did just that as she sank her teeth into the bruised skin. She did not bite deeply however, just breaking the skin enough so that a small amount of blood began to seep.

The pleasure at the first bite was so intense that the darkness in the room was filled with stars for a few seconds until Ryan's vision cleared. Marilyn still held her wrist, now toying with the small wound she had inflicted, her eyes locked with Ryan's. To make it worse, it now seemed that Marilyn was going to continue to have a conversation with her, as casually as if they were speaking over dinner.

"But Aeron," she said, suckling the wound, "Aeron wants to kill you." Her lips traveled up Ryan's arm toward the veins on the inner forearm. She pulled back slightly, examining her target. "Or worse," she said as she again sunk her teeth into the arm.

Ryan arched her back at this puncture, but not in pain. The bite was again minor, and Marilyn covered the wound with her mouth before it could spurt, drawing the blood into her. Ryan stared down at her, mesmerized by the sight of her lips on her arm.

Marilyn's movements were still entirely casual, as was her tone. "You will find that Aeron is very different from your father."

The reminder that Marilyn had Shared with Victor angered Ryan, momentarily clearing her senses. She started to pull away, but Marilyn skillfully twisted her wrist, exposing the inside of her bicep and the brachial artery. In a second, the dark-haired woman severed the artery and pressed the wound to her lips.

Ryan wasn't certain if she had blacked out for a moment, or merely tightly closed her eyes to fight against the sensations that were tearing through her. It was possible for Marilyn to completely bleed her from the large artery, and Ryan steeled herself to put a stop to the seduction. Instead, Marilyn caught her off guard and chose again to defer her pleasure, sating herself for a moment with a lengthy drink. Ryan inwardly cursed herself for the urge to beg her to continue. Marilyn leaned back, putting pressure on the wound as it quickly healed, staring down at Ryan.

Ryan held her gaze, fighting the daze. Marilyn had already taken so much of her blood she felt light-headed and lethargic, which was not an unpleasant feeling. Marilyn had also always had the ability to entrance her, sapping her will. No matter how powerful Ryan had become, it was an irrelevant ability if she would not use it.

Marilyn returned to the wrist, brus.h.i.+ng her lips across the bruised flesh once more. She still seemed completely in control, as if the outcome of their little tete-a-tete was not in question.

"So are you at all curious how they are different?"

Ryan gazed at her suspiciously, then realized what she was saying. "You could show me," she said.

"I could," Marilyn said, as if the thought had just occurred to her. Her gaze returned pointedly to Ryan, and her tone confirmed that the thought had pre-existed. "But what do you have to offer me in exchange?"

Ryan's eyes narrowed. "I could simply take what I want."

"Hmmm, yes," Marilyn said, glancing at the girl's somewhat vulnerable, supine position. "I almost believe that you could."

Ryan wasn't certain if she were being mocked. In a flash she was upright, pinning both Marilyn's wrists in her grip and twisting. In an instant she had thrown the other woman on the bed, pinning her beneath her.

Ryan stared down into Marilyn's eyes, which were now filled with wicked amus.e.m.e.nt. Ryan cursed herself. Marilyn's other gift was the ability to manipulate her into exactly what she wanted Ryan to do.

"You are right, ma Cherie," the dark-haired woman said, glancing down at the lithe body that now lay on top of her "This is much better."

Ryan stared down at her, now in the awkward position of not having any idea of what to do, or how to disentangle herself. Marilyn saved her from any more difficult decisions and pulled her firmly downward, slicing into her neck with perfect, razor-sharp teeth.

Ryan arched her back and resisted perhaps a second before the events of the day took her headlong into Marilyn's embrace. The pressure that had built in her veins during her exchange with Aeron was screaming to escape, and Marilyn was only too willing to provide that release.

Aeron stood in his chambers, staring at the wall. Abigail stood a few feet away, watching his struggle, entertained as always at the anguish of their Kind. In a startling move that did not startle her, Aeron punched his fist into the wall, sinking the fist into the solid rock up to his shoulder. He pulled the appendage from the rock, glanced at the damage to his hand, and thought about doing again.

Instead, he regained control, and turned to Abigail who gazed at him coolly from across the room.

"Marilyn can be quite opportunistic."

Aeron glared at her. "If she does not cease tempting me, she will have the opportunity to regret it for the rest of her life."

Abigail smiled. "I don't believe it is you she's tempting right now."

Aeron's jaw clenched spasmodically, and Abigail relented.

"The girl has always had a weakness for Marilyn. It is an interesting phenomenon, because Ryan is the more powerful of the two."

Aeron glanced at her sharply. "You know this to be true?"

Abigail was always reluctant to reveal her sources, but in this instance it did not matter. "Marilyn as much told me so herself, and she was quite pleased at her findings."

Aeron absorbed this information, filing it for future reference. If the girl had caught and even pa.s.sed one of Marilyn's stature...

"And have you any verification on the numbers?" he asked, changing the subject.

Abigail nodded. "My reports are preliminary, but it seems the girl was telling the truth. There are thousands missing."

Aeron silently fumed as Abigail continued.

"There are reports that some are killing themselves at her request, while others have taken it upon themselves to self-sacrifice."

Aeron was furious. It was just like the girl to seduce them into doing her job for her.

"And is there any word of Victor?" he asked, his gaze burning into the rock wall.

"None."

"Well," he said sarcastically, "She must be far more hardy than her father. Who thought that she would still be standing at this point?"

Abigail kept her own counsel. She had previously been quite forthright with her opinion.

Aeron was running the facts through his head. "First Kusunoki, now Marilyn. What do you think she is doing?"

Abigail was thoughtful. "I believe she is looking for information. She is quite gifted, I understand, at obtaining the Memories of Others when in the heat of the pa.s.sion." She cleared her throat delicately. "I believe you have some personal knowledge of that yourself."

Aeron's eyes narrowed at the memory, even though it also gave him pleasure. The whelp had touched his mind before they even touched, and had seen his Memories without a drop of blood pa.s.sing her lips.

"So you think she is seeking the One who betrayed Victor?"

Abigail stood, smoothing her skirt. "Perhaps." She touched his cheek as she pa.s.sed him, stopping only when she reached the door. She turned back to him.

"Or perhaps she's just enjoying herself."

The door closed behind her, but she could still hear the sound of the fist shattering through the rock.

Ryan was held in the steel of Marilyn's embrace, who had nearly bled her dry. She enjoyed the feverish, light-headed sensation of emptiness, the deep lethargy that came from being so close to death. She could hardly keep her eyes open, so languorous was the feeling.

Marilyn had a similar sensation for the opposite reason, she was completely sated. She languidly toyed with the girl's hair, who lay on her light as a feather. Marilyn did not believe it possible, but this Sharing was as powerful and satisfying as the one before. Marilyn could tell that Ryan was withholding her Memories from Marilyn during the act. Although capable of forcing disclosure, Marilyn did not pry. She was too busy enjoying the sheer physicality of the powerful union. It seemed that Victor's progeny had his gift for consistent and continual gratification.

She knew that Ryan had seen her Memories of Aeron, seen his s.a.d.i.s.tic pa.s.sion and brutal domination. He was dangerously seductive, violent in the act, and rarely fulfilled. The union of he and Marilyn had been physically satisfying for both of them but emotionally bereft. Both enjoyed the game of seduction itself almost as much as the outcome, and they were perhaps too alike in that sense to create any of the enjoyable, uncertain tension of the hunt.

Marilyn glanced down at Ryan. Unlike this one, she thought. She never knew what to expect from this girl. One moment stumbling about endearingly like a bashful adolescent, bringing out the predator in all of them. The next moment turning into a devilishly charming, near invulnerable individual who made them all want to throw themselves at her feet. And neither personality was the least bit affected or artificial, nor, oddly enough, in conflict with the other.

Marilyn grew more thoughtful. Perhaps it was because they were both true. Was it possible that Ryan had not yet reached anywhere near her potential? Was it possible that she still was nothing more than an adolescent, as old and powerful as she was? Had Victor indeed rewritten all the rules in creating Ryan?

Although the thought might have brought others resentment and fear, it brought Marilyn nothing but pleasure. The girl was clever, charismatic, and impossibly alluring, but lacking in the guile of the Old Ones. Marilyn would greatly enjoy watching her mature.

Marilyn thought for a moment that the girl was asleep. She gently rolled Ryan onto her back, then sat up to leave. She was halfway standing when her movement was abruptly stopped by a hand encircling her wrist in a grip of iron.

"And where are you going?"

Marilyn sat back down on the bed, amused. She leaned over Ryan, who had not released her wrist. "You have what you want, ma Cherie. And I have what I wanted."

Ryan gazed up at her, idly toying with the wrist she still held imprisoned. "I don't think you've completely fulfilled your part of the bargain."

Marilyn raised an eyebrow. "Oh really, ma Cherie." She thought Ryan might have been implying that she had withheld information, but noting the mischievous glint in Ryan's eye, she realized that wasn't the case at all. She did not suppress the tingle of excitement that ran along her spine. "I would hate for you to go away unfulfilled," she said, with emphasis on the final word.

Ryan brought the wrist to her lips, her eyes locked with Marilyn's as she feathered a kiss on the now-burning veins.