“Or
maybe she would have been even more unhinged,” Anca said softly.
“Maybe.”
He lifted his glass to drain it. When he set it down, his expression had lost
its hint of sadness. His smile looked forced. “Enough of this talk. Whose move
was it?”
“Yours,”
she said with a smile. A trace of fear lingered, but she pushed it aside with
determination. Nikia was locked away, and she was safe as long as she remained
so. If she decided to stay, she could deal with her half-sister. The thought of
not returning to New York didn’t bring the same surge of panic as it had
earlier. She settled into the game with her father, feeling content and
comfortable.
* * * * *
Nikia
tossed aside the sliver of mirror with a screech of anger. She felt a measure
of satisfaction when it crashed against the wall and shattered, though she knew
she had lost a powerful tool with her childish act. “The bitch!” She turned on
Sian, spitting out, “How dare she sit there so complacently, chatting with dear
Father?” She kicked over the table near her and was pleased when the ceramic
pitcher disintegrated on the floor.
“M’lady…”
“Hold
your tongue.” She slapped Sian, but it wasn’t enough to relieve her rage.
“Fetch me the girl.”
A
frown marred Sian’s face. “The wench ordered to serve that bitch? Why do you
want
her
?”
“Because
I don’t want you,” she screamed. “Bring Helena to me now, or suffer my wrath.”
With a
sullen curtsey, Sian left the room, slamming the door behind her.
When
she had gone, Nikia paced around the room, still seething over what her father
had said about her. And how dare he speak that way about Illiana? She stamped
her foot. He wouldn’t have been so brave if he had known she observed him with
the sliver of Seeing Mirror Illiana’s mother had passed down to her.
Her
body shook with anger, and her vision blurred. She wanted to kill someone, and
she didn’t care whom right then. Her preference was for her simpering
half-sister and Valdemeer, but she knew anyone would do.
She
must be careful not to injure Helena too much, she decided. It wouldn’t do to
kill the girl. Not only would she be depriving herself of future fun, but she
would also incur Valdemeer’s anger.
Since
they had discovered her plot to kill Anca, Nikia knew she had to tread
carefully, for a time. She mustn’t be the focus of their attention until the
blood-moon arrived. By then, they would be consumed with the ceremony and not
be worrying about her. They wouldn’t see it coming, she thought with a
satisfied smile.
She
lifted her head as the door squeaked and Sian reentered, dragging a reluctant
Helena with her. The girl wore only a simple cotton shift, and she had
obviously been preparing for bed. She wanted to oblige her, by all means.
“Strip her and tie her to the bed, Sian.”
“Please,
mistress,” the girl begged. Huge tears streaked down her cheeks. “Don’t hurt
me…”
Sian
slapped her, seeming to take more pleasure than usual in the sound of her palm
against flesh. “Speak only when given permission. You will soon learn.”
As
Sian saw to her task, Nikia went to her closet and fetched a small trunk. She
opened it and examined her collection of toys. She had envisioned her initial
seduction of Helena several times, but tonight all thoughts of being gentle had
fled her mind. She wanted to strike out at someone, and the girl would do
nicely.
She
bypassed many of the toys that would bring pleasure and scooped up her prized
possession—a supple leather whip with fringes at the end. Each fringe contained
a tiny metal spike. It left a beautiful pattern of pain on anyone it struck.
Nikia
briefly touched a large leather dildo, imagining the expression of agony Helena
would wear when the monster ripped through her barrier of innocence. She licked
her lips, anticipating a night of fun. Already, her black mood was lifting.
Helena’s
cry of pain at the first lash of the whip further buoyed her mood. As the whip
ripped through the tender skin of the girl’s thigh, she pictured her sister in
front of her, bound and at her mercy. Her pussy spasmed with arousal, and she
set Sian to work between her thighs as she poured her anger into Helena, using
the whip to transfer it. Each cry was music to her ears, and she concentrated
on savoring the experience.
Chapter 12
Despite
her best efforts to resist, Anca found herself drawn into the life of
Corsovans. The more Demi showed her, the more she felt like she had come home.
He seemed determined to show her everything during the week she had promised to
stay, and she wasn’t disappointed with what she observed.
The
day they went to the port of Vachow, the dockworkers greeted her with a round
of cheers. She toured shipyards, warehouses, and nearby homes before a small
military vessel ferried her around the port. Afterward, the boat ventured out
for a short cruise on the Black Sea, and they received an honor guard of
several anglers’ boats, sailing in a two-line formation behind them.
The
village of Rij was small, but the people threw her an impromptu, grand
celebration and spoke fondly of Katrine. Anca couldn’t remember enjoying a day
so much. It was heady to have people bowing and curtseying to her, while vying
to grant her every wish.
Bulgainia,
the capitol city, was larger than she expected, with a contemporary air,
juxtaposed with ancient architecture, soaring turrets, and rounded roofs. The
predominant building material was gray stone. Though everyone seemed to have
some place to be or something to do, each person they met stopped and took time
to welcome her home.
Grasov
turned out to be a small farming community, harvesting wheat from verdant fields
and fruit from huge orchards. The villagers’ ways were simple and rustic, but
they were warm and gracious.
Demi
insisted she visit Sladavia, where he had been born. His parents had died years
ago, but the community still greeted him like the prodigal son. The residents
logged the timber conservatively, created crafts indigenous to Corsova, and
took a few adventurous tourists on guided hunting tours through the surrounding
forests. The people were busy, but they managed to put together a feast in her
honor.
Anca
couldn’t help but wonder how much of the “impromptu” events were subtly
arranged by Demi ahead of time, but she didn’t mind his subterfuge. He was
determined to show her the beauty of Corsova, and thus far, he had succeeded.
Since
receiving a warm welcome at each place Demi took her, the cool reception of the
residents of Necheau surprised her. It soon became obvious why Demi hadn’t
planned to take her to tour this village.
It was
high in the mountains, and there was a chill in the air, despite the season.
Anca huddled in a light jacket as they completed the last half-hour of the
journey on foot, since the SUV couldn’t climb any higher, and they had no
horses.
At
first glance, the village was as picturesque as the others she had seen.
Children played in the streets, men with their sleeves rolled high gathered
around a half-constructed building in the town square, and several women
pitched in too. It was like stepping back to the 19
th
century.
Gradually,
as they walked down the main street, the activity stopped. There was a quiet
watchfulness about the adults, and the children seemed to sense the tension,
because they scurried inside, with several leaving toys where they lay.
“Is
something wrong?” she whispered to Demi.
He
shrugged. “Our kind isn’t welcome here. Most of the residents of Necheau are
werewolves. Very territorial and not really friendly to members outside their
pack.”
If the
silence had been unnerving before, it suddenly seemed deafening as a tall,
broad-shouldered man stepped out of a two-story wooden house at the end of the
main street. He had long, flowing black hair, scowling blue eyes, and an
intimidating air preceded him as he stalked forward. He didn’t offer a greeting
or glance in her direction. “What brings you here, Nicodemus?” He virtually
growled the words.
“Her
Highness wanted to see the entire country.”
He
made a sound low in his throat, and it didn’t sound polite. “Now she’s seen it.
Be on your way.”
“Rica,
she only wants to see—“
The
man’s menacing glower fastened briefly on Anca. “This is our territory, laid
out by a treaty with your grandfather. We say who’s allowed and who isn’t.” He
glanced at the sun and squinted. “It’s late in the morning. You’d best be on
your way.” Without another word, he turned his back on them and walked away.
Conspicuously, the other residents followed his example.
Anca
hugged herself and followed Demi down the mountain. When they were away from
the village, she asked, “Why was he so unfriendly?”
“Rica
was born unfriendly,” he said with a hint of amusement, but he wasn’t smiling.
“As I said, the pack is territorial. They’ve spent centuries outrunning
civilization. Coming to Corsova was a last ditch solution for them when they
arrived almost four hundred years ago. Your grandfather made them welcomed, and
he even drew up a treaty to guarantee them land rights.”
“Why
would we need a treaty with them?” She didn’t miss her own reference to the
country being hers. She groaned under her breath at the slip.
“Werewolves
are aggressive, and if they felt squeezed out, they might attack. Your
grandfather used that as a pretext, but I think he just wanted to ensure they
felt secure here.” Demi sighed. “He had to demand something in return to
legitimize the exchange.”
She
swallowed, wondering if the pack had good reason to mistrust their kind. “What
did he ask for?” Visions of virgin sacrifices swept through her mind.
“Their
blood, to enable our people to transform like they did. After a short time, it
happened that a few of the wolves wanted our blood in return, to prolong their
lives. We’ve sort of become a hybrid race, except for the stubborn ones like
Rica.” He shook his head, appearing perplexed. “He refuses to allow his people
to take our blood. They have to sneak away to do so, and they generally aren’t
welcomed back after they’ve formed a blood-bond with a vampire.”
“Is
Starr…?”
“No.
She was born a vampire, though she has formed a blood-bond with Lucian and
Sorin. They’re both outcasts in their village, since they chose our life. The
three are inseparable.”
“Does
our kind ever marry theirs?”
He
frowned. “Davinia, Ylenia’s niece, married Rica’s brother, but I’ve heard she
isn’t accepted among the people. It’s difficult for her, and I’m surprised Rica
allowed her to join their pack. Usually, if a wolf marries our kind—which is
rare—they’re forced to give up their place in the pack and live our way.”
She
sniffed with disapproval. “I hope he sees how narrow-minded he’s being.”
Demi
laughed, but didn’t bother to reply. His laugh held a note of skepticism, as if
he doubted Rica could learn anything he didn’t want to.
* * * * *
Almost
unnoticed, the seven days Anca had agreed to stay slipped into ten, and then
twelve. She didn’t say anything about leaving, but she knew when Demi invited
her for a run that he would push her for her answer. Was she staying and taking
the Blood Oath, or was she returning to her real life that seemed less real all
the time?
She
didn’t know yet.
They
slipped into wolf-form before leaving the castle, and she matched his fast
pace, taking advantage of the time to clear her mind and focus on her decision.
What
he’d shown her of Corsova tempted her. She cared for the people in the country
already, responding to their embrace of her presence. Each time she had
ventured outside the castle, it was like reuniting with old friends she had
never met.
And
how could she leave her father when he was about to die? He was a proud man,
but he was sensitive too. Anca found his hint of vulnerability endearing, and
she could sense his need to make up for what he saw as abandoning her for
years, even if it had been to protect her. She loved him fiercely and wanted to
be with him until the end.
On the
other hand, there was her mother. She had spoken to her by phone a couple of times,
and each time Katrine insisted her life was in New York now, and she didn’t
want to return to Corsova. Her mother urged her to make her own decision, or as
she phrased it, “the right decision,” but Anca didn’t know how she would cope
alone. Katrine was healing well, but needed someone to look after her.
Also
weighing heavily was her obligation to honor her birthright. It was her duty to
take the Blood Oath, but she would sacrifice so much in doing so. It frightened
her to know she or Demi could die, but Anca knew her father couldn’t rule
forever. She yearned for more time to decide, but the blood-moon was in two
days.
She
didn’t have the luxury of waiting forty-six years for the next blood-moon,
because of her father’s age. He didn’t look much older than his early sixties,
but apparently, it was a characteristic of their kind to be visibly ageless as
one grew older. The body still aged though, and death was inevitable for even
the Protector of Corsova.
Most
of all, there was Demi to think about. He had sworn to follow her back to New
York if that was her choice, but he clearly belonged in Corsova. She already
felt the connection to the land he and Ylenia had spoken of, and she couldn’t
bear the thought of tearing him away from the only way of life he had ever
known.
Nor
could she contemplate separating from him. She loved him.
Demi
stopped running, interrupting her thoughts. He hadn’t spoken to her during
their journey, probably realizing she was thinking. He dropped something from
his mouth and turned to her before transforming back to his true form. “Our
spot,” he said with a wink.