The Jewel Read online

  Given the downturn of Catriona’s lips as she spoke, she hadn’t been at all pleased by that. Neither was he. If what Catriona had said was true, Gemma was far more important than he was. It only made him that much more determined to find and rescue her.

  “Surely someone has the power to stop him.”

  Catriona had smiled sadly. “Many, in fact. But if he has Gemma ...”

  “... then he can take their power for his own.” Viktor’s stomach had clenched until it took great effort not to spill its meager contents. “I will stop him.”

  For a moment, Catriona’s features had softened, becoming even sadder. “I can see why my daughter is so in love with you. But no matter how brave your heart, Viktor, you cannot defeat him. No mortal can defeat a vampire.”

  “Then craft a spell! You’re a witch. Make me stronger. Give me the ability to defeat him and bring Gemma home.”

  She had shaken her head. “Would that I could, but I cannot.”

  “Cannot or will not?” he had asked harshly, anger and frustration nearly choking him.

  “Cannot,” she had answered firmly, the flames in her eyes briefly flaring again. “No one can. Even if I could, your mortal shell would not survive an infusion of such power.” Catriona had moved back to her rocker, sat down, and resumed staring out the window. “Go home, Viktor. Grieve if you must, then move on. There is nothing any of us can do. Gemma is beyond our reach now.”

  All further attempts to coax Catriona to do something, anything, had fallen on deaf ears. When he had walked out of that cottage, he had left her just as he had found her—sitting on the rocking chair, staring blindly out the window.

  Viktor refused to accept that there was nothing he could do. There had to be a way.

  He returned to the forest clearing where he and Gemma had so often snuck off to be together. Had it only been yesterday that he had held her in his arms and made sweet, passionate love to her? Thinking, even for a moment, that he would never do so again was enough to crush the last breath from his lungs.

  Gemma had been a part of him for as long as he had known her. From the first moment he had seen her, he had been captivated. Just a boy, he had been in the fields bordering the common road when Gemma had come walking along with her mother, carrying a basket almost as big as she was. He remembered thinking that he had never seen a girl as pretty as she was. Then she had turned and smiled at him, and he had been well and truly lost.

  First, they had been friends. Then best friends. Together, they had explored the forests and the farmlands, the hills and the valleys. Eventually, they had become lovers, fumbling around together until they knew each other better than they knew themselves.

  Except for the fact that Gemma was apparently a rare, gifted witch. He hadn’t known that.

  A pang of hurt speared through him. Why had she felt the need to keep such a secret from him? Did she fear that, if he knew the truth, it would change the way he felt about her?

  He could have told her that was impossible. It didn’t matter if witch’s blood ran through Gemma’s veins. She was the other half of his soul, and they belonged together.

  Viktor lowered himself upon the cool grass where they had lain together and stared up at the sky. As the sky continued to darken, the twinkling stars seemed to mock him. He had never felt more helpless, more alone, than he did in those moments.

  Where was Gemma now? Was she looking at the same stars, feeling the same impossible grief, as if her very soul had been forcibly wrenched from her body? Did she believe he could let her go so easily, just to protect something as trivial as his own life?

  As the moon slowly made its way overhead, the nocturnal creatures carried on all around him as if his life hadn’t been irrevocably altered. The more he thought about his conversation with Catriona, the less satisfied he was. He had been so stunned by everything he had learned he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He was now.

  Catriona said there was nothing that could be done; that as a mortal, he had no hope of saving Gemma.

  But what if he was immortal? Would he then have the power or skill to have a chance at saving her, no matter how small?

  That question was followed by another. Exactly how did one become immortal? He had heard the legends, of course, but he had no idea how much of those old wives’ tales were actually true. Catriona would know.

  The dawn was nigh when he once again approached the tiny cottage. Viktor was determined to get some answers no matter how reticent Catriona might be. Now that he’d had some time to accept the existence of witches and vampires, he would be on surer footing, and Catriona would not dismiss him so easily.

  He sensed something was wrong right away. No smoke curled from the chimney. No flicker of light was visible in the early morning gloom. Catriona did not respond to his repeated calls and raps.

  Viktor pushed open the door, already knowing what he would find.

  The single room was empty. The shelves had been cleared. Catriona was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  “There he is, the Fae prince himself.” Andrei’s voice was barely audible as he stood beside her.

  Gemma followed his gaze to the man in the far corner of the room. Even among the unearthly beauty for which his race was known, Fion stood apart. Long, white-blond hair flowed and glistened in the light of thousands of candles, framing perfect features. Naked from the waist up—as was their way—his skin, a dusky gold, stretched over a divinely sculpted male form.

  “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?” Andrei asked.

  “Of course.” As if she could forget.

  Every day of the last seven years had brought her to this point. Learning how to speak, how to dress, how to make herself appealing to the opposite sex, as well as her own. Most importantly, she had been learning to control her gift so she could subtly absorb the powers of others in small increments without their knowledge. She and Andrei both agreed keeping her ability secret was in everyone’s best interests.

  She had practiced on less powerful immortals, but this was to be her first big test.

  As royalty went, Fion was fairly minor in the complex and expansive Fae hierarchy, but his pure bloodline made him desirable as both a source of power and an ally. Siphoning his energy without being detected was critical—no one could know what she was capable of if Andrei’s plans to become a regional vampire lord and take a seat on their high council were to be successful.

  If everything went as planned, Gemma would walk away with the sensual power of the Fae added to her private arsenal, and Andrei will have gained a powerful supporter. If it didn’t, well, neither of them would probably live long enough to regret it.

  She concentrated on the prince, sending a whisper of feminine interest across the room by using a subtle form of suggestion common to, and even expected of, vampires.

  Females of various shapes and sizes were practically throwing themselves at him, and Gemma could understand why. Fae males were renowned for their otherworldly beauty and highly sexual nature, and as a prince, Fion was particularly desirable.

  Other than mild appreciation for his exceptional physical form, however, she felt nothing. Inside, she was cold, empty. She had felt nothing in the seven years she had been with Andrei, except a vague dislike for Andrei himself.

  Oh, Andrei was quite handsome in his own right. Not pretty like Fion, but classically captivating with fine, aristocratic features. He even had the haughty and condescending temperament of a privileged noble. Females flocked to him, too, all too willing to share their bodies and their blood.

  Not Gemma.

  Exactly how or why she had come to bind herself to him, she couldn’t imagine. According to Andrei, he had singled her out among a harem of adoring blood slaves to be his consort. She didn’t believe that for a moment, having seen the types of fawning, vapid, voluptuous types he preferred.

  Newly made vampires might lose their human memories upon their rebirth into immortality, but they did not assume wholly differe
nt personalities.

  Unfortunately, the truth, along with any knowledge of her prior life, had been lost in the turning. Because she was far more intelligent than Andrei gave her credit for, she believed the real explanation for their unlikely partnership lay with her unusual gift for acquiring and manipulating others, particularly immortals, and likely no small amount of trickery on his part.

  It mattered not. The reality—her reality—was that she was bound to a man she did not particularly like, and whatever blood vow she had been foolish enough to make prevented her from leaving or harming him. Gathering power and furthering his position among the vampire elite, however, was her cross to bear, and the reason they were here tonight.

  As if sensing her discreet perusal, Fion’s exotic gaze turned her way. The prince’s eyes leisurely roamed up and down her figure, the slight curve to his lips letting her know he liked what he saw. With an elegant flick of his hand, he dismissed his fawning admirers and headed her way.

  His eyes never left hers as he stalked across the room with the grace of the Fae prince he was. Intoxicating pheromones wrapped around her as he neared; his mere presence itself a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Without effort, she began absorbing some of his energy, her body responding to the influx of potent sexuality. Her skin warmed and flushed. Her nipples pebbled to hard tips beneath the fine silk she wore. The area between her legs heated and grew slick.

  Beside her, she could feel Andrei tense with arousal. No doubt many a willing female would get to experience her sire’s ardor that evening. Better them than her.

  While Andrei made no secret of the fact he wanted her in his bed, he hadn’t pressed the issue, which told her she had at least been smart enough to make that a condition of whatever unholy pact she had made with him.

  “Andrei, my old friend, it has been a long time. What intoxicating creature have you found to accompany you this evening?” the Fae prince asked, his voice melodic and smooth, and laced with a delightful Gaelic accent.

  “My lovely consort, Gemmalyn, Your Highness,” Andrei answered on her behalf.

  Gemma did not lower her gaze as was customary, wanting to capture and hold the prince’s gaze, yet she did curtsy slightly in respect.

  “Lovely, indeed,” Fion murmured. “Bewitching, in fact.”

  That he could so easily sense her innate magic was a timely reminder that Fion was leaps and bounds ahead of the others Andrei had introduced her to thus far.

  Denying the thinly veiled inquiry would only make the prince suspicious. Instead, she allowed a pale wisp of her magic to ghost along his skin, just enough to seem harmless and undisciplined. She pushed a brush of lust along with it.

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  The glow of his golden eyes suggested the distraction was a success.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Gemmalyn?”

  “Oh, yes,” she gushed demurely. “Everything is wonderful. Your home is quite beautiful.”

  Fion smiled wickedly. “And yet, you have seen only the grand ballroom. There is so much more, love. Perhaps you would enjoy a personal tour? Assuming your sire has no objections to placing you in my care for a few hours?”

  Andrei hesitated, as if surprised by Fion’s blatant request to get her alone. In fact, they had been counting on the Fae prince doing exactly that.

  Andrei’s tight smile looked genuinely forced when he said, “Of course, Your Highness. We are honored.”

  Fion snapped his fingers, and three of his personal harem rushed to Andrei’s side. “Come then, my dear Gemmalyn. Let us amuse ourselves while your sire indulges in a wee bit of Fae hospitality.”

  Gemma quietly took the hand Fion offered her. Then, with one final, and practiced, look back at Andrei, she allowed Fion to lead her out of the grand ballroom and into a more private area reserved for “special” guests.

  By the time Gemma and Andrei took their leave much later, Gemma was brimming with sensual Fae magic.

  Andrei was pleased, even going as far as to offer a rare smile. He had quietly gained an ally, and Fion was left quite satisfied with vivid, and yet wholly fabricated, memories of his time with Gemma.

  “Well done, my jewel,” Andrei crooned. “Even the arrogant Fae are not immune to your sorcerous charms. Let us see how you do with the demons, shall we?”

  Chapter Nine

  Viktor crouched low in the alley behind the tavern, amidst the filth. The whore and her nameless customer were gone, their sordid transaction completed. Only he and the rats remained.

  He blended in far too well. His hair was long and unkempt, his clothing dirty and ragged. No one would recognize him as the naive boy he had once been, when he had not known the things he now knew.

  It was irrelevant. Those who he had once called family and friends would not look for him here.

  Did they still spare a thought for him? he sometimes wondered on those long, cold nights when the fields lay frozen and there was little else to think about. His mother, perhaps, might still harbor a hope in her soft heart for his safe return, possibly his sisters, as well. At least three of his brothers had come of age in his absence. By now, his father would have divvied up the land amongst them.

  He had thought of them often when he had first set out, but not so much anymore. It seemed like a different life then, and he, a different man. The years had been hard ones; the lessons cruel. So many times he had been close. So many times he had failed.

  Tonight, he would not fail.

  Seven years. That was how low it had taken to get to this point, wallowing amongst the dregs of society to find those he sought. Vague rumors had brought him here, mere whispers of suggestion carried on subtle breezes. The creatures he sought were so reviled and feared that no one dared speak of them aloud, lest their own words become a death sentence, all too real. Beyond that, there had been no hard evidence of their existence. The monsters kept their secrets well, choosing to exist in myth and legend, but they were out there.

  In a now unconscious gesture, Viktor touched the smooth black stone he wore around his neck. Gemma’s stone.

  He remained as determined as he had the day he had left his family’s lands and set off to find his beloved, if not more so. Long nights of imagining the horrors she must have been enduring at the hands of a vampire kept him going when nothing else did. Finding Gemma and killing the vile fiend who had taken her from him had become his only reasons for existence. He would go to Hell and back if that was what it took to save his beloved, the woman who had selflessly sacrificed herself for him. In fact, it seemed his quest had already taken him there on several occasions.

  He blinked, and just that quickly, the man he had been following disappeared from the street. Viktor rose to follow. He would not lose his quarry, not when everything pointed to the dark stranger having the information he so desperately needed.

  Viktor had barely taken a step when he found himself forcibly slammed up against the brick of the tavern by something hard and unforgiving. Breath whooshed from his crushed lungs in a rush. His arms were pinned, and his feet dangled above the ground.

  Viktor resisted, but his strength was no match for that of the creature which held him. He had been in this position once before; held like a child in the hand of another just like this.

  The man wore a dark, hooded cloak. Even at this close range, it was nearly impossible to distinguish his face from shadow.

  “Why do you follow me?”

  The voice was icy and hypnotic, wrapping Viktor in a blanket of abject fear. He knew then that his suspicions had been correct. This cloaked shadow was one of them. Nosferatu.

  Forcing down the instinctual panic, Viktor ceased struggling and summoned the courage that had brought him this far. The image of Gemma facing off against such a creature, her unwavering courage, gave him strength.

  “I seek an audience with Constantin.”

  The creature hissed, an inhuman sound that struck yet another bolt of terror into his heart. “For what purpose?”


  “I require his assistance.”

  The man’s upper lip curled. It was enough to reveal a flash of brilliant, sharp white. “Constantin does not grant audiences with street scum.” He punctuated the statement by releasing his grip, dropping Viktor suddenly to the ground.

  By the time Viktor got to his knees, the man was gone.

  Viktor pushed himself to standing, drawing in a lungful of rancid air, thick with rotting food and sewage. He had come too far to give up so easily.

  Rubbing at his throat, he jogged to the end of the alley and looked left then right, but there was no sign of his attacker. On a hunch, Viktor headed toward the forest.

  He made it only a few steps in before he found him.

  “You sorely test my patience.”

  As before, the deep voice was just suddenly there, and once again, Viktor found himself dangling, this time against a tree. He hadn’t seen the man, nor heard him move. The silence was even more unnerving than the ease in which the creature was handling him.

  “Please,” he rasped against the hand around his throat. “Please. It is imperative that I gain an audience with Constantin.”

  “Do you wish to die this night?” the creature hissed.

  “I need Constantin to change me. To become—”

  Viktor’s words were cut off by the vise-like grip closing around his throat.

  “Think carefully upon your next words, beggar. They may be your last.”

  “Please,” Viktor managed on a final exhale of air. “He is my only hope.”

  The pressure around his neck increased. Spots danced before his eyes as he fought for air. Viktor struggled valiantly, clutching at the dark one’s arm, gasping for breath.

  It couldn’t end like this! Not after all this time! Not after all this effort!

  Despite his struggles, there was no breaking the stranger’s inhuman grip.

  As the blackness edged Viktor’s vision, he had but one thought. I am so sorry, Gemma. I failed you. Please forgive me.