Ravensclaw (21 page)

Emily’s mind was clearing. This wasn’t going well. “Cimeries, Sytyr, Vassago—” Drogo whined. Emily glanced down at him and glimpsed her reticule, its chain still wrapped around her wrist. The demon knelt on Val’s back with an arm around his neck, prepared to twist.

The literature claimed a vampire would die if its spine was snapped. Emily fumbled her fingers into her reticule, brought out a pinch of salt and flung it. The demon burst into flames.

The ape-thing disappeared. Before Emily stood the beautiful manlike being with his vast wings and red hair. He appeared annoyed. He also looked a trifle singed.

Red hair. A great serpent with twelve wings who flew like a bird. She said, “Samael.”

The demon released Val and turned its eyes on her. Before that terrible gaze could again ensnare her, Emily held up her little mirror and captured its reflection. “Samael, angel of death, prince of the fifth heaven, genii of fire. Samael, accuser, seducer, destroyer. Who interfered with Abraham, wrestled with Jacob, took part in the affair of Tamar—”

The demon unfurled a sooty wing and examined it. “You needn’t belabor the point.”

“Samael, angel of death, prince of air, demon who tempted Eve,” Emily continued. “Samael, lord of demons, leader of the angels who married the daughters of men. Tremble, O Demon, enemy of mankind, source of avarice, seducer of man, root of evil, discord and envy—”

“You
do me too much credit.” Samael plucked out a singed feather and eyed Emily. “And that should be seducer of womankind.
”

She gripped the mirror tighter. “In the name of Yod, Cados, Eloym, Saboath, and Yeshua the Anointed One, I command you to return from whence you came.”

“If you insist.” The demon spread his great wings and disappeared.

Emily exhaled in relief. One could never be certain of the outcome when dealing with a demon of such strength.

Cezar spoke from behind her. “Well done, Miss Dinwiddie. I wouldn’t have expected banishing demons to be one of your skills.”

Emily twisted around to frown at him. “I don’t know why you should be surprised. Papa
did
teach me things, even if he was reluctant to let me practice them. How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” Cezar moved closer. “Our friend doesn’t look well.”

If Val’s spine remained unsnapped, the pavement around his body was dark with his blood. Emily’s hands tightened in Drogo’s fur. “I thought your kind could heal yourselves. And don’t insult me by saying you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I won’t insult you, Miss Dinwiddie. We do have remarkable regenerative powers. However, that was a demon. And we cannot replenish our own blood.”

Val lay unnervingly motionless. Emily experienced a cold chill. “How can you just stand there? Why
did
you just stand there when you might have helped?”

“It wasn’t my battle. I couldn’t influence the outcome.” Cezar knelt and touched elegant fingers to Drogo’s wound. The wolf whined.

Emily watched. “I thought werewolves—”

“Could heal themselves? It would appear, Miss Dinwiddie, that there is no end to the nonsense you believe.”

Emily sniffed. “If not for my beliefs, you’d still be standing there watching a demon destroy Ravensclaw. And speaking of Val—”

“That was no ordinary demon.” Cezar pressed the edges of Drogo’s wound together. “It couldn’t have been called up by ordinary means. Which returns us to the matter of the d’Auvergne athame.”

Emily fumbled for her spectacles. Was it a trick of the shadows that made her think the wolf’s wound had begun to mend? “Oh, bugger the blasted athame! You’re healing Drogo. Can you heal Val?”

“Drogo is a dumb animal.” The wolf growled. “Apologies, my old friend. Val can heal himself, Miss Dinwiddie, as you have already guessed. But he won’t survive without blood.”

Emily stared at Cezar in growing horror. “Then give him some!”

“Our kind cannot derive sustenance from one another.”

“Then bugger you too!” Emily looked frantically around her for something sharp.

Nothing came to hand. She rose and crossed the pavement to kneel by Val. He opened his eyes. They were merely sapphire now, but his face retained its feral cast.

Gingerly, Emily touched his cheek. Val’s coldness frightened her more than a hundred demons ever could. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

No need.
His eyes closed.

It’s my fault you’ve been injured. Let me help you. Drink from me.

I cannot.

He was as stubborn as any mule. Action was required. Gingerly, Emily settled her body atop his, pulled back her hair and bared her throat.
I
know you would prefer somewhere else
—
breasts, groin, and the like
—
but I refuse to disrobe in front of him.
She glared at Cezar.

Val hesitated. Emily raised herself to peer down into his face. “Don’t tell me you are shy!”

His pale lips parted. “Are you afraid of nothing?” he said aloud.

“I’m afraid I won’t please you. Val, let me give you the gift of blood.”

Behind them, Cezar said, “Do it,
camarad
.”

A moment passed. Then Val’s fingers moved to the neckline of Emily’s dress. He tugged the material aside, wrapped one hand in her hair and drew her head back. She felt his lips, his teeth; cried out when his fangs sank into her flesh. The smell of copper flooded the air.

Pleasure rolled over Emily, Val’s pleasure in tasting her, in taking her blood. Her own pleasure, raw and sensual, as she felt her heat and warmth pulse through his veins. And then his hunger was upon her, sweeping like a sweet narcotic through her veins.
Open to me, Emily. We feed on emotions as well as blood.

Her body sang with strange sensations. Bright colors danced behind her eyes. Emily knew nothing but a deepening velvet darkness, heard not even the hammering of her own heart.

Of two evils choose the least.

(Romanian proverb)

Val was dreaming. Of Emily.

…

She sprawled on top of him, her small body burning hot. She felt like all he would ever wish to know of heaven, sweet and soft and unbearably innocent. He longed to taste her flesh, to feel her thrum with anticipation; to drop his head to her breast, lick her belly, and the inside of her knees; to tease her with his tongue until she gasped and wept and moaned, and screamed out her satisfaction at the end.

But slowly, slowly. Val would not rush her pleasure, or his own. His hands caressed her as he bit gently at her lower lip, kissed the pulse beating at her temple, breathed her in. She pressed closer, as if she wished to crawl inside his skin. Well, then, he would let her. Val pressed his teeth to the tender junction of neck and jaw—

...

He wakened abruptly, to find himself alone in one of several stone-walled chambers kept for the use of the Brotherhood. Val had never before had need for one of these small rooms. He was unsure why he did now. He moved, and grimaced as he felt the soreness of his ribs. His body healed quickly, but not overnight. The fresh scars on his body would fade in time.

Scars? Broken bones? Val raised his hands to his head. He felt as he had in the old days after celebrating the feast of Dionysus.

Val no longer had use either for liquor, or chewing ivy leaves. The sole thing that could affect him this way was overindulgence in blood.

He touched his tongue to his lips. So vivid had been his dream that the scent of Emily still clung to him. He could taste her in his mouth. Her purity had been intoxicating. No wonder he felt drunk.

Val reached out for her. He should have been able to sense her emotions, her response to the dream; should have been able to feel the aftermath of pleasure curling through her, lazy and sweet. Having once tasted her, he should be able to touch her mind, to know her thoughts, to hear her heart beat.

He felt nothing. She had again closed herself to him. Val swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked unsteadily into the main meeting room. His Stapan was there, addressing a golf ball. Judging from the other balls scattered around the room, his efforts today had not met with much success.

Cezar glanced up at Val. “Our ancestors believed that a corpse found with one eye open and one closed is in the process of transforming into a vampire.”

Val squinted both eyes at the bright light of the candles. “ ‘What does the Romanian like? Fresh bread, old wine, and a young wife.’ ”

Cezar directed his attention to his putter. “Zalmoxis taught that men don’t die, but go to a place where they will live forever and have all good things.” The ball rolled off the shank of his club and bounced into a wall. “Like I do.”

Cezar was in a strange mood, mentioning old Dacian gods. Val noticed a teapot sitting on a table, and poured himself a cup.

Cezar retrieved the golf ball. “Andrei is keeping Lisbet occupied. He may soon supplant you in her affections before long.”

“He may have her with my blessing.” Val needed tea no more than wine, but the beverage’s pleasant taste left him feeling revived.

Cezar moved in that sudden way that vampires have, which was of no use whatsoever to him in the game of golf. The ball rolled forward a few inches and came to a stop. “How much do you recall about the events of yesterday?”

Val put down his teacup. “I went to the sorcerer’s shop, which is now in the hands of a man named Abercrombie. I questioned him about Michael Ross. He didn’t know much. Then I realized Emily was in trouble.” He closed his eyes. “Did I really do battle with the Darkness?”

“Miss Dinwiddie sent him home. It was all very polite, other than the fact you lost.”

Val experienced an unpleasant premonition. “Tell me I didn’t drink from her.”

Cezar set aside his putter. “Very well. You didn’t drink from her. You didn’t enjoy drinking from her so much that you refused to stop. You didn’t attempt to break my neck when I tried to stop you. I wasn’t forced to summon Andrei for assistance. Nor did it take both Andrei and I to get you here. Yes, it was all a dream.”

“What have you done with Emily? If you dared switch her memories around—”

“I’ve done nothing. Miss Dinwiddie is your responsibility. I suggest you don’t delay much longer. Not, like I said, that it’s any of my affair.”

No? That was not Val’s impression. It seemed to him that Cezar had a large stake in this ‘affair’. “I’ll ask you once more. What have you done with Emily?”

“And I’ll tell you once more, I’ve done nothing. Come with me. See for yourself.” Cezar led the way down a dim hallway and into another cell.

Val entered the chamber. Emily lay on her back on a narrow cot. Drogo was stretched out beside her. At sight of Val, the wolf lifted his head and growled.

Val moved closer to the bed. Emily was motionless, her tangled hair spread out on the pillow. Her eyes were closed. One hand rested limply atop the blanket. There was dirt beneath her fingernails, dark stains on her gown. Her skin was unnaturally pale.

Unease stole over him. Unnerving, to see Emily so still, so quiet, as if she had no more life force than a stone.

Life force? Memory crashed over him. Memory of Emily’s body sprawled atop his. That had been no dream.

Val clasped her dirty hands. Her fingers were like ice. Still, he felt a faint heartbeat.
Emily.
There was no response.

He felt Cezar behind him. Val said, grimly, “You let me take too much.”

“Since when am I your conscience? At any event you were in no condition to heed the voice of reason, as I have already pointed out. I did warn Miss Dinwiddie, if you’ll recall, that she was likely to be your next meal.”

Val touched his fingers to the bloody marks on Emily’s neck. She had trusted him, and he had failed to protect her, despite his vow to keep her from harm.

“The responsibility is not entirely yours,” said Cezar. “Miss Dinwiddie would not be swayed from her path.”

“You
attempted to do so? How unlike you, then.”

“I did not. It would have been futile. She was determined that you should drink from her.” Drogo looked anxiously from one of them to the other. Cezar touched the wolf’s head. “And you did.”

Val chafed Emily’s hands. This was not the way the stories went. The hero was not supposed to require that the heroine make a blood sacrifice of herself. “You could heal her,” he said.

“I could, but then she would be mine. You don’t want that, I think.”

What Val wanted was his existence as it had been before Emily arrived to turn him lunatic. Cezar added, “You must make a decision. She hasn’t much time left. Don’t glower at me. I didn’t make the rules.”

“No, but you enforce them. I don’t suppose you’d care to turn a blind eye.”

“No. However, she risked her life to save you, knowing full well what you are. That sort of courage is rare. Too, the Dinwiddie Society has collected a great many secrets over the centuries. I think our little wren must not be allowed to fly away from us just yet.”

“Our
little wren?”

“Are we not comrades?” Cezar pulled out a silver knife and slit his wrist. “Now, will you remedy the situation, or shall I?”

Val took the blade. Impossible to know the consequences of feeding a mortal their mingled blood. What would it do to Emily? What would it do to them? Such a thing was so far beyond the rules that the mere thought was staggering.

If Cezar chose to share the repercussions of this forbidden act, so be it; but it would not be Cezar’s blood that Emily tasted first, not Cezar’s blood that forced the bond. Val slashed the vein on the inside of his elbow. With all his force of will, and Cezar’s will behind him, he focused his mind.
Emily.

Her eyes fluttered open. He felt a great sorrow at the emptiness he saw there.
Emily, drink.

Honey is sweet, but the bee stings.

(Romanian proverb)

Emily opened her eyes to find herself in a small stone-walled room. A rather crowded stone-walled room, which contained Cezar and Val, and Drogo stretched out beside her on a cot. The terrible gash in the wolf’s flank had completely healed, leaving only a smooth scar.