Revealed (23 page)

Seducing Artus was more difficult than Neferet had expected. Even among the unworldly beauty of the most powerful and important High Priestesses of their time, Neferet outshined them all. But Artus seemed impervious to Neferet’s beauty.

His aloofness had served only to flame her desire for him.

She had studied him. She learned his habits. Neferet took to wearing the traditional ceremonial garb of Italy’s ancient High Priestesses, which left her breasts bared, her hair adorned with flowers and ivy, and her lush hips draped in transparent fabric the color of a maiden’s blush. Then she made certain she led the casting of the circle that daily asked for Nyx’s blessing on the Sons of Erebus Warriors.

She could feel Artus’s eyes on her body, but when she tried to meet his gaze and draw his attention more fully to her, he always looked quickly away.

Unfortunately, Alexander did not look away from her. Ever. Her Warrior mistook the reason she was lavishing so much time and attention on the Warriors and at the field house as devotion to him. He strutted about, enjoying the envious glances of his new Warrior friends. He boasted that Neferet’s power was as great as her beauty. He fulfilled her every whim like a lap dog. Alexander baffled her as much as he irritated her. How could he not see that he was only an afterthought to her? She probed the Warrior’s mind for subterfuge, and found none. His feelings were true. He was completely enamored with her and utterly deluded into believing that she felt the same for him.

Alexander could not have been more wrong.

Neferet yearned for something darker, more sensual, more fulfilling. She yearned for Artus. The next time she led the Warrior Prayer and Artus’s eyes grazed her body, Neferet had focused the full force of her gift and delved deep within his mind. She was richly rewarded. She had discovered exactly how to seduce the aloof Warrior.

Neferet had set the stage carefully. She waited until it was just after dawn. She knew Artus would be finished drilling the Warriors. He would be in his quarters in the rear of the field house, preparing to rest for six hours. Then he would take the most uncomfortable guard shift, during the time the sun was brightest in the sky.

The High Priestesses assumed Artus took that shift because of his devotion to them. Neferet knew the truth behind that convenient belief. Artus thrived on the physical pain that uncomfortable shift and the sun caused him. Neferet had kept that delicious secret close to her as she plotted and planned his seduction.

First, she got rid of the fledgling Warrior who served as Artus’s aide. That was the simplest step. She allowed the fledgling to caress her—she pretended to desire his youth and his perfect body—she made him believe she would send a fledgling in his place that dawn to serve Artus,
if
the boy would rendezvous with her at a discreet inn on nearby Torcella Island.

Of course she would deny trying to seduce him. Actually, it had amused her to consider the punishment Artus would mete out to him after he discovered why the boy had shirked his duties.

Next, she slipped away from Alexander. She thought of sending him into Venice to find her a perfect piece of silk in an impossible color, but she hadn’t wasted the energy on fabricating a fool’s mission. Instead she’d waited until his attention was elsewhere, and called fog and mist, shadows and darkness to her so that she faded away from him before he’d even known he needed to look for her. And look for her he would, she was quite sure. He always looked for her. She’d curled her lip in distaste. Why had she let blood and lust shackle her to such a predictable bore? Neferet shrugged off the unpleasant thought of Alexander and his devotion. She wouldn’t think about him at all—she didn’t want to taint the pleasure of what she was certain would come.

Flushed with excitement, Neferet made her way invisibly to the field house. She entered through the rear door—the one nearest Artus’s quarters. Then she waited.

Neferet hadn’t had to wait long. As she already had learned, Artus was a vampyre of habit. When his fledgling didn’t appear at exactly thirty minutes past dawn, he opened the door to his quarters and gruffly called, “Salvatore! Boy! Where are you?”

“Salvatore is not here. No one is here except for me and you,” she’d said.

He was frowning when he emerged from his quarters, hair wet, chest bared, with only a towel wrapped loose and low around his slim hips. “Priestess, have you misplaced your Warrior?”

Neferet had lifted her chin and made her voice flint. “Warrior, have you misplaced your respect? I am a High Priestess. I expect to be greeted as such.”

Artus had lifted one dark brow, but he had complied, fisting his hand over his heart and bowing to her. “What can I do for you, Neferet?”

“Ah, you
do
know my name.”

“Everyone on San Clemente Island knows your name. What can I do for you, Neferet?” he’d repeated.

“I am here for a lesson,” she’d said.

“Your Warrior is a talented Sword Master. Why not take a lesson from him?”

Her full lips had curled up and her voice had purred, “Oh, but you misunderstand me. I am not here to take a lesson. I am here to give one.”

His dark eyes widened as she pulled a leather strap from the folds of her dress and lifted the dagger she had been hiding behind her. Then she tugged at the tie at her shoulder, and her gown slithered down her body. Naked, she walked to him, not speaking until she was within reaching distance. “Hold your hands before you and put your wrists together.”

“Neferet, what are—”

“I didn’t say you could speak! Do as I command!” When he just stood there, statue-like, she raised the dagger and touched it to his chest.

His intake of breath was sharp, but he didn’t move, didn’t look away from her.

Neferet had smiled, though she’d made her voice sharp, cruel. “Obey me!”

“Yes, High Priestess.” His voice had gone deep. He raised his hands, pressing his wrists together.

Neferet wrapped the leather strap around them, tightening it until she could see that it was uncomfortable. Artus’s breath was coming fast. Sweat began to bead across his ebony body.

“Good, but you didn’t obey me quickly enough. I must punish you, but only if you beg me to.”

Their eyes met. In his she saw shock and then understanding and desire. “Please, Neferet, punish me,” he begged.

She had been happy to comply.

In her den, Neferet’s body warmed in remembrance at how she had punished him. She had been mounting Artus, imagining herself as an ancient goddess mounting a sacrificial bull, when Alexander had found them. He’d cried out her name, sounding like a heartsick schoolboy. Utterly in the throes of ecstasy and pain, she’d whirled from Artus to face Alexander, and dropped the barriers she’d fashioned between them.

“See who I really am! See what I really think of you!”

Her emotions had battered Alexander. She remembered how colorless his face had been when he’d sobbed and fled the field house.

Almost as colorless as it had been when he’d been found the next day after he’d fallen on his sword, ending his miserable, boring life.

She had had to pretend public heartbreak, of course, though not for the first, nor last time in her life. She fabricated a story that portrayed Alexander as a disturbed young Warrior. She’d sobbed and said she had accepted his oath because she’d believed in her ability to heal him. Her concern for his unstable emotions was why she had been spending so much time at the field house—why she had insisted she lead the Warrior Prayers.

The High Council had responded with compassion, praising her for her attempt to heal one who had been so obviously broken. That hadn’t been a surprise. Neferet was adept at manipulating High Priestesses. Artus’s response to Alexander’s suicide
had
been a surprise.

She’d gone to him the next dawn, cloaking herself in darkness and sneaking into his chamber. He had utterly rejected her. His words had been respectful, but she had seen within him.
He had been disgusted by her.

Neferet had cut through his subterfuge as cleanly as she had his skin.

“Tell anyone why Alexander really killed himself, and I will explain in detail to the High Council about your need for punishment. You know what they would do. That’s why you hide your desires with human prostitutes, paying for their silence. Should they discover you, the High Council would, correctly, believe your need affects you as a Warrior and dismiss you from your post.”

“You are utterly devoid of compassion.” Neferet never forgot the loathing in his voice.

“We each wear our masks, don’t we? Keep my secret and I will keep yours.”

Neferet had left San Clemente Island the next day, immediately after lighting Alexander’s pyre. The High Council had been understanding and compassionate. Of course she should return to her House of Night immediately. The loss of an Oath Bound Warrior was life altering for a High Priestess!

Artus had remained silent.

One year later Neferet heard how shocked the High Council had been when his body had been found floating in the Grand Canal. There had been no sign of violence on his body, only his many scars. Apparently, he had drowned himself. Neferet had smiled at the news.

Alone on the return voyage Neferet had fallen into despair. She’d begun to believe that there would be no male, human or vampyre, who could possibly be her equal. Her despair had grown greater as she drew nearer the end of her voyage. With the ocean, waves of Neferet’s emotions had surged before her, washing against the shoreline, penetrating the ground and soaking across the land.

That was when the dreams had begun. She had dreamed she’d been wrapped in power, folded into greatness, cherished beyond pain and pleasure.

“No mortal male could be your equal because you deserve to be mated to a god!”
his beautiful voice had whispered, and Neferet had begun listening.

“Ah, shit. She looks worse than I expected.” Aphrodite said.

“Yeah, she does.” My voice sounded shaky as my friends and I looked through the big window into the ICU cubicle of our infirmary. Shaunee had gotten Stark, me, Aphrodite, and Darius. On the way to the infirmary she’d quickly filled us in on what Dallas had done. I’d told myself I wouldn’t cry—that I’d be a strong, mature High Priestess and set a good example, but one look at Stevie Rae had totally scared the crap out of me and made me want to burst into tears. She’d had her oversized Kenny Chesney concert T-shirt on, but everywhere the shirt hadn’t protected—her face, arms, and legs—were bright red and covered with angry-looking blisters that oozed blood. Margareta, the vampyre in charge of the infirmary, said that she hadn’t completely gained consciousness yet, and that wasn’t good because Stevie Rae needed to drink blood, or else she wouldn’t even begin to heal.

“Can’t they give her a transfusion or something?” Aphrodite said.

“I already asked that,” Shaunee said while I wiped my eyes and sniffed. Stark handed me a Kleenex. “Vampyres aren’t like humans. An infusion won’t work. We have to absorb blood through our mouths, and throats, and well, you know—everything—for it to heal us.”

“I hope you know how nasty that sounds,” Aphrodite said said.

“Aphrodite, I’d chew poo and spit it down Stevie Rae’s throat if it would make her better,” I said.

“That won’t be necessary.” Thanatos’s voice had us turning toward the entrance to the infirmary. She’d opened the door. Kalona stepped inside. Rephaim was on his heels. Barefoot and pulling on his shirt, he sprinted past his father.

He went straight to Stevie Rae. We crowded around the door, watching and waiting.

“Stevie Rae, it’s time to wake up now.” Rephaim sat beside her on the hospital bed. Tears dripped down his cheeks, but his voice didn’t shake. He sounded calm and sure of himself. “I got here as soon as I could. I am sorry you had to be like this for so long, but you know the problem I have during the sunlight. I’m not really myself.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob instead. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes, saying, “It’s not as bad as your problem with the sun, though.” He reached out like he meant to touch her cheek, but flinched at the rawness and blisters. Instead he rested his hand on her chest, over her heart. “Hey, I need you to wake up now,” he repeated, his tears falling faster and faster.

Kalona pushed past us to stand beside his son. “Rephaim, you must make her drink from you. You are bonded to her, and within your veins pulses the strength of immortals. Only you can heal her.”

Rephaim looked up at his dad. “She’s not conscious. She won’t wake up.”

“Then you must force her to drink.”

Rephaim nodded. He lifted the hand he’d been pressing over Stevie Rae’s heart and bit himself. Hard. Right on his wrist.

I didn’t need to see the blood seeping through the bite. I could smell it. It was super weird. In a way it was kinda stinky, like mold or newly dug-up dirt, but there was something else in it, too, that reminded me of dark chocolate and spices and a cool, moonlit breeze in the middle of a sweltering summer night.

“Wow, that’s bizarre smelling,” Stark murmured.

I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t stop my mouth from watering. All I could do was watch in envy as Rephaim leaned forward and gently cradled Stevie Rae’s head while he pressed his bleeding wrist to her slack lips.

“Drink, Stevie Rae. You have to,” Rephaim pleaded.

Stevie Rae didn’t react at all. Rephaim’s blood ran from the corners of her mouth and pooled scarlet against the white hospital sheets, looking delicious … irresistible…

“Zoey! Help her.”

I realized I’d been staring, spellbound, at Rephaim’s blood when Kalona’s voice jerked me back to myself. “H-how?” I stuttered.

Thanatos answered for him. “Call spirit. Have it strengthen and infill her. Her body will heal if her spirit awakens so that she may drink from her mate.”

“Of course—I understand, sorry.” I cleared my throat and drew a deep breath, ignoring the new rush of blood scent that filled my lungs. “Spirit, come to me!” I felt better when my favorite element responded—more myself—more in control. Grounded again, I commanded, “Go to Stevie Rae. Fill her and strengthen her so that she comes back to us!” My hair lifted as spirit left me and poured into Stevie Rae. Immediately, she took a deep breath, coughing as blood choked her. And then her eyes opened and she clamped her hands around Rephaim’s arm, sucking from his wrist—drinking deeply.