Dark Blood
Page 88
“That was so awful . . . that blood worm.”
He nodded, holding her closer. “It was. It always amazes me what the mind of someone evil can conceive.”
“Jules died, you know. He died hard.” She looked at him with stricken eyes. “We couldn’t save him, and they laughed. They enjoyed his pain and terror. He’d served them, admired and respected them. He had no idea what they were like until he realized they kept us prisoners inside the bodies of dragons and behind the wall of ice.”
He ran his fingers through her silky hair. “I know, mon bébé, we’ll find him and destroy him. We won’t let him keep hurting people.”
“Xavier was a monster. He really was, but while he enjoyed other’s pain, it was his experiments he was obsessed with. Don’t get me wrong, he loved hurting others, but not like Xaviero. Xaviero had to torture. It was the only thing that ever made him happy. Xavier despised Carpathians and he was determined to ruin them, to wipe them from the face of the earth. But he was somewhat dispassionate about his tortures as a rule.”
“He sounds despicable.”
She nodded, threading her fingers through his and walking a little faster as if she might outrun the conversation. “He was despicable. But Xaviero was worse. He needed to torture others, especially women and children. He thrived on it. Nothing made him happier. I could tell when it had been too long for him. He was moody and irritable even with his brothers, and Tatijana and I would stay as still and as quiet as possible. Eventually Xavier or Xayvion would tell him to go have fun and we knew what that meant. There is no possible way that he could have been in the Lycan world and not tortured others. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself.”
“I believe you.” Zev ran his hand through his hair. “Bodies turned up in other packs and other countries. I know, I investigated. Most were women, some children. We put it down to vampires stalking the packs. Or rogues. It’s happened before. I even considered a serial killer, a human. We never found enough evidence. Sight, scent, it just wasn’t there, but I did suspect many of the killings were connected.”
“Xaviero thought snatching children out from under their parent’s noses was such a thrilling feat. He got the pleasure of tormenting the child, torturing him or her and then allowing the parents to discover the body. He wanted to see their sorrow. He often spared them so they would have to live with guilt and turn their grief into anger at one another.”
Zev was silent a moment. “Rannalufr counseled those who lost children. The suicide rate definitely rose sharply, but no one ever suspected soft-spoken, kind Rannalufr of pushing grieving parents to kill themselves.”
“He would have enjoyed that power immensely.”
“And Xayvion?” Zev asked, knowing she needed to talk.
He kept her walking, away from the village, doubling back toward the forest where he knew she felt safer. Trees closed around them, branches reaching up to the night sky. A few stars had emerged from the strange, violent storm that had come out of nowhere earlier. The last of the dark clouds dissipated to allow the half-moon to reappear.
Zev knew Fen had called in Daciana and Makoce, the two Lycans he trusted the most, to attend Arno and Arnau’s bodies. The Carpathians would have to go to ground soon. Branislava was worn out, and in truth, he was as well. Traveling outside one’s body took a toll, especially when fighting demons in another realm. Had someone told him he’d be doing such a thing a year earlier he would have laughed at them.
“Xayvion was always quiet. He rarely said much, and Xavier always seemed in charge, but if Xaviero got out of hand, it was Xayvion who stopped him, usually with a look. It was eerie when it happened. Unbelievable almost. And it was rare. Xayvion conducted all the experiments with his brothers, but it was as if he was disconnected completely from everyone. He didn’t see us, or their victims as anything alive. When he laughed, it never seemed real to me. He sounded hollow. Dead. I don’t really know how to explain it, you’d have to see him in action.”
Zev guided her toward their home. If they had time, he would have taken her back to their crater in the snowcapped mountains, but she needed to go to ground and he needed to be up as early as possible to help the Lycans prepare for the service. He wanted it done and over before the mage had a chance to know where or what they would be doing.
“Zev, why did you insist on Arno and Arnau being burned at a service when you know what a risk it is to have everyone together in one place like that?”
He winced. He should have known she was shrewd enough to figure out it was the last thing he would do if he wanted to keep the other council members safe. He had hoped she wouldn’t ask him that question.
“They’re already in danger from Xaviero. If he can kill Arnau, one of my best men, and then kill Arno, who was already leery of everyone, he can get to anyone. Better to draw him out where all the Lycans and all the Carpathians will be waiting for him.”
“They won’t get him,” she said.
“No, they won’t,” he agreed. “But if he comes to the funeral pyre—and after you described him, I know he will for certain—he won’t be able to resist seeing everyone’s pain and guilt, and then I can track him. I’m mixed blood and elite. I know what to look for. I can track him back to his lair.”
Branislava looked at him with wide, green eyes. “That’s what I thought,” she said softly.
18
Beneath the ground, Zev’s eyes snapped open and he was instantly alert. What had disturbed his sleep? Waving his hand, he opened the dirt above him so that he could see the basement floor like a ceiling over his head. It was intact. He lay quietly, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. Nothing seemed out of place. No sound. No movement. He just had this odd feeling in his gut.
Beside him, Branislava lay quietly, her head on his chest, one arm thrown around his waist while her leg was sprawled carelessly over his. She was like the fierce kitten he often called her, cuddly one moment and capable of lethal claws the next. He ran his palm over her strikingly beautiful face.
Seeing her, he relaxed, the tension draining from his body. She looked like an angel to him, a being from a heavenly realm rather than one from earth, one caught up in blood and death. He rubbed his hand over her face again, and then he touched her reverently with the pads of his fingers, marveling at the contrast of her soft skin and his much rougher hands.
Branislava moved slightly, her eyes suddenly opening, showing that gift of green emeralds. She smiled at him, a soft, loving smile that stole his breath and pushed need and hunger into his body.
He nodded, holding her closer. “It was. It always amazes me what the mind of someone evil can conceive.”
“Jules died, you know. He died hard.” She looked at him with stricken eyes. “We couldn’t save him, and they laughed. They enjoyed his pain and terror. He’d served them, admired and respected them. He had no idea what they were like until he realized they kept us prisoners inside the bodies of dragons and behind the wall of ice.”
He ran his fingers through her silky hair. “I know, mon bébé, we’ll find him and destroy him. We won’t let him keep hurting people.”
“Xavier was a monster. He really was, but while he enjoyed other’s pain, it was his experiments he was obsessed with. Don’t get me wrong, he loved hurting others, but not like Xaviero. Xaviero had to torture. It was the only thing that ever made him happy. Xavier despised Carpathians and he was determined to ruin them, to wipe them from the face of the earth. But he was somewhat dispassionate about his tortures as a rule.”
“He sounds despicable.”
She nodded, threading her fingers through his and walking a little faster as if she might outrun the conversation. “He was despicable. But Xaviero was worse. He needed to torture others, especially women and children. He thrived on it. Nothing made him happier. I could tell when it had been too long for him. He was moody and irritable even with his brothers, and Tatijana and I would stay as still and as quiet as possible. Eventually Xavier or Xayvion would tell him to go have fun and we knew what that meant. There is no possible way that he could have been in the Lycan world and not tortured others. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself.”
“I believe you.” Zev ran his hand through his hair. “Bodies turned up in other packs and other countries. I know, I investigated. Most were women, some children. We put it down to vampires stalking the packs. Or rogues. It’s happened before. I even considered a serial killer, a human. We never found enough evidence. Sight, scent, it just wasn’t there, but I did suspect many of the killings were connected.”
“Xaviero thought snatching children out from under their parent’s noses was such a thrilling feat. He got the pleasure of tormenting the child, torturing him or her and then allowing the parents to discover the body. He wanted to see their sorrow. He often spared them so they would have to live with guilt and turn their grief into anger at one another.”
Zev was silent a moment. “Rannalufr counseled those who lost children. The suicide rate definitely rose sharply, but no one ever suspected soft-spoken, kind Rannalufr of pushing grieving parents to kill themselves.”
“He would have enjoyed that power immensely.”
“And Xayvion?” Zev asked, knowing she needed to talk.
He kept her walking, away from the village, doubling back toward the forest where he knew she felt safer. Trees closed around them, branches reaching up to the night sky. A few stars had emerged from the strange, violent storm that had come out of nowhere earlier. The last of the dark clouds dissipated to allow the half-moon to reappear.
Zev knew Fen had called in Daciana and Makoce, the two Lycans he trusted the most, to attend Arno and Arnau’s bodies. The Carpathians would have to go to ground soon. Branislava was worn out, and in truth, he was as well. Traveling outside one’s body took a toll, especially when fighting demons in another realm. Had someone told him he’d be doing such a thing a year earlier he would have laughed at them.
“Xayvion was always quiet. He rarely said much, and Xavier always seemed in charge, but if Xaviero got out of hand, it was Xayvion who stopped him, usually with a look. It was eerie when it happened. Unbelievable almost. And it was rare. Xayvion conducted all the experiments with his brothers, but it was as if he was disconnected completely from everyone. He didn’t see us, or their victims as anything alive. When he laughed, it never seemed real to me. He sounded hollow. Dead. I don’t really know how to explain it, you’d have to see him in action.”
Zev guided her toward their home. If they had time, he would have taken her back to their crater in the snowcapped mountains, but she needed to go to ground and he needed to be up as early as possible to help the Lycans prepare for the service. He wanted it done and over before the mage had a chance to know where or what they would be doing.
“Zev, why did you insist on Arno and Arnau being burned at a service when you know what a risk it is to have everyone together in one place like that?”
He winced. He should have known she was shrewd enough to figure out it was the last thing he would do if he wanted to keep the other council members safe. He had hoped she wouldn’t ask him that question.
“They’re already in danger from Xaviero. If he can kill Arnau, one of my best men, and then kill Arno, who was already leery of everyone, he can get to anyone. Better to draw him out where all the Lycans and all the Carpathians will be waiting for him.”
“They won’t get him,” she said.
“No, they won’t,” he agreed. “But if he comes to the funeral pyre—and after you described him, I know he will for certain—he won’t be able to resist seeing everyone’s pain and guilt, and then I can track him. I’m mixed blood and elite. I know what to look for. I can track him back to his lair.”
Branislava looked at him with wide, green eyes. “That’s what I thought,” she said softly.
18
Beneath the ground, Zev’s eyes snapped open and he was instantly alert. What had disturbed his sleep? Waving his hand, he opened the dirt above him so that he could see the basement floor like a ceiling over his head. It was intact. He lay quietly, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. Nothing seemed out of place. No sound. No movement. He just had this odd feeling in his gut.
Beside him, Branislava lay quietly, her head on his chest, one arm thrown around his waist while her leg was sprawled carelessly over his. She was like the fierce kitten he often called her, cuddly one moment and capable of lethal claws the next. He ran his palm over her strikingly beautiful face.
Seeing her, he relaxed, the tension draining from his body. She looked like an angel to him, a being from a heavenly realm rather than one from earth, one caught up in blood and death. He rubbed his hand over her face again, and then he touched her reverently with the pads of his fingers, marveling at the contrast of her soft skin and his much rougher hands.
Branislava moved slightly, her eyes suddenly opening, showing that gift of green emeralds. She smiled at him, a soft, loving smile that stole his breath and pushed need and hunger into his body.
