Текст книги "Первородные: Восхождение"

Автор книги: Julie Plec

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY

REBEKAH HAD NEVER expected to feel so guilty as the sea spray misted her face and seagulls barked over the harbor. Back when she��d promised to stay beside her brothers forever, she had barely tasted immortality. Who could really expect such a promise to be kept for centuries? But they’d all believed in it, and what made the separation worse was that part of her truly wanted to stay. She had fought for a life of her own, but after all this time she hardly even knew what freedom meant.

Eric came up next to her at the bow of the ship, and put a protective arm around her shoulders. His warmth was comforting, but he wouldn’t be warm—or mortal—for much longer. With him beside her, she owed it to herself to find out what life was like when you were unshackled from your past. She had to explore this love, this passion. She snuggled closer to his side, enjoying the way her body molded itself to his. She deserved this happiness, even if it came at the expense of an eternal vow.

As long as she and Eric kept to themselves, they could move through the world undetected—something that had always been impossible with Klaus around. She could be safe and anonymous, while Elijah and Klaus continued their endless work of building, negotiating, fighting, and fleeing. She could not imagine seeking more when she already had Eric.

She could hear his steady heartbeat, and she ran one hand up along his lean chest. It was strange to see him without his captain’s uniform on, but she found him just as handsome in civilian clothes. The army would miss him, no doubt, but it wouldn’t be the first time that an officer had gone missing in the New World. Men disappeared all the time, in search of gold, women, and land, and Eric’s disappearance would be written off soon enough.

“The captain says the tide is turning,” he told her gently. “If we wish to leave tonight, there is no more time.”

In spite of her convictions, Rebekah had found herself hesitating, procrastinating, checking their luggage and the ship’s charts long after it was obvious that everything was in order. They planned to sail to the West Indies and lose themselves among the islands, making good use of both her daylight ring and the one Eric had managed to come across during his studies. She could picture it vividly: endless white beaches, locals full of fruit and fish, and a little hut where they could shelter from the wild, hot thunderstorms.

But they could not have those things if they did not go. She didn’t know what she was waiting for. Someone to stop them? Of course not, but it felt so strange and unfamiliar to set sail without her brothers...or at least without them chasing after her to bring her back again.

They had their own lives to attend to now, though, as did she. “Tell him I am ready,” she said softly, kissing Eric lightly on the mouth.

He smiled, his happiness uncomplicated and pure. After he left to find the ship’s captain, Rebekah moved to the stern of the boat and looked out at New Orleans for what she suspected would be the last time. From that distance she couldn’t pick out the hall where Elijah’s party was surely a raging success, but she chose an especially bright pool of light and decided to believe that was it.

“Good-bye,” she whispered to her brothers—who had once been her everything—as the lines were cast off and the ship began to move through the dark waves.

Then Eric returned to her side, a new everything that was worth the loss of the old. The night breeze was light but steady, and the trim ship made good use of it. They were making good time and had left the small harbor for the star-littered expanse of the lake beyond. The tide would give them plenty of time to reach the narrow passage to the next lake, and then out into the open sea.

She pressed against Eric’s side, and wrapped her fingers through his. “I feel free, Eric—finally, I feel free.”

He bent his head to press his face against her neck. “We are free,” he agreed. “The city is behind us, and we can do as we please.”

She hesitated, moving her hands to grip the smooth wood of the ship’s rail. She knew what he meant. Knowing how badly he wanted to be immortal, she appreciated his patience all the more. She longed to begin their new life together as soon as possible, but she could still see the lights of New Orleans, and she had this one last obligation to her brothers.

“When we are at sea,” she said. “It may seem safe enough here, but we’re not truly away yet. As long as we can see the city, as long as we remain in the waters that border it, the witches will know when a new vampire has been made.”

“The witches...” Eric mused, and she heard the familiar spark of his relentless curiosity in his voice. “My world has become full of magic thanks to you, Rebekah.” He kissed her lightly along her jaw until he reached her mouth, where his lips lingered. The wind had tugged some locks of her hair loose from their pins, and he tucked one tenderly back behind her ear. “So, let us wait until we are out of range from these witches, so that your brothers don’t come to any harm. I never want you to regret giving me this gift.”

“I always called it a curse,” she whispered, so softly that he might not have even been able to hear. “Until I met you.”

The black sky above them was covered in endless layers of stars, and the waxing moon had just begun to rise above the clouds to the east. Rebekah leaned against Eric’s solid body and watched the bayou slide by. The thousands of torches, candelabras, and chandeliers in New Orleans blurred together into one bright, shining island that grew smaller as she watched. Soon it would be out of sight entirely, swallowed up by the shadowy, teeming swamp on either side.

“We could go and wait below,” he suggested after a short while. When she tore her eyes away from the shoreline to look up at him, his smile was suggestive. “I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time.”

Of that there was no doubt. She took his hand and led him to their little cabin, her heart pounding as she descended the narrow ladder. For a brief moment she remembered another ship, on her way to yet another new life, with nameless men dying in front of a ladder just like this one. But there would only be one death on this ship tonight, and it would be a beginning rather than an end.

Although it was true that the sailors would not reach their destination alive. Eric would be ravenous after the change. Compulsion would keep the survivors from noticing their missing comrades, and by the time they sailed into port there would be no one left to notice. She had paid extra for a captain who ran with more than the bare minimum of crewmembers for just that reason.

In their cabin, Eric reached behind her and took her by the waist, and she forgot one kind of hunger for another. She began to turn around, but he held her where she was, kissing her neck lightly at first so that she shivered. Then his mouth grew more ardent, and he deftly untied the long line of bows that ran down the back of her dress.

Impatient with even his quick work, she tore the last of them to simply remove the thing, then did the same with his starched white shirt. The rest of their clothes followed onto the floor, and Eric lifted her by the hips and threw her gently onto the bed. The ship rolled a bit as he moved to follow, and she laughed as he overbalanced and fell on top of her.

He smiled, with a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes, but he did not laugh. Instead he took full advantage of his position to taste every inch of her skin, drinking her in as if he were already a vampire tasting his first blood. His mouth explored her collarbone, then moved across her breasts and her belly, working lower while she sighed in pleasure. He did not linger long, although she wished he would....He continued to explore along her thighs and even her ankles, appreciating each new landscape of her body in turn.

Then he rose again, attending to her pleasure in such thorough detail that she thought the sailors on the deck must hear her cries. And when he finally entered her, it was with the desperate need of a man who knew it was the last thing he would do in his life. She welcomed him and moved with him, swaying with the roll of the boat and rising up against it until they were both entirely spent.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

KLAUS WAS GLAD of Elijah’s ridiculous pursuit of safety as he spurred their horse onward. Vivianne clung tightly to his waist, and together they struggled to keep their seat on the agitated animal. Klaus could not hear the sounds of the chase yet, but it was only a matter of time. Not even Elijah’s diplomacy could hold off the wolves for long.

The house rose up before them, and their skittish horse shied away. Klaus jumped to the ground, pulled Viv down after him, and slapped the beast on its rump. It cantered away gratefully toward the forest, eager to leave its supernatural charges far behind.

Inside, Vivianne scanned the door to bolt it shut, but Klaus took her arm and led her to a chair. “No one can get in besides the two of us and Elijah,” he reminded her, then added, “and our sister as well, but she is no longer in the city.” He wondered if there was a way to exclude someone from the house after they had once been allowed in. If Rebekah no longer wanted to call this her home, then she should not be able to simply walk in unannounced. Perhaps Vivianne knew some tricks—it was handy having a witch around who actually liked him.

He could hear shouting outside, still a long way off but moving closer. Rebekah had nailed the curtains down over the missing windows, and Klaus tugged apart the ones by the door. He couldn’t see any werewolves yet, or witches for that matter. But some ugly-looking clouds were rolling in fast, blotting out the stars, and Klaus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he saw them.

They were moving too fast. The night had been dry and peaceful, with nothing but a light, warm breeze to stir it. The clouds did not belong, and they seemed to be coming for him just as quickly as the werewolves’ cries were. It might well be him and Viv against the entire world at this rate. “Let them come,” he whispered aloud, and Vivianne startled to attention at the sound of his voice.

“They will,” she warned him hollowly. “They are.”

He turned swiftly and kissed her, unable to tolerate the empty sound of her voice. He would do anything to keep her safe and with him, but she needed to stay with him. She could not succumb to fear or doubt. He would not allow it. She was slow to respond to his kiss, but after a few moments her lips parted and he could taste some of her usual fire returning.

By the time he gently disengaged, the first torches were visible among the trees. Soon there were dozens of people outside, and the shouting was near enough that he could distinguish a few words here and there. Traitor featured heavily, along with monster and vengeance. It would seem that the time for negotiation had passed, although even Elijah would see that coexistence had never been a real possibility.

Werewolves had been hunting their family since they were human, and Mikael’s furious rampage had made the blood equally bitter on both sides. Mikael had started this war over his wife’s betrayal, Klaus remembered with a sneer, not from any noble intention. Even after the werewolves had killed one of his sons—one of his real sons—he hadn’t dreamed of attacking them. It wasn’t until he learned that Esther had strayed that he’d finally gotten murderously angry.

Perhaps Armand felt the same betrayal now as Mikael had so long ago, Klaus realized, and the possibility tied a grim little knot of satisfaction in his chest. A point to the Mikaelsons, even after all these years. Because no matter how angry the werewolves were, they could not exact the same kind of revenge that Klaus’s stepfather once had. Killing one Original vampire had proven to be too much for the entire pack. Killing two would be impossible, and the attempt would cost them dearly.

They were surrounding the house but looked more cautious now. They couldn’t know about the protection spell, but they had to know that rushing the home of a vampire was unwise. They milled about, the light from their torches gleaming oddly off their formal gowns and coats. Most of the fine fabric showed some staining and tears, and Klaus noticed more than a few injuries among the throng. It would seem that the witches had held their own, at least for a while. Until the werewolves had remembered that their real enemy had already left the party.

Solomon Navarro prowled around the perimeter, looking more animal than man under the moon. He must know the house was defended, but he was reluctant to attack without knowing exactly how. Klaus could only imagine Sol’s outrage at the irony; a witch could have told him everything about the protection spell—if it had any vulnerability, if there were a way to attack it without losing half of his wolves to some invisible trap. But that very night Sol had lost the goodwill of the witches.

Still, Klaus did not like his position in this fight any better than Sol seemed to be enjoying his own. There were enough wolves to set an extended siege around the house, and eventually Klaus would get hungry. And of course they would do whatever they could to chip away at the protection spell while they waited. Most important of all, Vivianne could be killed. Klaus would do whatever was necessary to protect her, but the werewolves would know that, and he was sure they would try to use it to their advantage.

The first werewolf stepped onto their land, and a wail seemed to emanate from the barrier itself. It was an eerie and unnatural warning, and Klaus was relieved when it stopped.

“They cannot come inside,” he reminded Vivianne, who went deathly pale at the sound.

“They will not need to,” she said, and he knew that her thoughts had run parallel to his own. “They will starve us out or smoke us out. All they have to do is wait, if they even have to wait that long. Spells can be broken.”

For a moment, he wondered ruefully if he had really needed to fall in love with such an intelligent woman, but there was nothing to be done about that now. She was right: They needed a plan. Something better than just sitting in the dark room and waiting for something worse to happen.

The werewolves had an army, which they most certainly did not. Rebekah had failed completely in that minor task before sailing off to wherever it was she had gone. But they were not, he remembered suddenly, unarmed. The house’s previous owner had traded in weaponry, and Klaus had seen evidence of that thriving business when he had found Elijah in the cellar. Perhaps they could thin the pack’s ranks without having to leave the safety of the house, which would improve their odds considerably.

“We need to inspect the cellar,” he announced, glad to have something to do. He did not like the way she sat so still; it made him uneasy. Thunder rolled in the distance, but not so far in the distance. “There are things we can use.”

He lifted the iron ring set into the floorboards, and an even blacker patch of darkness opened at their feet. Neither of them needed candles to see in the dark—Vivianne now had the sharpened eyesight of a wolf—but Klaus lit a taper anyway. Its light would be comforting to her.

Her silver dress gleamed gold in the light, but it could not warm the drawn whiteness of her face. “We should talk to them,” she suggested, barely more than a whisper. “If they understand that I won’t go back, that it has nothing to do with you...”

“They will have no further use for you,” he explained, prying the lid off a case of musket balls. The muskets they belonged to must be around somewhere, and he kept an eye out for a box that would be about the right size. “Viv, they have only wanted to use you all along. Convincing them would be no better than throwing your neck onto their claws.”

“I’m one of them,” she pointed out, sounding angry rather than scared now. “Even after my father died, Sol always told my mother—”

“Lies,” Klaus interrupted brutally. He hated to hurt her, but he needed to fuel that anger, to keep her ready to fight. Fear and numbness were every bit as dangerous as the wolves outside. “Being half one thing and half another makes you neither, not both. Sol lied to your mother because he wanted you to be a werewolf instead of a witch.”

He could hear the breath hiss in through Vivianne’s teeth; he had been harsher than he meant. “Cynicism is probably easy when you know you’ll live forever,” she snapped, and as absurd as it was to be lectured by a woman a fraction of his age, he was pleased to hear some life returning to her voice. “The rest of us have to live and die with each other, and so we cannot afford to simply slam doors the way you do.”

He had finally located a cache of muskets, ready to load and fire. But he set them aside and took her firmly by the shoulders. They felt so slight between his hands, and he was reminded of how fragile she was. “I admire your faith in people,” he conceded. “I suspect I have been the beneficiary of it. But if you want to remain alive, you will stay inside. If you bring up this idea of negotiation again, I will lock you down here until I’ve killed every single werewolf waiting outside to tear you to shreds.”

She stared defiantly at him for a moment before jerking her chin into a nod. “I understand.” It was not quite the same as agreement, but it would have to do for the moment. He could make good on his threat, although he would rather not have to fight a war on two fronts.

“Good.” He shifted his hands to draw her close, kissing each of her eyelids first and then her unresisting lips. “Because this unending life of mine is meaningless without you.”

She softened a little then, knowing that he truly meant it. She would never admit that he was right about the werewolves, of course. Her pride wouldn’t allow it, and maybe she really did believe that a peaceful solution could still be found. But he knew she could see how deeply he loved her. Perhaps she could even glimpse how terrifying it was for him to watch her walk through the world, vulnerable, like a child who had not yet learned to be afraid of the dark.

“I will be here with you,” she vowed, resting her forehead trustingly against his cheek. “I would never leave you, Klaus. I love you.”

In that moment, whatever waited for them outside, whatever they would have to get through next, would be worth it as long as they were together.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE WEREWOLVES POURED out of the banquet hall first, looking worse for the wear but with their rage still unquenched. Elijah waited for the last of them to leave, then crept inside. He was half sure he would find all of the witches dead, but he hoped against hope that some had survived.

There were more alive than he had expected, and he wondered what had lured the werewolves away. There was still more fighting to be done here if that’s what they wanted. But then he realized what might be waiting for them elsewhere, and he clenched his jaw in frustration.

Klaus would almost certainly need his help soon. He would have taken Vivianne to their house to regroup. Elijah would join them, but he would have to fight his way in through the wolves.

Elijah could see casualties scattered around the hall, but the witches didn’t look beaten. The ones who were left standing, in fact, looked downright warlike. A few of them chanted in the center of the long, candlelit room, and even as Elijah watched, more were gathering to join in.

He grabbed the arm of a short blonde witch as she made her way toward the circle, but she shook him off angrily and moved on. A few others passed Elijah without a glance, so focused on their spell that they didn’t care about the presence of a vampire. He could not understand the words they were chanting, but all of their energy and attention was devoted to this one spell, and he could feel their power building in the hall like static. Whatever they were doing, his instincts told him it was something bigger than simple revenge on the werewolves.

Thunder rolled in the distance, and several heads turned toward it. Elijah had not expected a storm that night, but it looked to him like the rest of the hall’s inhabitants knew it was coming.

He caught a tall young witch with a prominent Adam’s apple by his crisp, purple coat. The young man tried to shake free, just like the blonde girl, but Elijah was ready this time, and he held on tightly. “I don’t want trouble,” he explained, seeing the witch begin to whisper something under his breath. “There’s no need for that.”

The man hesitated, but the prospect of an angry vampire was enough to get him to agree with a nod.

“What are they doing?” Elijah demanded, jerking his head toward the growing circle of witches.

The young man glared at him with renewed hostility. “They are cleaning up your mess,” he said, and Elijah relaxed his grip on his collar just a little. “They are doing what needs to be done.”

“That’s vague,” Elijah growled warningly. “You can do better than that.”

“They’re cleansing the city,” the young man explained reluctantly. “We’ve had enough of you, the werewolves...all of it. The foundation of this place is rotten; there’s nothing that can be saved here. We’re going to raze New Orleans to the ground and start over.” Thunder pealed again, much closer this time, and the witch grinned morbidly. “Nothing will be left but the swamp.”

“The storm that’s coming,” Elijah realized. “That’s your work?”

“No ordinary storm,” the young man sneered, pulling free of Elijah’s unresisting hand. “What’s coming now is a hurricane like this city has never seen. And I’m going to help,” he added, straightening his coat and joining the chanting throng of witches.

Elijah didn’t know if Ysabelle’s protection spell would guard against a hurricane, but they had no better place to weather the storm. He turned and ran.

Outside, he could tell that the clouds were rolling in unnaturally fast. Elijah tried to outrace them, plunging between the trees at breakneck speed. But the first drops of rain struck his back just as he saw the werewolves around his house.

Elijah gritted his teeth, remembering his last fight with these same wolves and the seemingly endless pain that had followed. But their backs were turned to him now, giving him the advantage of surprise, and they were trapped in their human forms. He threw himself on the nearest werewolf, tearing his throat out before the body could hit the ground.

They turned and howled, rushing toward him in an indistinct, snarling mass of brandished torches and yellow eyes. Elijah was a blur, breaking limbs, snapping necks, and avoiding teeth and fire alike. They could not hope to kill him, but they could slow him down, and he couldn’t allow that.

Without the levelheaded influence of Vivianne, her mother, or her aunt, the witches would make good on their threat to level the city. If their house could not survive the hurricane, he wanted to stop the werewolves before they were completely vulnerable again.

He snapped and hacked his way toward the small porch, unable to guess how many werewolves he’d maimed or killed. He did register Louis’s broad shoulders and meaty lips at one point, and paused long enough to snap his burly neck with his bare hands. The Navarros had caused him more than enough trouble, and their clan should feel the price of that. Elijah had done his best for years to be understanding and accommodating, but if they could not appreciate his efforts they could start losing sons.

He noticed Armand near the back of the pack, shouting with the rest, but keeping a safe distance from the actual fighting. He would have his turn, but not now. Instead Elijah spun, his fist crashing into a redhead’s jaw and breaking a young woman’s silk-covered thigh with a vicious kick. She screamed and fell, and Elijah stepped over her writhing body and onto the porch.

Another howl went up when the werewolves realized they could not reach him anymore, and Elijah smirked. However long it lasted, Ysabelle’s spell was a work of art. Then an arm shot out from the front door and dragged him inside, and he found himself staring into his brother’s blazing eyes. Their blue-green fire, along with the jutting set of his jaw, showed that Klaus was livid. Elijah was supposed to be the one who was angry at Klaus, but his brother had a knack for rewriting history. Klaus always liked to see things his own way.

“About time,” Klaus complained, and Elijah inhaled and exhaled deeply to keep from hitting him. “We’re surrounded, and Viv had all these ideas about talking to them.”

“It could work,” Vivianne sniped sullenly from the living room, and both vampires turned incredulously toward her. Her silver gown made her look unearthly in the dark room, like the ghost of some long-forgotten queen. “They’re only here because of me in the first place,” she began, and Elijah decided he had already heard enough of that.

“They’re not,” he informed her tersely. “They’re here because Klaus killed a few dozen of them nine years ago. They’re here because our father killed dozens more a lot longer ago than that. They’re here because it’s in their blood to hate us, and because Armand was humiliated and Louis is dead. This is much bigger than you now, Mademoiselle, so you’ll help us fight or the three of us may well die tonight. But if not all three of us, then certainly you.”

Vivianne blanched and bit her bottom lip, but did not reply. Elijah could see that Klaus had not had the heart to spell things out quite so bluntly. It must be true love, which, bizarrely, made him feel better about the entire wretched misadventure. His brother was the only family he had left now, and their predicament might almost be worth it if Klaus had found a partner as worthy as Rebekah had.

The thought of Rebekah nagged at his mind for a moment—her ship had been leaving that night. The witches’ hurricane seemed to be coming in from the ocean, and Elijah hoped that she had made it to open water in time. But there was nothing he could do to help her now. She had chosen to strike out on her own, and she would have to handle hurricanes and worse without her family to back her up.

“There’s an arsenal in the cellar,” Klaus informed him brightly, his mood improved since Elijah had taken his side against Vivianne. “We can pick them off from inside the house for a while, although we’ll need a better plan while we do.”

“They won’t wait outside forever,” Elijah agreed. “And the house might not last the night, so that plan will have to come to us in a hurry.”

Vivianne’s head snapped up. “What do you mean about the house?” she demanded. “Klaus told me it was protected.”

“Against weapons and intruders,” Elijah reminded them both grimly. “I doubt the spell will hold against the weather, and your people, my lady—your other people—are raising that against us as we speak.”

A crash of thunder punctuated his words, and the other two flinched. “The weather?” Klaus said incredulously.

“The witches,” Vivianne understood. “They could do that.” Her black eyes searched Elijah’s face, and he could see her hope fading fast. “Are you sure?”

“I have it from the source,” he confirmed. “We must deal with the werewolves now, before the hurricane hits us.”

Klaus whistled appreciatively. “A hurricane,” he repeated, grudgingly impressed. Then his manner shifted, and Elijah knew he was preparing for the fight at hand. “I have some ideas, brother,” he said. “But you’d best not run off again to play politics.”

“Politics are done,” he assured his brother. “We have done what we could, but now we fall back on your skills rather than mine.”

Klaus grinned, and Elijah found himself grinning as well. “I knew you’d come around,” his little brother said, and Elijah cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder.

“An arsenal in the cellar, you say?” he asked, feeling confident despite the circumstances. They were on familiar ground now, and they had each other’s backs. “Show me.”