Immanuel's Veins Read online

  Then she’d bounced around and clung to Stefan and generally showed her delight that Lucine had returned. “What did I tell you, Lucine? What did I tell you?”

  Lucine had been ushered into the main hall, where sixty or seventy of the coven waited. They stood as Vlad walked in with Lucine on his arm, and to a person they’d bowed.

  “Now you see her, as I said you would,” Vlad said, and his voice held them in a trance. “She is mine. And the castle is hers.”

  They stared at her with dark eyes rimmed in gray, a stunning sight caused by the variety of wine, Vlad said. In the sun his own eyes had looked golden brown, but here in the dim light, they too were dark.

  His companions bowed when she left the room again, followed by Natasha and the others who now sat at the banquet table—Vlad’s lieutenants. She didn’t bother to ask why they used rankings if they were simply aristocrats. These Russians referred to everything in poetic terms. Queen, blood, coven . . . it was all said with a flair for the unconventional.

  Even the way they dressed was sensuous and made a bold statement of exclusivity. We stand above it all and are proud to do so. We are royalty.

  She felt conspicuous in her own blue dress, like a nun at a ball.

  The banquet was presented in silence by two servants. They kept staring at Lucine, but not a single word was spoken. The unnerving stares from their first dinner with these Russians now struck her as hauntingly beautiful. She had a hard time keeping her eyes off of them as well.

  She might have expected Alek and Natasha to be more talkative, but both seemed content to play the role given to them by their host. Something about their state still bothered Lucine—the look in their eyes and their pale faces—but with as much wine and as little sleep as they took here, it wasn’t hard to understand. They had thrown themselves at these Russians. Too much. Lucine would have to take them aside and talk . . .

  But no. No, that was past now. She would not play the spoiler here.

  “Then eat!” Vlad said, snapping his serviette. “Drink! And above all, love.”

  He said it with his eyes on Lucine, and she felt herself blush.

  “To love!” Stefan said. And again they toasted. Lucine watched Simion drink, eyes on her. When she turned back to Vlad, his chair was empty. He was behind her, warm hand on her shoulder. He traced her neck with his finger and whispered into her ear.

  “Tonight belongs to you, Lucine. Whatever you desire. I am your servant.” And he lifted her glass from behind and fed her a sip of wine.

  She was at once embarrassed by his extraordinary attention and thrilled by it. His finger trailed off her cheek and he walked to a great window draped in purple velvet. He grasped the curtains with both hands and flung them wide to show the night.

  Vlad stood there with his back to them, arms wide on the drapes. His black suit was cut long, hanging down to his knees, gathered in the middle of his back with a brass buckle. He released the drapes, took his collar and dropped the coat off his back, then threw it across a chair.

  Such a magnificent specimen, Lucine thought. She could see the strength of his shoulders through his shirt.

  Vlad spoke, facing the night. “Some kinds of love are worth the wait of a thousand years.” He spun, eyes sparkling with mischievousness. “I’m afraid that I have lost my appetite for this mortal food.” He was positively beaming. And in a moment he was seated again. “But I will eat with you anyway—I’m told the veal is delectable.”

  It was all so very strange, yet so fascinating. No wonder Natasha had returned again and again. Had she been treated like this? Lucine doubted it, but seeing the Russians with unmasked eyes now, she suspected any interaction with them would be intoxicating. They were like honey drawing bees.

  Knives and forks chimed on the plates. The scent of freshly cooked meat was heavy. A fiddler’s mournful tune drifted in from another room.

  Together they ate and drank. And they watched each other, feeding as much on each other’s gazes as on the veal and pork. Lucine felt like she was on the cliff, ready to fall. But even that apprehension drew her, if only to know what awaited in the black chasm beneath.

  Natasha had been there and was grinning like a child.

  Alek had descended and come back with dumb happiness.

  Toma had let himself go . . .

  Lucine hardly had an appetite and the wine was getting to her head.

  “May I ask a question?” she asked.

  “You must,” Vlad said. “You must have so many.”

  She smiled. “Naturally. Is this normal?”

  Vlad looked at the others, then back. “You mean the food? We eat very well here.”

  “No . . .”

  “The wine then? We drink even better.”

  “I’m sure you do. But I was thinking about the . . . well, this general atmosphere. Is everyone so taken with everything all the time? It’s a wonder, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t it just . . .”

  “Unnatural?”

  “Yes. Unnatural.”

  “Well, we do have our fights, if that’s what you mean. Passion is something we demand of each, but not everyone embraces love and beauty the way we do, and at times they put up a fuss.”

  “Why would anyone come against you?”

  “For the same reasons you wanted to,” he said.

  There was that.

  “Love isn’t easily understood by the wicked.” He leaned back and toyed with his goblet. “Ask any martyr.”

  “You believe in God here?”

  “Only a fool would not.”

  “All except Toma,” Alek said.

  They looked at him strangely.

  “Just pointing that out.”

  “He’s still here?” she asked.

  “If not, we should invite him,” Vlad said.

  She wasn’t sure why, but the idea sounded premature to her. Unbecoming even.

  “And you, Stefan, you heal so quickly?” she asked.

  He touched his hair. “Yes, well, it was a nasty blow to be sure. They tell me I almost bled out. I’m sure when the wound heals it will leave a ghastly scar. Three cheers for hair to keep me beautiful.”

  They chuckled, Natasha laughed in her high pitch, and that was the end of it.

  “Which reminds me,” Vlad said. “I recall the time Simion fell from the balcony of that dreadful castle near Venice. Trying to save a woman perched on the railing, yes? Instead you fell and bled on my floor.”

  “How could I forget?” Simion pointed to his head. “My skull is still lopsided. But I do believe that is my secret. Women love to hold my head, thinking it’s still hurt. It has proven to be the perfect lure.”

  “To women,” Alek said, lifting his cup. And again they obliged his toast.

  Conversation began in earnest then, having been broken open by Lucine, who mostly listened. It was as if they had respectfully waited for her to break the ice before beginning table talk. They told stories about more countries and wars and women than she could believe anyone could possibly have crossed, fought, or loved in a single lifetime.

  The more she heard, the more she felt at ease with them. And the more Vlad doted on her, the more she wanted him to.

  He was clearly on the prowl to find the slightest way to serve her, rushing to the kitchen for a fresh bottle of wine and pouring it himself, or fetching her a clean silver fork because the gravy had soiled hers. Each time he rose he found an excuse to pass behind her, to touch her hair, or to lean over and ask if she needed anything.

  Anywhere else, his attention would appear obsequious, but not in this banquet room. Not with these candles and these paintings and drapes and wine, and certainly not with these Russians, who didn’t seem to know any other way to behave.

  In so many ways they were perfect gentlemen, sharpened with just enough of an edge to keep her guessing how deeply they might cut if provoked.

  Like Toma in that way. Yet so different.

  Dasha and her sister, Sofia, on the other hand, were hard
ly the image of perfect ladies. Far from it. They lusted openly, objects of great desire who knew how valuable they were and had no interest in pretending otherwise. Completely comfortable in their own skin, surely with or without clothing. In that way they were both queens.

  Royalty.

  They took their time—two hours at the table, at least, in no hurry to rush the taste of each morsel, unwilling to release each gaze too quickly, wringing satisfaction from each word spoken.

  But mostly they all seemed delighted to take pleasure in her, as if Vlad was sharing his queen with his court and he didn’t want to rush their experience.

  True to his word, Vlad hardly ate. Or drank for that matter. But his eyes were drinking her already, and the thought of it made her head spin.

  “Now I must ask you one question, Lucine,” he said when they had finished as much food as they could eat. “You’ve eaten with me twice, once there with that other man—what was his name? Sorry, yes, Toma. And your mother, of course. And once here in our company. Which has pleased you the most?”

  “I wasn’t aware that it was a contest,” she said, laughing. The wine had certainly softened her good graces, but here good graces were not so highly valued.

  They all laughed with her. And toasted.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “It only gives me context. You might love red, but only when you put red next to purple do you know which color you prefer on the walls. So it is with people.”

  “And I can only hope you find my red more alluring than that purple.”

  She said it quickly and was feeling too loose to moderate herself. He stared at her, as if trying to know if she’d said what he’d heard.

  “Then,” he said, smiling, “I would choose red over purple even if the red was soiled beyond repair.”

  She wasn’t sure what that said about her, but the rest obviously thought it a great compliment, because they lifted their glasses for the twentieth or thirtieth time.

  “So be it.”

  “So be it.”

  And they drank.

  “Now leave us,” Vlad said, dismissing them all with a slight movement of his hand.

  As one they rose, dipped their heads, and, with one last look at Lucine, left without another word. One moment they were seated, drinking, and the next they were gone, leaving Lucine and Vlad van Valerik alone in the dining room.

  He reached out his large hand for her small one. She gave it to him. He kissed it lightly.

  “I worship you,” he said.

  Deep inside she knew this was too much, but too much of what? Love? And what was too much love but too much of what she did not have? Were torrential rains in the dried ravine of her heart too much to coax forth life?

  She let a timid giggle leak from her mouth and felt easy with her response when he smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Then I will worship you even more.”

  He stood, still holding her hand, and brought her slowly to her feet. Then he drew her to the large window. For a while he seemed content to stare out at the night.

  Clouds had gathered, she saw. Not a star to be seen. Fingers of lightning cracked the horizon in silence. A storm was coming.

  She felt at such ease with him and yet so unnerved at the same moment, like that serene sky, split by flashes of hot light. If this was what had driven Natasha to her unabashed pursuit of men all these years, then Lucine pitied herself for not experiencing it sooner. It sounded scandalous, but in that moment, so pleased to stand next to such a powerful, romantic suitor who vowed his love for her, Lucine thought she might be falling in love with the duke.

  “You are a mysterious man, Vlad van Valerik,” she said.

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Then can I unwrap part of this mystery for you?”

  “Please.”

  His eyes drifted back to the stormy sky. “It begins with another man, who is my mortal enemy.”

  “Really? You seem to have enough power to crush any mortal enemy.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps. You know that I stand to inherit more than this world? That in reality, I possess it? That I have the power to pull its strings and own the hearts of all men?”

  A rather poetic, if odd, way to put his position. “I’ve heard that you are very powerful.”

  “More than most would care to know. But I don’t wear that power like a red cape to show the world. I may have the teeth of a wolf, but I prefer to walk among them in sheep’s clothing.”

  “Then you should be praised. There is too much struggle for power, too many wars and too much bloodletting in this world.”

  “Well, I didn’t say I wouldn’t drink their blood. I just won’t let them know I’m doing it.” He smiled and she laughed.

  “So who is this mortal enemy of yours?”

  “Someone who doesn’t know that I am who I am. That I will rule, that in so many ways I already do rule from the shadows. If he did, he might one day kill me.”

  “Then you should make sure he never finds out. Or you should deal with him now.”

  “Yes, well, I am.”

  Lucine felt the effects of the wine weighing on her mind. “So how does this unravel the mystery that surrounds you, Vlad van Valerik?”

  “It came to my attention that this man has an eye for the Cantemir twins,” he said. “And when I met you, I immediately understood why.”

  “Truly? Why?”

  “Because you, my dear, are exquisite. I’d heard of your reputation, of course, but I never expected to be so crushed with jealousy for your love.”

  She laughed with less reservation. He certainly had a way with words, and as long as they poured such affection into her, she would welcome them.

  “I knew immediately that you were the one I have waited for. I must have your love. Nothing else will ever matter to me more.”

  “Because of jealousy?”

  “If winning you from our mortal enemy is jealousy, then let it fill my bones and rage for you.”

  He was too gracious to be real.

  Vlad turned to her and took both hands, holding her as if she were made of delicate tissue. “Before I take you back tonight, I would like to show you one thing.”

  Outside, lightning stabbed the earth; thunder rolled. She glanced at the window. Rain was falling.

  “The road will be treacherous,” she said.

  “Nothing will harm you; I’ll get you home safely.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to go. Natasha and Alek had spent the night here, hadn’t they?

  “So show me,” she said.

  “It’s in the tower.”

  “Then take me to your tower.”

  His eyes searched her face, moving from one eye to the other, then to her lips and back to her eyes.

  He bent and touched his lips to the bridge of her nose.

  “No wonder he loves you.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I waited. Wrapped in a tight fist of raw nerves, I waited for Lucine to return to me. Not to her mother, not to the Cantemir estate, not even to safety, but to me. Because now I knew that if I could just persuade her of my deep affection for her, she would surely reconsider.

  Such was the state of my mind as I paced the lawn and rode out to the gate and finally retreated to my room for release in my journal. This page I would never burn.

  My dear Lucine—

  Forget who I was yesterday when I was an unwitting child. Today I am your savior. I am your Solomon and you are my song. And that wolf who stalks you—I can’t bear to think of it!

  You must know, it was religious duty to Her Majesty, not any lack of devotion to you, that muzzled me. But now . . . now I would scream my love for you from the mountaintops. Now I would slay a thousand beasts to bring you from the valley.

  You, my Lucine, my cherished one, have stolen my heart. One look from you and I would be ravished. I beg you, Lucine, come to me and let me wash your feet with my tears.

  My shame knows no bounds; my regret has no bottom. This br
east can no longer contain my love. I beg you to return to me. If you do not, then I will die there on that cross of shame.

  My words are like rocks here, blunt and worthless for their refusal to express my love . . .

  My quill hovered over the page. But I could not write another word. She might be approaching already. I thrust the journal back under the mattress and ran outside to find an empty road.

  A hundred times I considered rushing up the mountain, but I remained at the estate for fear that I would miss her return by another route. I nearly ran back out to the meadow where that wolf had taken her, but if she was still there . . . I couldn’t mortify her like that, exposing how he’d damaged her.

  My thoughts replayed the events of the previous evening over and over, and I could not make my suspicions a certainty. Had I ingested some bad drug or wine that had softened my will? Had anyone threatened me or Natasha or Alek? Had anyone spoken a disparaging comment about Lucine or the Cantemirs in my charge?

  No. No, and it enraged me because, I tell you, there was something hidden up there, and I wanted to go up with an army and break the castle to pieces until I found it.

  Valerik was a wolf in sheep’s clothing come to kill, steal, and destroy. He was that snake in the garden, beguiling with a smooth tongue and wicked eyes. He was that monster under the bed who waited until all slept before feeding on his prey.

  He was none of these things, of course, and he might not present any physical threat to my charges, but that was now beside the point.

  Vlad van Valerik was surely robbing any fondness Lucine might have for me. He was stealing her heart away from me. He was destroying any chance I had to win her, and that was now all that mattered.

  So then, Vlad was my mortal enemy.

  I swore to wait until the eighth hour, but when I saw that first stab of lightning on the horizon, I could not wait. He must have taken her to the fortress! The thought of him up there wrapping his slender fingers around her hand had driven me to the bitter end of myself.

  I rushed to the stable, sword at my side, pistols in my bag, and I whipped that horse until it galloped for his life.