Chapter 33

33

A lone in a great Russian forest, Lachlain stood where it had all begun decades ago. He and Harmann had landed just hours before, then set out in a truck over the rough terrain to find the location of Lachlain's capture. When the roads became impassable, Lachlain had left Harmann behind. Both of them knew that once Lachlain scented Emma, Harmann could never keep up with him.

Even after so much time, Lachlain had been drawn to the spot unerringly. But as he circled the clearing, desperate for a hint of her, he feared his judgment had been wrong. No one had ever located Helvita. Lachlain had been unable to save his own brother in these very woods.

His decision to take this course could end her life—

Wait. . . . She's here .

The first night he found her, he'd gone to his knees to scent her again. Now he raced over miles of terrain, sword strapped at his back, heart pounding. He charged up a steep hill, then gazed out from the height.

Helvita lay just beyond. Desolate, sinister.

Under the watch of the sun, Lachlain took a direct path there. He swiftly scaled a sheer wall, then stalked along the battlements, moving freely along the empty walk. He entertained no feeling of accomplishment for having located it at last. This was merely a first step.

He froze when he heard her voice like a faint echo. But he couldn't pinpoint the source inside, couldn't make out the words. The immensity of the castle was staggering, and she was in the bowels of this foul place.

He couldn't understand what had made her come here, what would drive her to do something this mad.

Had she dreamed of Demestriu? Had she had a premonition in a dream that violent night? He fought to stay cold, but his mate was in this hell facing one of the most evil—and powerful—being ever to walk the earth. She was so gentle. Was she afraid... ?

No , he couldn't think like that. He'd found her; she was still alive. He could save her—if he was lucid, weighing, determining possibilities.

The vampires always won for a reason. And Bowe had it wrong. It wasn't because they could trace. The vampires always won because the Lykae couldn't rein in their beasts... or because they so readily surrendered to them.

***

Emma shot backward over Demestriu's desk, just missing his outstretched claws; he slashed the massive desk in two as if ripping a piece of paper.

The wood groaned as it parted, then thudded to the ground.

He appeared behind her before she'd even comprehended that he'd traced. She lunged away, but he clawed down her side, gaining a hold on her, piercing her skin. He propped her up in front of him like a rag doll. The torn skin of her leg and side funneled blood from her as he placed his forearms at her neck .

To take my head.

"Good-bye, Emmaline."

He's shielding me.

She drew in a breath and screamed. The black glass above shattered like an explosion. Sunlight fired in.

He went motionless, stunned to be immersed in light. She hunched into him, using his body as cover.

When he tried to escape, she fought to keep him there.Even as he began to burn he was too strong. He traced them into the shadows.

To where the sword was.

She dropped down, snatched the weapon, then sprang up behind him. She plunged the blade into his torso, carving through bone. As she'd been taught, she twisted it inside him.

He collapsed.

She yanked the sword clear, leapt over him for another blow, and found him staring up at her in shock.

He struggled to one knee, which scared the hell out of her, so she rammed the sword back in, through his heart, as hard as she could. The force sent him reeling to his back and planted him on the stone floor.

Pinned through the heart, he lay writhing. He wouldn't die like this. She knew she had to take off his head as well. She limped to the other sword, still disbelieving what had just happened, what was about to happen. When she returned, her face scrunched up. Blackened blood pooled all around him. She'd have to step through it.

His face was changing, softening, becoming less macabre. The tight planes and shadows dissipated.

He opened his eyes... and they were blue as the sky .

"Release me."

"Yeah, right."

"No . . . mean for you . . . to kill me."

"Why?" she cried. "Why would you say that?"

"Hunger at bay. Memories at bay. No memories of their horror of... me."

Pounding on the door.

He bellowed, "Leave us be." Then to her, he lowered his voice to say, "Sever head. Waist. Legs. Or I can still rise.... Furie's mistake."

Furie? "Did you kill her?"

"No, tortured. She wasn't expected to endure this long."

"Where is she?"

"Never knew. Lothaire saw to it. Head, waist, legs."

"I can't think!" She paced. By Freya, Furie did live.

"Emmaline, do it!"

"Listen, I'm handling this the best I can!" He wasn't supposed to go all Darth Vader, wasn't supposed to direct her how to really, really kill him. The head was one thing, but the waist and the legs? Had he truly become that powerful? "And your impatience is not helping the situation!"

"Your mother died of sorrow... because we couldn't make it stop. You can end this."

With a deep breath, she stood over him, choking up on the handle. Yes, like baseball. Never played baseball, freak. Oh, yeah. Kaderin always holds her sword loosely, her wrist fluid. I am so not Kaderin. Think like the vampires. What is standing between you and the one you love and your family? Three clean chops. Just three swings.

The more beseeching he appeared, the harder this became. He didn't look evil now. Just looked like a creature in pain. She dropped to her knees beside him, heedless of the blood. "What about some kind of, like, rehabilitation—"

"Do it, daughter." He snapped his teeth at her, sending her darting back. More pounding on the door. "They can't trace into my lair, but they can break down that door... and when they do, Ivo will make you kill and turn you."

Oh, hell, no.

"I will feed and . . . heal. Turn again and never stop until I've killed . . . the Lykae. Slaughtered his . . . clan."

That's my clan, too. The door was bowing, wood splintering. The Instinct whispered, Protect it.

"I'm really sorry to have to do this."

A shadow of a smile. "Emma the Unlikely... the killer of kings."

She raised the sword and took aim, tears pouring from her as quickly as the blood from her leg wound.

"Wait! Emmaline; the head first... if you please."

"Oh!" She gave him a sheepish, watery grin. "Good-bye... Father."

"Proud."

He shut his eyes, and she swung. She got through enough to knock him out, but the sword was so dull she had to hack three more times at his neck to sever it. Then his waist took forever. She was streaked with blood before she even reached his legs.

The Mob was dead-on to call this stuff wet-works.

Just as she finished with the last of him, the door burst open. She hissed.

Ivo. She knew him from Lachlain's memories.

She lifted her sword again. Hey, as long as she was in the neighborhood.. .

Why was he looking at her that way, red eyes glued to her? As though he adored her for her kill? He asked in an unsteady tone, "Are you truly Emmaline?"

When vampires crowded the door behind him, she realized one assassination might be enough for the day. She ripped Lachlain's ring from Demestriu's finger, then put her shoulders back. Myst always said, "It's not if you castrate an entire Roman legion, it's if they believe you did. Perception is everything."

In a voice ringing with strength she didn't have, she said, "I am Emma." Own it, own it. "The king killer."

"I knew you would be like this!" He crossed toward her. "I knew it."

She raised her sword that totally sucked as if it were Excalibur. "No closer, Ivo."

"I've searched for you for years, ever since I heard rumors of your existence. I want you to be my queen."

"I get that a lot," she said, wiping her face on her sleeve. There were two options. Into their hands, or out the window into the sun. "But I've already accepted a position elsewhere."

Maybe she could trace. She hadn't been able to during the fight, but damn it, she'd done it once. She could disappear before she even hit the ground outside. In theory. But she was weak from Demestriu's attack. Couldn't go to Lachlain. Blood running freely. You only went a few feet last time—not around the world.

One for two in terms of tracing. About to bet the farm... When they charged, she hissed weakly and jumped.

Flying! Tracing! No . . .

Landing on her ass in a bush. Spitting leaves in the sun. She leapt up, running for cover. She closed her eyes to the pain and thought of the bayou....

Still thinking. Bayou! Coolness. Wet.

Her skin caught fire.

***

Though her scream had ruptured one of Lachlain's eardrums, he fought to follow the sound. Then, in a last echo through the castle, it had ended. His heart had seemed to stop with it, but he'd sprinted on. Lachlain remembered that Demestriu's rooms were located high in the castle, so he'd climbed the winding stairs ever upward.

He tried to scent her, but the odor of copious amounts of blood within the confines of the castle drowned out all other smells.

At the landing of the top floor, he slowed to stalk the shadows, readying his sword. His right arm wasn't yet healed, so he gripped the hilt with his left hand. The kill was imminent. He was almost at the door. He would save her, take her from this place—

He scarcely comprehended the sight. Demestriu lay butchered.

Ivo was reaching into a shaft of sunlight as though he'd dropped a treasure from the window. "No!" Ivo bellowed. "Not into the sun!" He leapt back out of the light. "Traced away!" He visibly sagged with relief as he rubbed his skin, then his blinded eyes.

Ivo turned to two henchmen. "She lives. Now, get the video! I want to find out everything about her."

She couldn't have jumped into the sun! Lachlain stormed into the room, diving for the window, but she had truly disappeared. His mind was in turmoil. Had she killed Demestriu? Had she traced to safety? To Kinevane?

Behind him, a sword was drawn.

"Back from the dead?" Ivo asked pleasantly.

Lachlain turned in time to see Ivo glance at the door to the adjoining room, through which a... video was located? Lachlain had learned there were surveillance cameras that were capable of secretly filming. "You spy on your king?"

"Of course. Why ignore the benefits of the modern age?"

"But now you're alone." Lachlain bared his fangs and raised his sword. "You've got to fight me on your own. No' with the help of a dozen. Unless you want to trace from me?"

Lachlain burned to rush home, but Ivo posed a considerable threat to Emma. She might not have needed Lachlain to kill Demestriu— she apparently had done that—and she'd had no need for rescue. But the look in Ivo's eyes was fanatical; the vampire would never stop hunting her.

Ivo raked his gaze over Lachlain's injured arm, appraising his opponent. "No, I'll stay and fight for this one," he said. "I heard you think she's yours."

"There's no doubt of it."

"She assassinated my nemesis when no one else could, and is the key to my crown." Ivo's voice was low with wonder. "That means she belongs to me . I will find her. I don't care what it takes, I will find her again."

"No' while I live." He surged forward, striking at Ivo's head. Ivo blocked and their swords crossed, ringing.

Several more charges, each parried. Lachlain was out of practice, especially with his left hand. He sensed the other vampires returning and growled in fury, blocking a stroke from the back. Slashing out with his claws, he dropped one of the henchmen.

The other two put Lachlain between them. Ivo traced to mere inches from Lachlain, attacking with his sword, then tracing away. The strike ripped across Lachlain's shoulder and chest, sending him spinning to the ground.