Mindsong (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 6) Page 3

  I heaved a sigh.

  It took longer than I liked to change, my knees shook, and I lost my balance a few times. But finally, I got the job done, and after I’d secured my knives in their hidden sheathes, I felt a bit more like myself. Enough to walk to the door without hugging the wall, anyway.

  The instant I stepped out into the hall, I smelled him. Lucian. Delicious as ever, yet Dorian’s mana, with its undercurrent spicy scent of death nearly overwhelmed Lucian’s trail. I followed my nose, playing it safe by gripping the rail as I navigated down the stairs.

  At the bottom, I paused to survey the spacious living room opening before me. A low, red modern couch. Priceless antiques. Modern clay sculptures artfully placed on carved wooden tables that looked like they belonged to King Henry VIII. The decor was odd, but it worked.

  “And the lass is awake,” Dorian’s amused Scottish burr sounded from close behind.

  I turned to see the vampire lounging in an interior doorway, well out of reach of the hot afternoon sun streaming through the line of windows on the opposite wall. His hair had grown since I’d seen him last, but other than that, he seemed unchanged. His bright green eyes still held that amused, watchful look.

  “How long have I been out?” I asked, my voice sounding hoarse from disuse.

  “A wee bit.” He grinned.

  I cocked a brow at his hair. Judging from the difference in length, I didn’t think ‘wee’ covered how long I’d lain there unconscious.

  “Ach, aye, more than a wee bit, then,” Dorian admitted with a begrudging huff of a laugh.

  “Mags, wasn’t it?” I prompted. With that blast, she’d obviously gone for the kill.

  The Scottish vampire nodded. “Aye, ‘twas the lass, but there’s naught to fear now. In these last few months, her temper has cooled.”

  Temper? Attempted murder came from something far more deep-rooted than the realm of mere temper, but then the word ‘months’ registered. So, I was right on the time front.

  “Nigh on six months,” Dorian confirmed, watching my incredulous face with a widening grin.

  I didn’t find the situation as funny. “Lucian?”

  “He’ll be back soon enough, lass.”

  Back? I could smell him. He had to be here. Somewhere. I opened my mouth to call Dorian’s bluff when I realized the complex mix of scent came from the vampire himself. I blinked, surprised. Yeah, I’d noticed similarities between Lucian and Dorian before, but nothing so strong as this. What did it mean? Was it a clan affiliation of some kind? The side effect of the truce? Or was my nose pretty much addled, thanks to the strength of Mags’ spell? I’d never been this weak and foggy before.

  Suddenly, my knees buckled, and I abruptly sat down on the bottom stair. Question answered. I needed food. Now.

  “Ho there, lass.” Dorian held out a beefy hand. “Mayhap, you should hie yourself back on to bed, aye?”

  “No,” I disagreed. “I just need to eat. I’ll be fine.”

  He tilted his head at the window. “If your lad hasn’t returned by sunset, I’ll take you out myself,” he promised. “‘Tis best not to venture alone.”

  As much as I wanted to run out and dine off tourists, I knew he was right. I was in no shape to take on Mags or any other enemy I’d created for myself in the past year while straying into Emilio’s world.

  Then, thoughts of Emilio brought memories of The Resistance.

  So…what had happened while I was out? While Mags had turned me into Rip Van Winkle?

  “Any luck on Emilio these past few months?” I asked.

  Dorian’s humor evaporated, an answer if I’d ever seen one.

  The fact that Emilio still ran around wreaking havoc wasn’t surprising. After all, Dear ‘ol Dad and I were tied at the hip. The fact I sat here, alive and kicking, meant he was too.

  “’Tis been brutal,” Dorian offered, his brows drawn in a grim line. “Still, there is hope.”

  “How?” I asked bluntly. Hadn’t they all been telling themselves that for centuries?

  “Lucian has learned much. The lad spends his days, poring over Elizabeth’s writings.” A softness entered his voice as he said her name and for several moments, he looked downright wistful, sad. Then, he grinned again. “The sun will set soon. I was making breakfast. Would you care to join, my lady?”

  I wasn’t all that keen on watching him down blood, but who was I to complain? I was a vampire, of sorts, myself. I pulled myself up from the bottom step and followed him down the hall.

  The kitchen he led me to made me feel like I’d stepped back in time. Beaten copper blinked from every surface, from the farmhouse sink to the pans on the rack hanging from the ceiling. Even the paintings on the limestone walls were oil-painted masterpieces from times long past. The refrigerator, however, stood out like a sore thumb, gleaming a modern stainless steel.

  Feeling shaky again, I collapsed onto the nearest bar stool hugging the island in the center of the room as Dorian opened the freezer and pulled out a tray of iced blood-cubes. Knocking the freezer door closed with an elbow, he grabbed the blender on the counter with a practiced ease that would put any chef to shame. I snorted. Who’d ever thought the Dorian I’d met on my first trip to Venice would ever turn into this domesticated version.

  “So, vampires make breakfast shakes now, huh?” I couldn’t resist asking.

  “Smoothies,” he corrected, plopping the cubes into the glass carafe and jamming the lid on with a flick of his wrist. With a grin, he punched the power button.

  The blades no sooner whirred than the lid blasted off and Ricky shot out of the blender to land on the countertop. He looked, for all the world, like an angry, frazzled, black puffball.

  “Gor Blimey, that’s not the way to treat a chap,” he spat.

  “Pox and pestilence, ye crooked-nosed knave,” Dorian bellowed, grabbing the carafe and eyeing the contents in disgust. “Now, the taste will go off.”

  Ricky squinted his green eyes into disgruntled slits, but then, catching sight of me, cracked his mouth into one of the cheesiest grins I’d ever seen. “So, awake at last, duck? It’s astonishing, what you’ve slept through.”

  I didn’t even want to know what he’d been up to the past few months. Some things are better left unexplored. So, I just smiled back. I couldn’t stop myself. Part of me missed him. The rest? Well, I just ignored that part for now.

  “Ice,” Ricky coughed, belatedly beginning to shiver and fan his face with quivering smoke-fingers.

  I rolled my eyes. “A little late for that act.”

  The whir of the blender cut off our conversation. We waited, watching Dorian’s concoction swirl until he finished, yanked the carafe from the base, and downed his crimson smoothie straight from the container.

  Ricky grimaced and hopped down from the counter. Blood wasn’t his thing. Mine, either, but at the thought of food, my stomach clenched, reminding me just how hungry I was. I needed a good meal, maybe ten—

  “Sleeping Beauty awakes,” a deep voice purred in that familiar, soft British accent.

  I whirled.

  Lucian. In the flesh and as handsome as ever. He stood, braced in the doorway, his silver-blue eyes drinking in every inch of me.

  “Sleeping Beauty?” My throat closed a little at the sight of him. “The zombie version, I guess.”

  A charming smile crooked Lucian’s sexy lips, and then I was in his arms, having no recollection of just how I’d gotten there. As always, the attraction crackling between us went off the scale, leaving little room for anything else. I cradled my head against the hard planes of his chest and simply enjoyed him. He smelled so delicious, so…Lucian. How could I ever have confused Dorian’s vampiric death scent with his?

  “You’re here. With me. At last,” he murmured into my hair, holding me close.

  I stayed as I was, ear against his muscled chest, just listening to the steady beat of his heart. And for a time, that solid drumming kept reality at bay, leaving me just wanting to stay there fo
rever, not thinking, and with my nose buried in his shirt.

  But Lucian had other plans. “Let me have a look at you, sweetheart.” With one last squeeze, he pushed me away to hold me at arm’s length, but as his eyes scanned me from head to toe, concern flooded his handsome face. “You’re too thin.”

  “Well, not eating in a few months does that to you,” I teased. “I could use a good meal.”

  The words no sooner left my mouth then they woke the primal center of my brain, the one-syllable word part demanding ‘Eat. Now.’ Crud, he smelled too good, always better than fresh bread, but right now, fresh bread to a starving man. My fangs zipped out and my vision narrowed.

  “Then, we must see you fed, love,” I heard him say, his voice sounding so far away.

  My hands twitched, eager to latch onto his chest. They were halfway to his heart before I discovered their plan. Fear jolted through me. I’d nearly killed him once. I wasn’t going to take any route that might end up there again.

  Abruptly, I stepped back, but he grabbed my hand and before I could stop him, pressed my palm flat against his chest, directly over his heart.

  “No,” I choked in protest.

  But I was so weak, too feeble to resist. I was starving, and his mana, so vital, strong, swirled beneath my fingers, the ultimate temptation. I could no more stop than a shark would at the scent of blood. Even as my mind screamed for me to pull off him, the animal part of me dug in and drank. Deeply.

  Crud, but he tasted so good. Beyond delicious. Better than any mana, both in and out of the Fringe. His power zipped through me like an electric current, blasting the weakness gripping me right out of the way. I became a beast, a wild one, caught in the frenzy of devouring its prey. The sane part of me screamed to gain control, but I ignored that little voice. I didn’t move my hand.

  Lucian was a fool to trust me.

  Yet, even that knowledge couldn’t pry my fingers away.

  I continued to siphon his power, drinking deeply, my fingers welded to his chest, until finally, I managed to move my eyes, forcing my gaze to his.

  Incredibly, silver threads of mana still glistened there, threads that couldn’t last for long if I didn’t stop.

  Hex it all, I couldn’t do this to him.

  I ordered my fingers to let him go. At first, they wouldn’t budge. Only when I summoned the pained memory from that first time, when I’d smelled him, when I’d nearly drained his life spark, only then did I find the strength to shove him back.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped, breathing heavily. “Keep away from me.” I stumbled back, even as I felt his strength weaving through me, knitting me whole. Yet, with as much as he’d given, I knew it was a mere few drops in the bucket that I needed. I needed more mana. Much more.

  Instead of moving away from me, Lucian leaned forward and caught my arm. “You won’t harm me, sweetheart.”

  “How can you say that?” I wrenched free of his grasp.

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Besides, I trust you.”

  Trust me? Enough to let me feed on him? He knew what I was capable of, what a monster I could become. Anger flooded me. “You shouldn’t,” I hissed. “I’m a monster, Lucian. One of the Damned.”

  Empathy flickered across his face. “You’re no monster.”

  My choices the past year begged to differ. Those alone proved the depths of the darkness I had churning inside me. After all, I was the Mindbreaker’s daughter, wasn’t I? Case closed.

  “Cassidy.” Lucian’s understanding gaze never left mine. “I am so much stronger now. You can’t harm me. I know it.”

  “I won’t take that chance.” I wanted to try, believe me. The drool collecting in my mouth underscored that fact, but Lucian deserved better, so much more. Someone who didn’t view him as the Thanksgiving Turkey.

  He stood there, ready to object further, but as I held his gaze, he read my determination and acquiesced with an audible sigh. With his shoulders sagging in defeat, he pulled out a cellphone from his pocket. “There.” His elegant fingers danced over the screen. “The water taxi is minutes away. I rather think the Carnival Royale at the Piazza San Marco will do. You’ll have your pick of hundreds.”

  The thought of hundreds of masked tourists jostling about, prime pickings for mana skimming, sent me directly toward the front door.

  Lucian caught up to me with a chuckle. “Wrong way, sweetheart.”

  Snagging my arm, he guided me to the kitchen back door instead and out through a private garden cluttered with clay pots and ivy covering a brick wall. As we stepped through the gate and out onto the cobblestoned street, he nodded his chin at a white speedboat approaching the edge of the canal about ten yards away.

  “This way.” Lucian gallantly held out his arm.

  His gesture reminded me so much of Dorian that I relaxed enough to smile. “You’ve been hanging around Dorian too much. You’re even starting to smell alike.”

  “Hardly,” Lucian snorted, clearly taken aback.

  The boat arrived then, leaving me no opportunity to explain. It didn’t matter, anyway. We boarded and took our seats at the back, settling comfortably on the soft tan leather as the taxi backed into the Grand Canal. Then, we were on our way, mist spraying our faces and the wind whipping through our hair.

  It was beautiful. Something straight out of a travel commercial. All around me, the setting sun tinted the tiled roofs a bright orange, the reflections making the water gleam like liquid gold. Gondolas and vaporettos crammed to the gills with tourists bustled around us. I lost interest in the view then and stifled a sigh, wishing we’d taken the public waterways instead of a private affair. On a vaporetto, I could have easily bumped into a few people and picked up an appetizer or two.

  Soon, Cassidy. Soon, you can eat.

  Singing the mantra to myself, I leaned back against Lucian’s arm sprawled on the seat back behind me and closed my eyes.

  If only life could be like this every day. A life without Emilio. A life without…

  The puppet.

  I straightened, my eyes flying wide open.

  “What is it?” Lucian shouted above the whirring motor.

  The puppet wasn’t something I could shout about, not when I needed to analyze every nuance of his response.

  “Later,” I yelled back. As soon as I’d fed, I’d sit him down and ask why he’d created the thing—and why he’d found it necessary to hide it from me.

  Lucian hooked a thumb under my chin and searched my face. I don’t know what he saw there, but whatever it was, he felt compelled to shout again, “You’re safe.”

  Safe? That was the last word that really applied to me. The Fallen Ones always managed to sniff me out whenever I held still for too long. After six months in that bed, they knew where I was. But then, Lucian couldn’t know that. I’d never told him I was basically a beacon for the unholy. I’d never told him so many things.

  I guess we both had our secrets.

  But first, I had to eat. Then, I’d come clean and demand he do the same.

  Lucian watched my face, his brow cocking in concern, but he quit trying to speak.

  A few minutes later, the water taxi operator cut the engine as we drew alongside a black iron fence covered with wisteria. The gaps through the leaves offered a view of a private courtyard and then, the historic city center beyond.

  Food.

  The primal me was out of the boat before Lucian had even set foot on the quay.

  I ducked under an iron archway and into the courtyard, a large one covered in cobblestones and dotted here and there with olive trees, each one surrounded by its own miniature rose garden. Distant voices rang in the air, mixing with strains of music coming from closer by, probably only a street or two away. I shut my eyes and drew a deep, analyzing breath. So much mana. So many flavors. And a lot of it Charmed. I could eat my fill. My fangs descended at the thought.

  “Ready?” Lucian’s soft voice rolled over me from behind.

  “Beyond r
eady.” I smiled, opening my eyes.

  “Then, go, sweetheart.” He stepped up beside me and pointed at an arched entrance in the far-left corner. “We’ll meet at the Basilica when you’re finished.”

  And after, we’d talk. Clear the air. I loved him. I didn’t want secrets.

  I squeezed his hand, but I’d no sooner taken a step away when a cold, sick feeling fell over me. A premonition of evil to come.

  I froze.

  “What is it?” Lucian asked, immediately on the alert.

  Before I could answer, the mist appeared, blanketing the courtyard in cold, thick clouds. Nether Reach mist.

  I caught their foul scent, then. Fallen Ones.

  Crud. I hardly felt battle-ready.

  “Run,” Lucian hissed, grabbing my arm.

  But it was already too late.

  “Casssidyyyyy,” the Fallen Ones chanted as they blinked into existence, cutting us off and blocking every courtyard exit. They hung in the air, grotesque and foul, their rotting flesh hanging from exposed ribs and their tattered robes swirling around their invisible feet.

  I scanned their faces. They were all there—save Lord Helm.

  Then, the voice I hated the most, chuckled from behind, “Like a moth to the flame, mia principessa.”

  Mythical Beasts

  I clenched my fists. Emilio. And I was so weak.

  Step by step, his boots scraped against the cobblestones, coming closer until finally, he walked into my field of vision. He looked suave, as young as ever in his designer Italian suit, the cigar tucked between his fingers sending a lazy trail of smoke into the air.

  I wanted nothing more than to unsheathe my knives and plunge them into his chest, but what was the point? Silver did nothing to Emilio or even to his pet gaggle of Fallen Ones.

  Emilio’s eyes twinkled as he took me in. “There is no choice for you, Bambina. Not in this.” He chuckled, a deep, rich sound. “But now, you are awake. At last.”

  “Been watching me, have you?” I folded my arms.

  Emilio took a long drag, the end of his cigar flaring with the strength of his pull. “How can I not? You are my heart. My daughter. Mia principessa.” He exhaled, slowly, clearly enjoying the fact that we had no choice but to hang on his every word. “We walk the same path. Together, we rule. Domineremo.”