Drake Chronicles: 01 My Love Lies Bleeding (22 page)

I watched him struggle and sighed irritably. “I guess I don’t hate you after all.”

“I tried to save her.” He pulled the belt tight with his teeth. Lines of pain etched around his mouth. “She was supposed to be safe underground.”

“Everything’s such a mess,” I mumbled.

“It’s worse than you think.”

“Of course it is.” I rubbed my face. “I’m afraid to ask, I really am.” At least my panic seemed to have desensitized itself.

“Lady Natasha wants to watch Solange die as the entertainment for her freakin’

ball.”

I ground my teeth. “Oh, I don’t think so.” I reached for the vial of Veronique’s blood Logan had said she was wearing around her neck. I frowned, lifted her head to see if it had fallen behind her. “Where’s the vial? Kieran, where is it?”

“She used it to save Hyacinth.”

“What?” I let her head drop, none too gently. “It’s the only thing that could have saved her.” I slapped the ground. “You know what this means?” I asked grimly.

“What?”

“Lady Natasha might just get her wish.”

Monday evening

When Nicholas finally woke up, it wasn’t pretty. He went from unconscious to hyperalert so fast I missed the transition.

“You bloody bastard.” His eyes flashed as he stalked him. “You killed my sister!”

“Wait—,” Kieran screamed when Nicholas grabbed his broken arm. He kicked out, aiming for Nicholas’s knees. There was a grunt, more sounds of fists and feet hitting flesh.

“Nicholas!” I shouted through the bars. “Nicholas, stop it.”

“He killed Solange.”

“No, he didn’t.” Kieran was dangling off the ground, his face going purple. “Put him down.”

“He has to pay.”

“Nicholas Drake.”

He didn’t let go, but he did finally turn to look at me. I pointed to Solange, on her back on the pallet. He dropped Kieran so fast, Kieran stumbled.

“Solange? Solange!”

“She hasn’t moved since they brought her here.”

He finally grinned, looking like the Nicholas I remembered from the Christmas Eve he got his first bike. “She’s not dead!” He frowned. “Why don’t you look happier?”

“She gave her vial away.”

“She gave her . . . son of a bitch.”

I leaned my forehead on the cold bars.

“Today just sucks.” I tried for a smile. “On the plus side, I get to see you prance around in tights.”

Only his eyebrow moved, but it was enough. “I beg your pardon?” I pointed to the pile of clothes on the ground by his foot. “Your formal wear.” He glanced at it, then back at me. “Nice dress. Can you breathe in that thing?” I smoothed the front of my dress. “It would be much more fun to wear if it wasn’t what I was going to be buried in.”

“You are not going to be buried.” He paused, lifted the clothes up suspiciously.

“Vampires don’t bury their victims,” he added distractedly.

“Hey, looking for comfort here.”

“Sorry.” He shook out the doublet, complete with lace froth at the cuff s. “Logan would love this.” He smirked at me. “No tights.” He dropped everything. “I’m still not wearing this crap.”

“They seemed rather adamant.”

“She can kiss my— hey.” He scowled at Kieran. “There’s only one costume. How come you don’t have dress up like some eighteenth-century jackass?” Kieran was still cradling his arm, his hair damp with sweat. He looked wan but still managed to smirk back. “I’m not a prince from the illustrious Drake family.”

“Cut it out.” Nicholas’s ears actually went red. I was so going to tease him about that later. “I’m not a bloody prince.”

“May as well be.” Kieran shrugged his good shoulder. “Lady Natasha knows more than half her court would defect if Solange wanted them to. They’re just waiting for a better offer.”

“I’m still not wearing this.” Nicholas plucked at the ribbon on the black velvet sleeve of the doublet

“Yeah, you are,” I said cheerfully. “Or else they’ll strip you naked when they come get us.”

He glared at me for a long time and then pulled off his shirt, muttering vile curses the entire time. I caught a glimpse of bare chest, wondered if I should look away to give him privacy, then decided that it might be my last chance to see him with his shirt off . His arms were lean and sculpted, like a swimmer’s.

“I didn’t get to see you take your clothes off,” he complained.

“That’s what you get for sleeping all day,” I quipped back. He went farther into the shadows to exchange his pants for the leather breeches. Too bad. When he emerged again, he looked pretty good even though it wasn’t his style. And he was lucky there were no tights, after all. He tilted his head.

“You like it.”

“Shut up.” I blushed. I hated vampire extrasensory perception. It wasn’t fair that he could hear my heartbeat or smell my skin or what ever.

“Girls are so weird.”

Kieran snorted. “No kidding.”

“Please, you two were fighting ten minutes ago, and now you’re the best of friends?” I said witheringly. “Guys are weird.” I turned back to Solange, touched her hand. “She’s still not moving.”

Nicholas and Kieran both went grim, quiet.

“She’ll need blood,” Nicholas finally said. “But I’m sure Bruno got hold of my parents by now, and they’ll bring it with them. I doubt it’s a secret Solange is here.

Natasha does rather seem to want to make this as public as possible.”

“Do we have a plan?”

“We fight like hell.”

“Good plan.”

It wasn’t long before the Araksaka filed down the stone steps to escort us to the hall. I wouldn’t let go of Solange’s hand, even when one of them lifted her up to slide an embroidered silver robe over her torn dress. She looked so fragile, with her dark hair and pale features. They marched us upstairs. They wore white silk shirts and heavy breeches, which should have made them look silly but instead made them seem even more fierce. One of them shoved me when I got in the way because I was still clinging to Solange. I stumbled.

“Hey, don’t touch my girlfriend.” Nicholas seethed.

“Girlfriend?” I blinked at him. He thought of me as his girlfriend? Then I shoved the guard back, before anyone could see me blushing. “I mean, get off of me.” The hall was beautiful, crowded with candles and lanterns hanging from the ceiling and even more mirrors everywhere. Apparently Lady Natasha really liked looking at herself. A long table held countless jugs of every description: silver inlaid with rubies, gold, carved mahogany, painted china. I knew every single one of them held blood. Musicians played in one corner, the soft notes of harp and piano and violin drifting around us.

Lady Natasha’s courtiers were easy to recognize— they all wore raven feathers in their hair. The rest kept their allegiances more subtle; I didn’t know the meanings behind most of the pendants and embroidered family crests. I didn’t see London or anyone else from the Drake family. I did see yards of velvet and silk embroidered with gold thread, brocade gowns, elaborate wigs. I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if Marie Antoinette strolled by. They drifted and lolled and reclined gracefully on chaises and piles of cushions.

Solange was carried up to a dais draped with red sari fabric. In the middle was a glass bier on which she was stretched out. Her hand fell over the side and lay there limply. There were roses all around her. A raven flew down from a crevice in the ceiling and perched patiently at Solange’s feet. Another raven landed, and another.

Soon she was surrounded by huge black birds, all watching her expectantly. The old-fashioned grandfather clock read nearly midnight. When it rang its twelfth chime Solange would have to wake up then and there.

Or not at all.

“Welcome, welcome,” Lady Natasha called from her white throne. We were herded toward her. She wore a white gown with sequined silk over her panniers. Her pale straight hair fell to her elbows, and on her head she wore a medieval horned crown hung with sheer veils that draped to the floor. She dripped diamonds; they were around her neck, wrists, fingers, and even around her ankles beneath the sway of her bell skirt. Hope sat next to her in an evening gown and high-heeled sandals.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get much more surreal, Lady Natasha clapped her hands regally.

“Let the celebrations begin.”

The crowd broke off into couples in the wide space of the hall, and they whirled in a waltz as the music swelled. They wore medieval dresses, Norse aprons, Tudor whale-boned corsets, Victorian dancing slippers, pin- striped suits from the 1920s, dashing pirate shirts, and velour frock coats. They circled in a kaleidoscope of colors and fabrics until the sheer press of them started to make me dizzy.

Solange lay still; even her chest was frozen, suspended in the bloodchange. Her lips went purple, as if they were bruised. The blue of her veins traced under her parchment skin, like rivers through a winter landscape.

“Her lips are turning blue,” I whispered to Nicholas. He nodded grimly.

“She hasn’t much time.”

I’d never felt so helpless in my life. I could only stand there in the elegant ballroom inside the mountain and watch my best friend struggle not to die. She moved once, jerking as if electricity fired through her. Kieran took one step forward and was roughly shoved backward by one of the guards. Lady Natasha’s laugh was light and pretty.

“Soon all this will be over,” she said, preening.

“Sooner than you think.”

CHAPTER 27

Lucy

We whirled, recognizing the voice. Liam stood in a white cloud, wearing silver nose plugs. He pointed to three guards rushing at him with axes.

“Sleep.”

They crumpled, axes clattering to the ground.

Hypnos.

“You,” Lady Natasha sneered. “You’re too late. Your precious daughter has nearly slipped away completely. My throne is safe, this kingdom is safe.”

“Let’s see, shall we?” Helena asked, her swords flashing, her black braid hanging neatly down her back. Her sons flooded in behind them, joined by Hart and his agents. I’d never seen so many nose plugs and so much black army gear in my whole life.

The waltzing courtiers turned to a more violent dance. The music was drowned out by the sounds of swords clashing. The tribes chose their sides, and the Drakes and Helios weren’t nearly as outnumbered as I’d feared. The Araksaka convened around Lady Natasha— all but Conan. I did what he’d suggested earlier, and I stayed down. In fact, I crawled on my hands and knees through broken crockery toward the bier. The ravens stayed by Solange, cawing viciously. When one bent his head, about to poke into her eye, I picked up a crystal shard and whipped it at him. He squawked and flew off , offended, in a flurry of feathers. I wished I had my crossbow.

Helena was tumbling like some deranged acrobat, flinging knives and stakes as she went. She left a trail of dust and ash behind her. Helios agents scattered like beetles, blowing Hypnos to clear the vampires out of their way. It was like Sleeping Beauty’s castle—ladies in fine dresses and gentlemen in complicated cravats all dropping to the Persian rugs, asleep. Crystal vases tumbled off tables; wooden chairs splintered under impact.

Hart’s agents ignored Natasha’s courtiers once they fell, preferring to attack Hope’s rogue unit. Blood splattered the stones, stained the tapestries.

Liam strode toward the bier, his grim eyes never leaving his fading daughter. He took out three vampires without moving his glance away even once. One of Hope’s men flew backward after a vicious punch, face bruising before he even hit the wall.

Nicholas rolled toward me, landing at my elbow. His eyes were fierce. He grabbed my chin and kissed me hard. It was over before I had time to react.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

“Duh,” I shot back, and returned the kiss, just as quick and just as hard before he dove away to gather stakes from a sleeping guard. He rose from a crouch and threw them like deadly confetti. They all moved so fast, it was like a watercolor painting, all blurs and smears. A woman dressed in red silk bared her fangs and hurled a sleek jet stake. Logan caught it before it imbedded itself in Nicholas’s chest.

“Shame to ruin such a nice jacket,” he said.

“Took your time getting here,” Nicholas returned with a grin, whirling to meet the next advance. They fought back to back like a spinning top of fury.

Helena reached Lady Natasha with a feral grin. Lady Natasha lifted her chin haughtily but stepped behind one of her guards. Helena slashed at his raven tattoos relentlessly until it was just her and the queen. Their swords met, clashing like ice cracking in the sea.

Hart followed Hope down the tunnel when she made a dash for safety. The rest of the battle went on, both impossibly quick and dragging on forever.

I kept crawling around the bodies, ducking flying boots and weapons. I had to get to Solange. I reached the bier with only shallow scrapes and a bruise from the elbow of a clumsy Helios-Ra agent. I swatted at the ravens until they flew off , landing on nearby furniture and eyeing me malevolently. Solange was cold, so cold I snatched my fingers back. Her eyelids and fingertips were the same purple as her lips. She made strange wheezing sounds, as if she was trying to breathe but couldn’t. Her mouth opened and closed, like a baby bird starving for its first meal.

And I had nothing to give her.

Which wasn’t even our biggest problem.

“Natasha, darling, you always did know how to throw a proper party.” The fighting stopped. It was as if someone pressed a cosmic pause button.

Everyone turned to stare at the vampire now standing just inside the cave, surrounded by warriors in brown leather tunics. He was smirking, his pale face striking under long black hair. I’d have thought he’d used Hypnos with the way people were reacting. He walked slowly forward, as if he had all the time in the world. His guard kept pace.

“Montmartre,” Lady Natasha murmured, satisfied. “I knew you’d come.” Leander Montmartre and his Host. Lady Natasha was the only one who was pleased with this new development. She actually shook Helena off to smooth her hair back into place. The mirrors reflected her smug, chilling smile.

“Yes, darling, but you’re looking a little haggard.” His gray eyes tracked Solange’s fitful breathing, her bruised-looking lips. “I’ve come for her, actually.” The smile turned to a snarl. “No.”