"It was all I could think about, and I almost took you. Almost. In the second before I went in for the kill, something stopped me. The colors in your blood were so dark and so luminous that I thought they couldn't possibly be real. And what I realized in that second was that your blood was calling me to my death. And yet, I still wanted it!" Christian grasped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently across her soft, red lips. His eyes were wild. "I think I knew it was you from that moment, but I refused to reconcile it with what I knew ... what Lucian knew," he breathed.
Victoria felt dazed. There had to be more to this whole story. She wasn't the one he spoke about! She knew she wasn't the one. She couldn't be. She was Victoria ... a loner from Millinocket, a terrible leader if there ever was one, not some fantastic witch in some mystical prophecy. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true!
She pushed Christian away and walked to the window. What he said was impossible. Wasn't it? Brigid's words flooded her brain ... the blood, the magic, the power ... the blood. Her reflection in the window stared back at her. Her face was pale but the knowledge swirling in her eyes was undeniable. Deep down, Victoria knew exactly what her legacy was.
Christian regarded her silently as she turned back toward him. It was so obvious now that he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. She was the descendant of the Duchess of Lancaster, and even if she didn't accept it, he saw it. It was in every curve of her body, every movement of her head ... even the air bowed in deference to her as she walked through it.
It didn't change anything, and it changed everything.
"So what do we do now?" she asked. "Are they going to come again in search of this prophecy?"
"I don't think so, not yet," he said.
But they will.
Victoria studied him for a minute, trying to gauge if he had been honest with her all along. She believed him, she had to—otherwise it would make everything that she had lived for during the last four months, and their love, a lie. It was her turn to confess.
"When I killed the vampire," she said, "Christian, you wouldn't believe the pleasure I felt. I knew it was the blood, the Sang Noir, and the sacrifice it demanded. It was awful. And then the one that bit me ..." Her voice trailed off into revolted silence. Christian waited for her to continue.
"It went beyond normal pain ..." She struggled to find the right words. "It was like I ... wanted it, just like you said, luring the vampire in ... and my blood killed it, and I felt the pain of it dying within my own blood, if that makes any sense." Her voice broke. "Christian, that could have been you, and I wouldn't have been able to do a thing to stop it!"
"But it wasn't, so you can't torture yourself thinking about it." He couldn't say anything more because he knew that she was right. Her blood would have killed him instantly.
"Are you okay?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.
"Yes, it's just ... a lot to take in."
"Don't worry, chérie, we'll figure something out. I'll talk to the Council next week," he said. She sighed.
"I really wish you didn't have to go to Paris so soon," she said. "Especially now, after—"
"I know. If I could cancel my trip, I would. But you'll be skiing with Charla and the others right after finals. And I'll be back before you know it. I have to go, Tori, now even more so. I need to figure this out and make sure this doesn't happen again." His eyes were fierce.
"I know," she said. "I'll miss you. You'll be careful, won't you?"
"Yes. I'll miss you, too."
Leaving her alone and unprotected while he went to Paris had been one of the hardest decisions he'd ever had to make, now more so after what had just happened. But Christian knew that he didn't have a choice—not only because of what he now knew about Victoria, but because he'd been summoned by the Vampire Council and could not refuse.
He had to see where Lucian's head was, and determine Lena's involvement. Otherwise, the attacks on Victoria's life would only continue, and there was only one way that he could stop them.
THE LIMOUSINE PULLED to a smooth stop in front of Lucian's apartment in the seventh arrondissement, not far from the Musée D’Orsay. This was one of Paris' most exclusive and wealthy neighborhoods. Lucian had a penchant for expensive things and for indulging himself with the best that life had to offer. His ostentatiously marbled and palatial apartment reminded Christian of a mausoleum. The single thing that he liked about the apartment was the view—a magnificent panorama of the Eiffel Tower over the quarter's rooftops.
Christian had mentally confirmed Lucian's whereabouts as soon as his plane had landed, looking for him at the apartment and at the chateau. The chateau was a sprawling seventeenth century estate seven minutes south of Fontainebleau, but they usually only used it for entertaining. Lucian's version of entertainment differed greatly from Christian's. He used the chateau to host his favorite type of party—hunting parties, only with humans as the prey. It disgusted Christian. And amused Lucian.
"They are people, Lucian," Christian had argued.