The Cold Kiss of Death

Chapter Twenty-Two

We floated in time and space as the lights strobed around us in a brilliant multi-coloured net of beams, and music, too loud, too harsh and too fleeting for my mind to decipher any recognisable rhythm, bashed against my ears. Salty sweat and clashing scents—perfumes, aftershaves, deodorants and fruity drinks—rose up on a miasma of body heat that visibly shimmered in the criss-crossed strobe lights. And reverberating through it all, like a beacon call to my blood, was the discordant bass-beat of a thousand hearts pulling me under, a tidal wave of pulses drowning me in the metallic tang of hunger and longing and need, until all that existed was prey...

An expanse of empty floor opened below us: the hot, glowing bodies of the excited humans were being herded by cooler shadows—vampires, their hearts still and quiet, their faces blank and closed—who were putting themselves between me and my prey.

Not that it would save them.

My bare feet touched down on the wooden floor, the arm around my waist loosened and I straightened, breathing in the scent of recently taken blood. The ache in my jaw intensified and I knew I couldn’t be content with a sip this time; the incandescent itch in my veins urged me on. The encircling crowd drew away as I stalked towards the nearest rosy-hued humans, the anxious, high-pitched laughs and frantic pulse-beats almost lost beneath the heavy beat of the body-vibrating music. I reached out with my mind, intent on locking them in place, not bothering with my usual cat-and-mouse; just needing to devour. The nearest was young. He grinned nervously at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. My gaze snagged on the pulse jumping under his jaw and I snarled, lips curling back from my fangs. His eyes widened, pupils dilating in sudden fear, then my mind closed like a steel-trap around his, his face blanked with mind-lock and the connection between us quivered like a plucked string. I reached out and grabbed the minds of a dozen glowing bodies around him, anchoring them to my will, holding them ready: easy prey.

Anticipation tightened my body and my nipples stiffened against the unyielding metal of the bikini and slick heat contracting between my legs—but this wasn’t about sex; sex was being held down, beaten and broken, unable to stop them, no matter how much I begged—

I pushed the intrusive thoughts away and growled low in my throat, a satisfying animal sound. Now it was my turn to rip and tear and damage and offer pain, again and again, and my turn to laugh as they pleaded and cried and screamed as I penetrated their weak, fragile bodies. The visceral desire for blood spiralled through my body. I crouched, preparing to leap, spreading my fingers, watching as my nails elongated and sharpened into skin-slicing claws—

The metal collar choked into my throat, jerked me back, keeping me from my prey. I whirled round, screeching with rage to face him.

‘No!’ Malik ordered. ‘You will not do this.’ He yanked the chain up, the links stretched taut between us, then jerked again, pulling me forward until I stumbled and fell to my knees before him. His face expressionless, he held out his hand to me.

I slashed at it, drawing blood, then grabbed at the chain with both hands and tried to wrench it from his hold. He would not stop me, not this time.

His arms and shoulders strained with effort as he held me in place.

I called to the humans caught with my mind and heard the collective gasp as they moved up at my back. Then his mind tore into mine and severed them from my hold, locking my rage inside his icy stillness.

The pounding music cut out, leaving silence. Then a rustling murmur started as three spotlights picked us out, pinning us within their overlapping circles. Far away, a voice in my mind—his, mine, someone’s—muttered, ‘Showtime.’

Elizabetta, wearing her youthful face, appeared at Malik’s side, her bronze broadsword resting on her shoulder like a pike-staff. ‘You would not believe me when I said she was feral, Malik al-Khan.’ Her words amplified outwards as if through a megaphone. ‘Now you can witness for yourself that your curse has again manifested in your bloodline.’

‘This is due to your meddling, Elizabetta,’ Malik responded. ‘She is contaminated by a demon—even your carefully nurtured blood would turn feral with such encouragement.’

‘Pah!’ Her dress shifted, the beads clattering triumphantly, and inwardly I shredded the sneering smile from her face. ‘It makes no matter why she is like this; she must be dealt with before she causes more disquiet.’ She held out her sword and placed the point at the base of my throat. ‘Shall I dispose of the bitch myself ’—her fangs extended over her bottom lip—‘or would you like to do the honours?’

‘No,’ Malik said quietly, his eyes flaring blue. He reached out and took the sword from her unresisting hand. ‘No, she is mine. It is my responsibility to rescind her Gift.’

I snarled, even though the part of me not wanting to rip his throat out knew he didn’t mean it, knew it was some sort of ruse, knew he wouldn’t kill me—the Rosa me—because then we would both die ... wouldn’t we? Looking up into his face, seeing his implacable expression, I wasn’t quite so certain. But I was still locked by his will; I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight.

Inside me, the imps boiled and burned, impatient, intolerant of their inability to force me to violence.

‘But first, she will bow to my hand.’ He let the chain drop from his grasp and it fell to the floor in a rattle of links.

‘Nooo!’ Elizabetta lifted her foot and lowered it slowly back to the floor, a stamp made slow by his hold on time. ‘I will ... not ... allow ... it.’

‘The choice is not yours, but belongs to Rosa.’ He knelt on one knee before me, blood-tinged sweat beading on his forehead. ‘Genevieve,’ I heard the gentle command, ‘you must repeat these words: I offer you my oath, accept only you as my liege and drink of your blood.’

I repeated his words, my voice harsh as if rusty with disuse, my mouth struggling to form the syllables past the scorching pain constricting my throat.

He touched my cheek and ice spread through my veins, freezing the imps into calmness. He held out his wrist. ‘Now feed, Genevieve.’

I kept my eyes on his, drew my lips back and struck, sinking my fangs into his skin, sucking hard, desperately.

‘Be ready to run, Genevieve, at my command.’

He stood in one smooth motion, breaking my hold on his flesh as he drew me up with him. Then he looked up, and I saw through his eyes Hannah watching us from the broken window, her face contorted by magic. She lifted her arm and traced a glyph through the air. It glowed brightly before streaking down to slam into my chest, freeing the imps and sending them screaming in triumph through my veins.

Malik turned back to me, eyes dark and shadowed and drew back the sword ...

Disbelief and outrage filled me. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t dare—

... and plunged it into my body.

The blade sliced into me—

—and I stared down at the hilt where it pressed up in my stomach, feeling the sharpness of the blade cutting through my heart, and the hard length that protruded from between my shoulders. ‘Whatever happened to running?’ I screamed in my mind. Then pain shattered through me, spinning me out in a tornado of golden dust, and I spiralled into the red-dark depths of memory.

My fourteenth birthday.

My wedding day.

I stood, tall and straight as I’d been taught, in the centre of the great hall. The high mullioned windows were open to the faint moonlight and the distant bark of a fox was the only noise other than the soft sound of my breaths. The guests—all vampires, not a human or fae amongst them—surrounded me. A handful I knew, those of my father’s blood, but the rest were strangers, here to see their liege lord take his sidhe bride.

I stood, shock numbing my mind, ignoring them all, pretending to ignore the still-warm blood that drenched the hem of my gold-brocade dress and soaked into the thin fabric of my shoes. Blood that smelt like sweet ripe pears.

Sally’s blood.

Sally had been given to me as a present on my twelfth birthday: my very own lady’s maid and companion. We were supposed to be inseparable, two young girls growing up together, but Sally was three years older than me, and she wasn’t interested in being friends, not with me, anyway. Not that I minded; she was pretty, with her pale blue skin and long blue-white hair, and part fae—her great-grandmother was a Cailleac Bhuer, one of the Blue Hags—so I’d been happy just to follow her around.

My prince—my betrothed—Bastien, the Autarch, the monster—came towards me. He let the sword fall from his hand and it clattered to the ground. His bare feet soaked up the blood, leaving unbloodied footprints on the flagstone floor. The wet ends of his hair dripped down his shoulders. The splatters on his face looked like teenage freckles. Not even his height—he was close on six feet tall—could make him look much older than the fifteen he’d been when he’d accepted the Gift.

The shadows followed behind him, always present, never breached, never mentioned, and never revealed—

Only now I knew what the shadows hid: Malik al-Khan, the Autarch’s ... what? The question rose like an accusation out of my memory then sank slowly back into the darkness.

‘You are looking very beautiful, my sidhe princess.’ The monster’s handsome young face smiled, a joyous, open grin that didn’t hide his fangs, nor the gleam of lust for pain in his eyes.

‘Thank you, my prince,’ I whispered, unable to stop my legs trembling the closer he came.

The monster executed a low, elegant bow and held out his hand to me. Sally’s thin plait of blue-white hair lay limp in his palm. ‘To the victor the spoils, is that not right, my bride?’

I curled my shaking fingers into the heavy material of my dress. I didn’t want to be the victor; I’d never wanted to be the victor—I hadn’t even realised there was a contest until it was waged and lost. I’d always known he would have others as well as me, for my father had educated me well. In my future there had been no winners or losers, just fairy tales of happily ever after with my prince. But Sally hadn’t known the rules; she’d set out to win, unaware her battle was a barely noticed skirmish until she’d staked her victory flag where all could see it.

‘Do you not want my gift, my lovely sidhe?’ He wiped the plait across his bloody chest and presented it again. ‘Is this not what you wanted?’

‘Take it, Genevieve.’ The order came into my mind and my hand reached out and snatched the plait from his palm before fear or conscious thought could stop me.

‘I hoped my present would please you,’ the monster said softly, and waved around, an expansive gesture, ‘but I have another gift for you to mark our wedding day.’ He held out his hand once again and the necklace sparkled in the flickering candlelight, the diamonds like pink stars as they dripped blood from his fingers. ‘Turn around, my princess. I will fasten it for you.’

‘Do as he says,’ said the voice in my mind.

I curtseyed slowly and dipped my head in acquiescence, then I turned as he bade me, my heart thudding shallow in my chest, fear cramping my stomach. I stared at my father’s aristocratic face, the proud lift of his chin not quite disguising his own fear, then at the frightened expression of Matilde, my stepmother. Her fingers fluttered up to touch the black opals that encircled her own neck, her lips parting with a glimpse of fang, as if to speak, as if maybe to stop him ...

Then she pressed her lips together and her sapphire-blue eyes dropped down to the spreading lake of blood on the floor.

It was the last time I would ever see her look at me.

‘Be ready to run, Genevieve. At my command.’

The diamonds settled around my throat, the stones heavy against my chilled skin. ‘A gift fit for a queen, my sidhe queen,’ said Bastien, the monster, drawing the necklace tight, making it dig into my flesh with a spiteful twist of his fingers. He touched his lips to the curve of my neck; they felt like a brand. His sharp inhalation of my scent sent panicked shivers down my spine.

‘Sidhe blood, as sweet and rich as fear-spiced honey,’ he said, his voice a mixture of anticipation and satisfaction. ‘Sidhe—and virgin too; is that not so, Alexandre? On your honour, none has tasted your daughter’s blood or body? I have your assurance that she is ready and willing to be broken on my sword?’

Terror fractured the last edge of numbness inside me and piss trickled down my leg to mingle with the blood beneath my feet.

‘As you wished, my liege.’ Anguish flickered in my father’s eyes, then was gone.

‘Run. Now.’

I ran, out through the heavy oak doors and into the night, the ground slippery beneath my feet, the heavy brocade dress tangling my legs, my lungs gasping for air, my belly taut with terror, knowing I had to escape, knowing I couldn’t outrun the shadows ...

He caught me from behind and then there was nothing but pain and terror as he held me down, his hand tight in my hair, my smaller body crushed beneath his, and the sudden sharp sting of his fangs piercing the curve of my neck as I pleaded with him and screamed for him to stop ... ... and his lips touched mine in a kiss as cold as death.

Red-blackness pressed against me as insistent hands tried to prise and pinch and pull me apart. Rich spice scented the air and copper sweetness filled my mouth, and in the far distance a haze of gold circled me like an aurora. I’d been here once before, tethered by the same black silken cord that wound around and through me and tied me to the red-blackness, keeping the determined hands from scattering me like dancing motes into the golden haze.

‘Genevieve.’ Malik’s voice came from above and below, confusing and indistinct, and the black cord tugged at me from both directions, as if it wanted to tear me in two.

‘It has been too long, vampire.’ A snort of unease edged the deep, burred tone. ‘Her soul should have returned to her body by now.’

‘My connection with her is still there, kelpie, although there is more resistance to my call now than the first time her soul was severed.’

‘Genevieve.’ The call came from below me this time, stronger, more urgent. I flowed down towards it.

‘Genevieve.’ An echo stretched faintly above me, making me hesitate.

‘T’would have been better to let the spell take its natural course and let the bodies reassert themselves at dawn as they were meant to, instead of forcing the magic to revert early.’

‘That would have left Genevieve’s body at the mercy of the sorcerer.’ There was a note of forced calm in his voice. ‘It would have been too much of a risk.’

‘Aye, but what if it has been too long since you bonded with her, what if the bond breaks?’ The words sounded harsh. ‘Her soul could wander, become lost—maybe even fade.’

‘Genevieve.’ Pain slid like brittle ice along the silken cord, snapping it and flinging me back ...

I came to, naked and alone, lying in the dried-up lake of blood, the scent of sour pears gagging in my throat. Like the first time, the noonday sun streamed through the high mullioned windows, cutting oblongs of light and shade into the stone floor. Ignoring the pain in my body I pushed up onto my hands and knees, then stood, straight and tall. The gold-brocade wedding dress lay torn and crumpled near the heavy oak doors, the plait of blue-white hair abandoned near it, and as I looked at where Sally had been butchered, the sunshine caught and flashed in my eyes. I walked over to where the sword lay discarded from the night before and stared down at it, my hands clenched into fists.

This time I wasn’t a child.

This time I wouldn’t run.

This time I would make him pay.

Then a hand, colder than my own, took hold of mine and slowly I turned to stare into the dark, cautious eyes of Cosette, the child-ghost.

‘This is no longer your time, Genevieve.’ Her voice was soft. ‘You must not stay here any more, it is too perilous.’ She tugged me, anxiety flitting across her face. ‘Come, they are both waiting for you, and there are the others ...’

Others?

I turned and followed Cosette as she led me back into the red-blackness ...

I came awake again with a start, pulse thundering in my ears; my eyes snapped open and I looked up into Malik’s face as he straddled me. His hands were pressed to the cold skin over my heart. I could see stars scattered like pieces of silver across the night sky above him, and the ground shifted sand-soft beneath me.

‘Genevieve—’ His voice was rough, as if he’d been calling for some time.

‘It was you that night.’ I licked my lips. My voice sounded thready, scared. ‘You bit me that night.’

‘Of course.’ A fine line creased between his brows. ‘Who did you think it was?’

‘Him. I always thought it was him ...’

‘He would not chase you down himself, not when he had me as his tool.’

Fear exploded into anger. I clenched my fists. ‘You bastard! You left me for dead!’

An odd expression crossed his face. ‘I did not leave you for dead.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘I killed you. As I did tonight. Your heart was still, your blood had settled in your body, your lungs no longer drew breath and your skin was cold and lifeless to the touch. If you had not been sidhe, I doubt you would have revived.’

I stared at him, my mind reaching for something I couldn’t quite grasp—

‘I don’t understand.’

His frown deepened. ‘Would you have preferred me to have given you back to the Autarch alive?’

No! my fourteen-year-old voice screamed in my mind.

He touched a hand to my forehead. ‘Sleep now.