Blood Legacy: The House Of Alexander Part 8

Ryan's silence was d.a.m.ning, and Abigail's pleasure was palpable. Her next words, ever so casual, were as fraught with peril for Ryan as those that came before.

"And Aeron did not try to kill you?"

Abigail had answered her own question by the way in which it had been asked. And Ryan did not bother to respond, verifying the accuracy of Abigail's answer. Silence, both internal and external enveloped the two.

You were the one who said I could not be killed.

The voice came inside Abigail's head, angry, powerful, and seductive. Ryan's eyes reflected a fire that had no external source and flickered dangerously in Abigail's cool and elegant chambers. It served to remind Abigail that her little fish was in reality a very lethal shark with few if any equals in an endless sea.

"Why are you asking these questions?" Ryan asked quietly, aloud.

Abigail flicked an imaginary piece of lint from her gown. Her words were deliberately casual. "I like to know what motivates the Others on the Council."

Ryan was not fooled by the studied indifference of the answer. "And what motivates you, Abigail?"

Abigail smiled and Ryan swiftly realized she did not want the answer. But it was too late, because the question lay open between them.

"You, my dear," Abigail said simply, but not gently, staring at the girl with the unblinking gaze of their Kind. "You always have."

Ryan stared at the beautiful woman across from her. It was an astonis.h.i.+ng admission that should have empowered Ryan, but it did no such thing. In fact, it had the opposite effect as Ryan felt a marked weakness. Ryan sat across from the elegant, enigmatic matriarch and felt a vulnerability that she had felt few times in her life. The seduction Abigail offered was filled with destruction.

Not offering, Ryan thought, that implies a lat.i.tude that is not present.

Abigail stood and Ryan felt the anguish of the disengagement, physical and otherwise. Abigail smiled, gazing down at the girl. She reached out and touched Ryan's face, tracing Ryan's cheekbone with her hand. It was all Ryan could do to keep from grasping the hand and pressing it to her chest. She again felt the loss as Abigail pulled away from her.

"As always, I have enjoyed your company my dear," Abigail said over her shoulder.

Ryan realized she had been dismissed. Abigail was gone. She sat for a few moments, dazed by the encounter, the few brain cells left capable of intellectual thought cataloging the event.

As her senses returned to her and the spell lifted, she realized something of far greater importance.

Abigail had quite emphatically served her notice.

"You conveniently neglected to tell any of us that you and Ryan had already met."

Aeron smiled at the voice in his anteroom. He had felt Abigail's approach.

"And how was your visit with our little crown prince?"

Abigail skillfully redirected the conversation without actually changing the subject.

"Enlightening. She told me of your little encounter years ago. Odd that you chose not to share that information with me."

"I thought you would more enjoy hearing it from the whelp."

"Hmmm," Abigail said noncommittally, "Yes."

Aeron turned to Abigail, his eyes gleaming. "I am sure she did not do the story justice."

Abigail settled into the chaise across from him. "So perhaps you will?"

Aeron smiled, undeceived by her cool demeanor. "Of course, my dear. I am well aware of your voyeuristic tendencies."

The comment was not an insult, nor was it taken as one. Abigail gazed at him serenely, composed as always.

Aeron reached for his gla.s.s of wine. "It was during the time of the Huguenots, and there was much chaos and bloodshed throughout the country, which of course entertained me greatly." Aeron grew thoughtful. "One night I felt a presence pa.s.sing through my land, and it intrigued me. I began drawing it towards me."

"Like a moth to a flame."

Aeron smiled at Abigail's mocking tone. "Yes, like a moth to a flame, not realizing I was pulling in a full-fledged raptor."

Abigail nodded, and he continued.

"She was dressed like a boy. A beautiful, androgynous little boy. I did not realize at first who she was. I thought 'the boy' might provide a brief dalliance, a bit of a distraction."

"But it ended up being much more than that," Abigail said.

"Oh yes, I realized very quickly she was Victor's offspring, which of course was impossible because we all knew Victor had chosen not to reproduce. He had been past the ability to initiate Change for centuries, long before this child had been transformed."

"And yet there she was," Abigail prompted.

"Ah yes," Aeron said, lost in the memory. "There she was. Impossibly powerful for one so young."

"And so oblivious to her own power," Abigail added, drawn into the memories despite herself. "Ryan has always had an exquisite mixture of power and vulnerability."

Aeron gazed at Abigail shrewdly. "You want her, too."

Abigail gazed back at him. "Everyone wants her."

Aeron nodded, returning to his story. "Which is why I found it so extraordinary that she had never Shared with anyone except Victor. From the moment her blood touched my lips, I was flooded with images that pa.s.sed so rapidly I could make no sense of it. But there was no one there except Victor."

Abigail was thoughtful. "You know, you may have unwittingly been the one to release Ryan's Memories of her mother."

Aeron turned to Abigail. This was news to him.

"From the pieces I have put together, those few obtained from Ryan and her even-less verbose father, as well as those obtained from the trial, Ryan began to recover the Memories of her birth only after she went through the shock of your taking her blood."

Aeron slowly smiled. This gave him great pleasure. To have unknowingly struck a near-mortal blow at his enemy while committing the symbolic equivalent of rape against his child was brilliant. If only he could take credit for having planned it.

Aeron savored the thought a bit longer, then returned to the conversation. "And you have never Shared with Ryan?"

Abigail smoothed her skirt. "I have a standing invitation."

"Yes, I know, courtesy of her father."

Abigail smiled, remembering the recent events in her chambers. "I do not think the girl would resist, with or without the blood debt."

"But you have not tested the waters, so to speak."

"No," Abigail replied, "So to speak."

She was thoughtful for a moment, then turned her gaze upon Aeron, smiling her cool smile. "There are many paths to domination, some far more enjoyable than force."

Aeron eyed her. "Yes, my dear. I am well-aware of your powers of persuasion. Which is why I avoid the many snares you have laid across the paths of every one of our Kind. Most blindly tumble into your traps and are not even aware they have been taken captive."

Abigail said nothing, merely smiled. If she was at all perturbed by his comments, it did not show. Except, perhaps, in her next words to him, which would be her last for the evening.

"I just hope you know what you are doing. The plan of action you have chosen is going to cause great instability in Ryan." Abigail stood, running her cool fingers through Aeron's hair as she pa.s.sed. She paused in the doorway, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. "And I know how unstable she can be."

CHAPTER 8.

RYAN KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG the moment the plane landed. Susan Ryerson's expression would have told her the same thing had she not already sensed it.

"Where is my father?" Ryan asked, coming up the stairs three at a time, knowing the answer.

"He's in his room. He has requested your presence as soon..."

Susan's words trailed off because she was speaking to empty air. Ryan had literally disappeared.

Ryan pushed through the double doors of Victor's room and stopped. Her father lay very still in an immense bed staring out the window. For a moment he simply stared, then slowly turned to face her. Ryan swallowed hard.

Outwardly he had not changed. His handsome face was youthful and unlined, with perhaps just a touch more gray at the temples of his jet black hair. But the exhaustion in his dark eyes brought a fierce ache to Ryan's throat. In an instance she was on her knees at his side, clasping his hand to her cheek.

He gazed down at his golden-haired child, caressing her cheekbone. He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tipping her head up so she would look at him.

"I am going to have to go away for awhile."

Ryan closed her eyes, the words creating an agony within her that no physical pain could match. She clasped his hand so tightly it would have crushed normal bone. Victor held her hand just as tightly.

"We have been apart before."

Ryan shook her head violently. "No, not like this. Even when I thought you were dead by my hand, part of me knew you were still here. But," she shook her head, having difficulty with the words, "I feel you slipping away right now. And I don't know where you are going, or if you will return."

Victor managed a tired smile. "My leaving will give you strength. But I will come back for you, little one. If I can. In fact," he said with emphasis, "I have a feeling you will bring me back."

Ryan shook her head, "I have caused this, I know that I have. You never recovered from my violence."

Victor leaned back on his pillow. "I should not have kept so many secrets from you. I did it to protect you, and now there is no time to tell you what you need to know."

Ryan's jaw clenched and unclenched, the ache in her throat unbearable. Impossibly, a tear began to roll down her cheek.

Victor touched the tiny drop of water in wonder. "You truly are capable of anything."

"I am capable of nothing," Ryan whispered in anguish, "I cannot stop this thing."

Victor again leaned back into his pillow, exhausted. "Perhaps you are not meant to stop it."

Ryan again leaned forward, grasping his hand. "You see the future," she said with insistence, "I know that you do."

Victor turned to his progeny and smiled. "Perhaps."

Ryan clenched his hand even closer. "Then tell me what you see. Tell me that you will come out the other side of this."

Victor closed his eyes. "It is not clear. The future never is."

The answer increased Ryan's anguish, if that was possible. Victor opened his eyes again and reached over, toying with a tendril of her hair. His gesture was playful, but his words were deadly serious.

"You must trust no one, Ryan. No one except yourself. And that you must do absolutely."

Ryan pressed his hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. "I don't understand. What is it that I must do?"

"The Others, those sitting on the Grand Council. You are going to have to," Victor paused, as if the thought pained him, "You are going to have to get very close to them."

Ryan was taken aback, knowing what he was asking her to do. "I cannot." She shook her head at the thought, "I cannot do that."

Victor was firm. "My power has always been my ability to resist desire. Yours," he said, nodding to where her powerful heart sat mute, "Might be in giving in to it."

Ryan started to pull away from him but he grasped her hands firmly, and once again his grip was steel. His eyes burned into her. "No one can dance on the edge of death like you can, Ryan. No one. But there is only one way for the Others to learn that lesson."

Ryan swallowed hard. She could not hold his gaze and looked down, but Victor grasped her chin and forced her to look up.

"You will be King, Ryan," Victor said softly, firmly, "It is your fate, and your destiny."

Ryan shook her head violently. "You are my King. You always will be."

Victor smiled and leaned back into his pillow, his strength ebbing. "Hmmm, yes. And look where that's gotten me."

He grew quiet, and Ryan realized those would be his last words.

Marilyn was standing before an open window of her country chateau, gazing out into the well-manicured courtyard. She had returned to France almost immediately after the Council meeting, waiting only for Ryan to depart, which occurred as soon as the girl had left Abigail's quarters.

She had been here only a few hours, and was standing before the open window enjoying the beauty of her country when she felt it coming. Instinctively, she grasped the window sill in front of her tightly, bracing herself for the onslaught.

It rushed toward her, accelerating to an impossible speed, then exploded through the window, ripping through her, burning and shredding everything in its path, leaving only an echo of agony behind.

Marilyn stood frozen, gripping the window sill. Her vision gradually returned to normal. The pastoral scene in front of her was unchanged.

But in fact, everything had just changed.

Ala felt the warmth of her mother sun on her ebony skin, and welcomed the deep, mossy smell of the fecund earth. It was renewal for her; she kneeled and dug her hands into the rich, dark soil of her homeland.

She stood and her consorts stood by respectfully, grateful for their Queen's return. One brought her an elaborately decorated cloth with which to wipe her hands. She took the cloth, honoring the ritual. The hand movement slowed, however, and then stopped. Several of the consorts looked at her with concern as a strange look crossed her features. The cloth dropped to the ground as if in slow motion.