I know you're there Lucian! he roared mentally.
They rarely communicated telepathically but the unique bond they shared had not diminished with time or immortality. They had always been able to finish each other's sentences as children, and that ability had evolved into something much more unique. Despite its usefulness, it reminded Lucian too much that they were brothers, a fact that he preferred to forget.
Christian's cell phone rang.
"What can I do for you, brother?" Lucian's voice was composed, arrogant.
"Explain."
"Explain what? That you were hiding a witch of immense power? That she killed two of Lena's men in the space of minutes? Or worse, that you thought I wouldn't find out?"
"You sent Lena?" Christian's voice was choked.
"Afraid, brother?"
"She is of no threat to you Lucian!" Christian could scarcely control his fury, he felt like he wanted to rip Lucian apart with his bare hands. He didn't even want to imagine what he would have done if they had been on the same continent. Lucian's response was quiet.
"You forget your duty, Christian," he said. "The Watchers have foreseen it. The prophecy—"
Christian interrupted him fiercely. "She is NOT the one you seek." But even as he said it, Christian doubted himself. Could she be? "No. The Watchers are not infallible. They are trained to detect paranormal threats against the vampire world, but still, their visions aren't set in stone. You know that better than anyone."
"So you admit that there's something, then? A threat?"
"If there is a threat, I'll deal with it. Don't ever send anyone here again," Christian said, "because brother, trust me you will not like the result."
"And what if she is the one?"
"Lucian, her power is raw but not extraordinary. She can't be the one from the prophecy. It's impossible." Christian could hear the silence on the other end of the phone as Lucian processed the information. After a while Lucian spoke, curiosity evident in his tone.
"So why do you care so much? Giving in to the temptation of a little forbidden snack?" Lucian's laugh was derisive.
"None of your damned business."
"That's forbidden too, in case you forgot. Not that I don't mind a little witch blood myself from time to time. We always crave the illicit, don't we? I just didn't think my straitlaced, uptight brother would indulge in such criminal inclinations."
"Think what you will, Lucian. Do not send any of your people here again, or I will return them to you in pieces myself. Food or otherwise, the witch is not your concern." Christian's words were final, indicating the subject was closed, and he disconnected the call.
The tension drained out of his body. If Lucian refused to leave Victoria alone, Christian didn't want to think of what he would do. A tendril of unease crawled up his neck—what did the Watchers know? What had they said to Lucian? And worse, what did he know?
Was Victoria in danger? Was she the one?
WHEN VICTORIA FINALLY awoke, it was to inky darkness, much like the very first night she had slept in Christian's house. She floundered weakly for the window switch and opened it a crack; no light, which meant nighttime. She closed her eyes and had to take a few minutes before she could focus properly, trying to remember the words Leto had taught her for the spell.
"Illustro," she rasped, illuminating the lamp in the far corner of the room. Her mouth felt like dry cotton and her eyes hurt as if they had grit in them. When she tried to sit up, the agony that stabbed through her back and neck was excruciating, and she gasped, falling back against the pillows. After a few minutes, she hauled herself up and inched her way into the bathroom.
She looked like hell. Her face was pasty with huge black circles under her eyes and a large purple bruise covered the side of her temple. A thick white bandage encased her shoulder, and she winced as she touched the edges of it. Splashing some cold water on her face, she finger-combed her hair and made her way downstairs where she found Christian sitting in the den, still and in repose, hands clasped against his chest. His lips moved soundlessly. Was he praying?
"Hi," she said, startling him.
"How are you feeling?" His voice was rough like sandpaper.
"Like I got hit by a truck." She smiled weakly and sat beside him, grimacing from the effort. "Thank you for coming for me," she said. "I don't know what—"
Christian put a finger against her lips and mindful of her injury, pulled her into a gentle embrace. He felt her familiar curves settle into his body and he swallowed painfully, tensing from the sheer proximity of her elegant, so elegant, throat.
Victoria felt his tension and propped herself up, noticing his very pale face and stormy dark slate-colored eyes. There was no light in them, just a latent hunger blackening their edges. His arms were rigid and she could see the muscles bunched tightly beneath his white skin. He looked hungry.
"Have you ...?" Christian shook his head, and she could see the effort it cost him. He wasn't even breathing.