Chapter 17

Pride, fear, excitement, protection. Each emotion bounced inside Ian with powerful force. Rachel would live. His heart sang at the news. But she had agreed to become a cure for the addicted. What a destiny; hunt the monsters who preyed on innocents, track down every unstable bloodsucker. His stomach coiled into knots.

But she would not be defenceless or alone. He’d be by her side every step of the way. Once they left France, he planned to give her boxing lessons. Supernatural strength wasn’t enough, not when she’d be up against vampires just as strong, if not stronger than her.

Armand stood from his throne and beckoned Rachel over with a flick of his finger.

“I’m coming too.” Ian stomped forward before he registered what he said.

Armand cocked one dark brow. “I’m afraid not.”

Afraid not? That was it? No further reason behind that stupid response. Ian clenched his fists by his sides. Hitting the bastard would not help the situation.

Rachel gave a soft smile, but reassurance did not greet him. Ian’s gaze returned to Armand. “Do I have your word she’ll be fine.”

The master’s smug grin bestowed his utter confidence. “I am the most skilled warlock in the world. She is in safe hands.”

Rachel cleared her throat and hooked her arm with Armand.

Ian’s limbs itched to follow the pair, but he remained rooted to the floor. Every part of him wanted to be by her side, to hold her through whatever the warlock would dish out. If he was this protective over a woman who wasn’t his mate, how would he react when he found her? All he’d ever known about mates and bonds had to be a lie. He’d never felt more connected, more meant for someone than Rachel. She wasn’t his, yet she was everything. And he couldn’t think of anything better than to have her love intoxicate him for the rest of his life.

Armand paused at the doorway, then looked at Lord Sylvestre. “Flash to Désuet and bring the one who turned her.”

Lord Sylvestre’s eyes widened. “Maurice Delacroix?”

“Yes, I think it’s fitting. He changed her life…now she shall change his.”

The woman, Cynthia, let out a distressed sound. Petite hands trembled by her sides. Her moitié would receive a cure and she looked…devestated.

“Very well.” Lord Sylvestre flashed from the room.

Ian paced, his insides quivered as if his nervous system had been hijacked. Until Rachel entered through that door again, he’d remain on edge.

A tap on the shoulder startled him. Ian faced Brianna. The woman gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I wanted to see if you’re okay?”

He said nothing, unable to find the words.

“I’m so happy my sister will live.” Brianna smiled. “As for being the cure, she’ll get through it. Tristan has already agreed to give her an army of his best men to lead the hunts. She’ll be all right.”

Ian ran a hand through his short hair. “I hope this change doesn’t harm her. I want her safe, always.”

Brianna’s mouth formed a perfect O. “You care for her, don’t you?”

Images of him and Rachel making love, of them lost in the corridors earlier, laughing and kissing surged in his mind. “Yeah, I do.”

She then furrowed her brows. “But you’re not destined for my sister.”

He and Rachel shared a past. He still didn’t know the full details of those days. A part of his memory gone was too impossible to fathom, but it didn’t change the way he ached for her. So what, she wasn’t his destiny? Fate had already played enough cruel pranks on him in one lifetime. Wouldn’t he be worse off denying how he felt, rejecting what he wanted?

“Ian, you do know you’re playing with fire,” Tristan said, standing beside Lucas. “If Rachel finds her moitié, he’ll be her only source of life.”

Lucas straightened, eyes wide. “You mean she won’t be able to live without him, literally?”

Tristan nodded in confirmation. “She will die. As of right now she can drink from whoever, but that will all change the minute she takes from her moitié.”

Ian swallowed bile. Rachel’s life would hang in the balance…again. “But if she doesn’t drink his blood, whoever he is, she’ll be fine, right?”

“Yes, but the pull of a moitié is overpowering. When I met Brianna, my draw to her was compelling. Once I tasted her, I became lost in her blood, everything else tasted like ash in my mouth. I began deteriorating when Brianna refused me her blood, had been close to death. The only one with a moitié who is still able to drink from others is Maurice.” Tristan’s eyes grew vacant. “My brother grew addicted long before he discovered Cynthia was his. It was too late. Her blood gives him strength, but the craving he has for others is strong, if not stronger. From what’s been assessed of the addicted, the act of draining their victims is what hooks them. I don’t think Maurice is even aware of how distasteful other blood is, he is so rapt with the thrill of the kill.”

Lucas crossed his arms over his chest. “Now with Rachel as the cure, she’ll be able to fix vampires like your brother.”

“It’s a miracle. She’ll be the greatest thing that’s happened to the vampires in over a thousand years. The best thing that’s happened to my family.” Tristan spared Ian a half smile. “Rachel has a chance at a new life now. If she finds her moitié, can you honestly stay with her, watch her depend on another man for survival? Let’s not forget as a werewolf you too could find your bonded. Do you want to break Rachel’s heart?”

Rachel would be respected, protected and adored by her kind. She would have a family, an alliance. Yet, where did Ian fit in all of this? He didn’t want to think of the man out there who contained life-giving blood that his Rachel would not be able to live without, but the fact he remained with her was a risk. What about their connection? Did they dismiss the feelings they shared? Was his relationship with Rachel worth her life in jeopardy? No. Never. More images of him and Rachel flared in his mind. The memories that made him smile, crave her…would they now become bitter recollections of what was never meant to be. His heart gripped with burning pain.

****

Rachel inhaled to settle the butterflies that coursed through her body. Here she was, faced with a turning-point, but was this for the best? Was she risking her life in the process? Her role would be dangerous. What choice did she have? Either this or die. With the help of Ian and her family, she could do this, she’d be the cure for the broken, a right for the wrong, a good for the evil.

Rachel could sympathize with the addicts and their strong urge for blood. She abhorred the cravings that overpowered her. Even though her mind begged to defeat the thirst, the hunger always overcame her. The draining, terrifying experience was like a lifetime in hell. She wouldn’t wish such a level of helplessness on anyone.

“Please sit.” Armand’s words broke her out of her thoughts. She glanced about the cool room with its strong scent of vintage whisky. Heavy velvet drapes hung from the tall ceiling-to-floor windows. Various shaped bottles sat stacked on a large shelf against the wall, each one swirled with a colorful liquid. Potions.

She traipsed to the centre of the room and sat on a tufted brown leather sofa. The black mosaic and brass coffee table was a beautiful piece, bare of magazines and books.

Glass clinked, and she lifted her gaze. Armand trailed his fingers over the shelf of potions, then stopped in front of a brick wall. With a wave of his hand, the structure glided open. A silver mounted safe sat behind the hidden wall.

“And here I hoped I’d never have to use this potion again,” he uttered with a wiggle of his fingers. The steel door opened. He grabbed a black bulbous bottle adorn with carvings of melted gold in a filigree pattern.

“It takes four things to create an Impure.” He gripped the bottle and started toward her. “Unlike your vampire friends who presume it’s the consumption of blood, death, and a spell from a Prime—two of which you’ve already fulfilled.”

“What else is there?”

“When Sylvestre Marcel asked for my help, what do you think he possessed in himself that neither blood nor power could give him?”

Sylvestre Marcel had been a troubled young man who’d lost his family and had been desperate for revenge. She bit her lower lip. “Willingness.”

Armand winked at her reply. “When Sylvestre told me about you, I did my research on you and your family.” He grinned and handed her the flask. “I did not know you before you changed, but you must have been unhappy enough to want a different life for yourself. That willingness helped you transform.”

“But I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live.”

The master produced a long needle from the inside of his sleeve and took her hand. Rachel swallowed as he nodded at the potion. She raised it, and he pricked her finger, then squeezed three droplets into the bottle. When he gazed at her, the coldness that encompassed him earlier faded, revealing a humbleness he hadn’t displayed out in the throne room. “You had hope. What is the first thing witches learn about emotions?”

“I could answer that if I remembered.”

“They play a part in our craft.”

No wonder she’d bore Ian’s mark all those years ago. Her obsessive desire, together with whatever spell she’d conjured had worked.

“Did you know you were an Elite? That’s probably why you lived. A part of you may have wanted change, but the hope you held became a spell that kept you alive.”

“An elite?”

“Mortal witches are categorised into three ranks. Morsel, Ordinare, and those with extraordinary abilities are the Elite.”

He chuckled, his gaze lost in another time. “I remember when the first vampires turned. Their families and other village people cared for them for months before they awoke. As for you, your magic preserved you in the coffin. The power must have faded as you transformed into a vampire. From the information I read, you were a powerful witch. It’s a shame the world lost such a talent.”

Rachel thought back to the night she died. She’d been so miserable without Ian and her parents. Inside, she had ached for things to be different. That drive was one of the reasons she’d turned, and if she hadn’t been a powerful Elite, she wouldn’t be standing here right now.

“I need you to drink this slowly. As you do so, I will recite the incantation needed to complete the spell.”

“What is this?” She held up the flask.

“A transfusion potion, it will help alter your blood. You might become light headed, so I suggest you relax.”

She stared from him to the flask. No going back now. Leaned into the couch, she relaxed against the leather and exhaled before sipping the sweet liquid. Armand raised his hands above his head and chanted in French at the ceiling. Unable to comprehend a word of what he spoke, her body responded to the foreign language.

Heat infused her like a deadly fever, aching her muscles, coating her in sweat. Vertigo smacked between her eyes. She winced. His voice softened as he spoke the last of the incantation. Her body sagged against the sofa, panting and spent as if she’d finished an intense workout.

“It’s done. You’re an Impure.”

“And my blood is the cure?”

“Come, see for yourself.”

She took his outstretched hand, and he helped her to her feet. “A minute,” she requested, holding up her free hand. The dizziness hadn’t subsided. When she assumed it was all right to walk, she nodded to Armand who led her out of the room. They passed through a hallway adorned with beautiful abstract paintings and gilded mirrors. All eyes fell on her when they entered the main throne room, but she searched for Ian. He waited at the far back, leaned against the wall. Rachel’s heart skipped a beat followed by a sense of foreboding at his doleful expression. Something wasn’t right, he seemed absent.

Lord Sylvestre appeared with a handcuffed Maurice right in front of her. The addicted vampire snarled and glared at everyone. He grew bug-eyed when his gaze landed on Cynthia. Still recovering from weeks of malnutrition, it showed in her ashen skin and slim figure. Regardless, her decline did not detract from her gorgeous features, and yesterday when Cynthia smiled, it had heightened her glamorous beauty all the more. Right now that smile was nowhere in sight. Instead, Cynthia’s eyes narrowed into slits, mouth a thin line.

Maurice squirmed to break free like a frantic witch about to be burned at the stake, but his attempts were futile against Lord Sylvestre’s strong hold.

“For the hundredth time, what is going on?”

Cuffs? Did they expect to hold a crazed, supernatural vampire with typical restraints a sheriff would use?

“We’ve also injected him with a serum to keep him from flashing,” the leader told her.

Rachel blushed. Did her thoughts leave her mouth again? “Let’s do this.”

“Do what?” Maurice shouted, his hard-set scowl dared her to take one more step closer.

She stopped and stared into his eyes. “Cure you.” Everyone in the room was forgotten as she raised wrist, offering it to Maurice. “Go ahead, drink.”

He looked at her hand. A crease appeared between his brows when he stared back at her. The temptation that swirled in his eyes told her he wouldn’t be able to resist, the addiction was too strong. Maurice visibly swallowed. His mouth descended on her, fangs pierced her flesh, swift and sharp. Her wrist numbed as he took greedily. All her concentration remained on Maurice, waiting for a change, a hint it had worked.

His eyes shot open. The green of his irises brightened, his face twisted as he sputtered and staggered back.

“What the hell?” He pointed at her wrist with both bound hands. “Your blood, the more I consume, the more the flavour grows worse. Like burnt coals in my mouth.”

“Your body recognises you only need the blood of your moitié.”

“Impossible,” Maurice said, then sank to his knees. His eyes shifted with confusion. “I’m…” He placed his chained hands on his chest and swallowed.

“What is it?”

He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t have the urges any more. They’re gone.”

Rachel smiled. It worked. She beamed at Cynthia, but the motionless woman stared at Maurcie.

“Maybe now you can try again with your bonded,” Rachel suggested.

Maurice’s head snapped up, sweat beaded his forehead as he trembled. Relief suffused his face as if the dark cloud that hung over his head for so long finally disappeared. Amazing, how instantaneous the change was. Rachel couldn’t wait to heal many others.

“No.”

Both her and Maurice swung to the sound of Cynthia’s soft hostile voice. “I will never give Maurice another chance.”

“But, Cynthia.” Tristan pointed at his brother. “He is cured.”

“Doesn’t change a thing.” Cynthia glared daggers at Maurice. “I’ve been rejected by you for almost three hundred years, long before your addiction. I. Don’t. Want you,” she spat each word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Maurice swallowed, his face stark white.

Had he ever seen Cynthia this way, strong, dependable, with a backbone of steel? Perhaps over the years he’d grown accustomed to the woman so utterly in love with him, who’d throw herself at his feet whenever he called her name.

“I’ve seen enough.” Cynthia flashed from the room.

Rachel bit her lip when Cynthia disappeared. Maurice tilted his chin, his jaw rigid. He could try all he liked to hide his emotions, but Cynthia’s declaration had to have been painful.

Rachel locked eyes with Ian across the room. Maurice and Cynthia might not have a happy ending, but Rachel was ready to start one with Ian. From the strained look on his face, however, there was nothing happy about it.