Page 5 of Cursed Lifeline (Eternal Love)

Four

Felix

Song: Slayer | Bryce Savage

"The peasants will not relent," Lord Martin insists as he sits authoritatively behind his mahogany desk. "They are tired of paying two-thirds of the tax. They are demanding the clergy and us nobles also pay the King."

"Which is why King Louis was right to reign terror on them," Lord Laurent asserts. Laurent's men are quick to mumble their agreement but are wise enough not to interrupt the argument brewing between the nobles. "The peasants make up eighty percent of the population of France, why should we..."

"You're right," Lord Martin harshly cuts in, "eighty percent. If they decide to continue their revolt, they stand a chance at winning this revolution."

"More than one hundred thousand have been arrested since September," Lord Laurent maintains. "Five thousand have been executed."

Lord Martin stands firm. "It's not enough, which is why we called in reinforcements."

The head of the house's eyes lift to find mine just as I raise my glass of Bordeaux to my lips. I buy myself time before responding and take a small sip. The wine is sweet, reminding me of the fragrance of Esmerelda's blood as it deliciously pumped through her veins when I held her close nearly an hour ago. The remembrance takes my breath away, and I close my eyes momentarily, savoring the taste of the wine as it slips over my tongue, slides down the back of my throat, and tempts my cold heart to think about things it shouldn't.

Visions of sinking my teeth into her mortal soul brings me more pleasure than it should. I drown in the thought before welcoming a stake to the heart from the corrupt way my damned soul dares to dream of tainting her pure spirit. That's odd. Debauchery and reservations overtaking my next kill never plagued me before. I'm forced back to reality as the liquor turns my stomach sour, leaves me ultimately unfulfilled, and does nothing to curb my craving.

Stepping out of the shadows, my eyes open just as Lord Laurent and his men turn and take note of myself and my brothers for the first time. Dimitri stands on my left. Talon on my right. Their worried expressions deepen as we step further into the room. But we came here to make allies, not to cause a bigger war than the one currently destroying France.

Lord Laurent and his men flinch back in fear when they take in our pale skin. The violet of our eyes. Our high cheekbones and bloodthirsty lips. A grin pulls at my hungry mouth from being able to inflict panic so easily. My mind wanders back to Esme. She should've been fearful of me, but she never cowered away from the monster occupying the space where my soul used to be. Her presence here tonight has stolen my focus. Attempting to get our visit back on track, I say, "Queen Drusilla is well aware of the growing concern in France."

Lord Laurent suddenly grows courageous and takes a heated step forward.

"You asked for help from the coven?" he shouts over his shoulder at Lord Martin. The growing rumble of my brother's growls behind me warns him to step down, but the Lord and his men take another challenging step in our direction and attempt to act braver than they should. Holding up my hand in warning, they stop their approach just as Lord Laurent shouts, "The King would never..."

"It's already agreed upon," Lord Martin cuts him off. My smile grows as Lord Laurent's eyes widen. "The Immortalis Coven was King Louis' idea. Either way, if the peasants win, or the coven takes over France and all fails, the King pays with his life."

That may be true, but Lord Martin and I know there is another reason why he's called us here tonight, including secrets held within the contents of a letter that's plagued him for a decade or more. Rumor has it, he houses a watcher from the Magister Council under his roof. Which proves detrimental to both of us seeing the council is an assembly of men who have sworn their lives to raise an army with the hope to defeat the terrors that haunt innocent mortals at night.

Word is they've recently chosen their next assassin they're intent on training against us.

For Lord Martin's plan to succeed, he needs to act now to bring about the change he desires for his country and to also ensure we will be around to help him as he unleashes a bloody massacre.

Though the coven is not fearful that we will meet our demise, we took the deal with the double-crossing Lord in exchange for help in building an army of our own.

"What about reason?" Lord Laurent shouts, glancing back at Lord Martin over his shoulder. "What about what we've previously discussed? Our agreed-upon arrangement was not to enable France to continue making the same mistakes."

"And their help will ensure that," Lord Martin scowls as my brothers and I remain silent and let the Lords work their issues out amongst themselves. "Like I said, the King pays with his life either way. Enlisting the coven's help ensures the monarchy falls, the catholic church crumbles, and reason returns to France."

"And what's to stop them from coming after us next," Lord Laurent insists. Annoyed, I set my glass of wine down on a nearby table and step further into the room. "What's to stop their kind from taking over? From coming for the nobles, our land, our money? The King and the church may fall, but what about the rest of us?"

Unbuttoning and pushing back the waist of my black wool coat, I slip my hands in my pockets and lower my head as I step forward and say, "There's a place for you in the coven if things don't go as planned."

Cocking my head to the side, I slightly raise my hooded gaze and give the fearful men a wicked grin. My sharp canines glisten in the flicker of candlelight as I hiss, "If you'd like, we can take your life now before you lose everything you hold so dear in your mortal one, Lord Laurent." His blubbery face shakes as terror overtakes him, and I continue to step closer. "After all, if you're changed while you still hold the position of nobleman, you'll be considered high-rank. You won't have to start out as an ordinary servant in the coven."

He turns and attempts to flee, but I mist to his side in fractions of the second it took for him to find the courage to run. His men flee to opposite corners of the room, to the shadows our kind are used to hiding in as my brothers step closer and flank my sides. Grabbing Lord Laurent by the arm, he starts to fight me, but his tired, decrepit body is no match for my immortal one. My brothers hover closer as I glance up and see Lord Martin looking rather bored sitting behind his desk. He knows as well as I do that this isn't a negotiation.

Pulling my free hand from my pocket, I raise the end of my pointer finger, which is sheathed in a metal point that acts as a knife, and run it along the Lord's neck. I prick his skin only slightly, but his aged flesh breaks too easily. Soon blood trickles down his neck, and pools in the dip of his clavicle.

Behind me, Talon releases a low, feral growl. I grin when the Lord's men scream in horror and begin to shuffle anxiously backward to hide nearby in shadows that'll never save them.

I dig the hook on my finger into the old man's skin, eliciting a panicked cry of pain.

"Only problem is, our kind would have little use of someone as old as you, Lord Laurent," I hiss.

With my hook still firmly placed in the flesh of his collarbone, he falls to his knees, and I tower over him.

"What's more, a young woman has no use for an old man like you."

His eyes widen as blood continues to gush out of his neck.

Leaning down to his level, I harshly grab the lapel of his dinner jacket and pull him close. Our eyes lock as I seethe, "Come after Esmerelda, and you're mine. If you touch a hair on her head, I'll take your life, and won't hesitate long enough to hear you cry out to God for mercy. Understand?"

Considering the wetness coating the front of Lord Laurent's pants, I'd say my message was received. He shakes his head yes, and I release him with a sharp push. His blood rushes out of the wound on his neck just as Talon attempts to bolt past us toward the Lord. I hold up a hand to stop him. Surprisingly, he manages to control his hunger and comes to an abrupt halt a foot away from where the nobleman is bleeding all over the carpet.

"King Louis would like your death dealers to start tonight," Lord Martin addresses me as I toss the Lord at my feet a handkerchief.

He holds it up to his wound and has the nerve to glare up at me from his delicate position on the floor as if he didn't learn his lesson. If so, it'll be very unfortunate for him when he realizes I don't have the patience to teach ignorant mortals twice.

I hold my breath so the smell of Lord Laurent's blood doesn't send me over the edge, just like it threatens to push Talon to a point of no return, and manage to ask, "Any rules?"

Lord Martin calmly states, "Not from the King. From me, only one."

A chilling silence falls on the room. It's a type of stillness before a storm that, if I were mortal, would send shivers down my spine. Instead, I turn my attention back to the head of the house, raise a questioning brow, and wait for him to continue.

He stands and grimly states, "Help us take back France. No matter the cost."

"And if king and country pay with their life?"

Lord Martin extends his hand towards me. "Then I'm counting on you to make sure the King and I see you in our next."

I look down at his hand and frown. He has no clue what he's asking. Moreover, I'd never give him, the King, or the Lord at my feet the luxury of making them immortal.

"We're wasting twilight," I scowl as I refuse his hand and turn back to my brothers. Grinning as I stalk past him towards the exit, I growl, "It's time we quenched our appetite."

Pushing through the large wooden doors of the Lord's office, I stalk off toward the exit and am immediately met by mirthful music from the party happening in the great room down the hall. My brothers meet my hurried strides as we make our way back towards the entryway to tell the death dealers, our militia, an agreement has been met.

They're free to feast until dawn.

"France is doomed no matter what anyone does," Dimitri insists. "There will be change, a revolution, the end of the monarchy. They're just too blind to see it."

"You know what they say," I sigh as we step into the foyer, and my eyes land on the jovial scene across the hall, "It's hard to help someone who won't help themself. Continuing to live blinded by the past only tangles you in webs you can't fight your way out of in your future."

Esme's eyes meet mine from the far side of the room. She unknowingly undresses me with a heated stare as our gazes lock with tranquil desperation and no intent of either of us looking away any time soon. Through the sea of partygoers, she raises her brow in challenge, and though I fight to find some sort of control, I can't seem to grab hold of the restraint I need to stop myself from reading her thoughts.

His soul calls to mine, and I desperately want to answer - her thoughts whisper as she studies me across the ballroom.

Why is that?

Oh, Esme, you'd be terrified to know the truth.

She's too young. Too Naive. Determined and fierce. A beautiful package that'll be my undoing if I'm not careful.

And yet, I can't deny since the moment I laid eyes on her, a secret I've yet to unravel makes me want to know more about her. It's not just the smell of her skin or the craving for her mortal life, but something - more.

"That's trouble," Talon grumbles as he realizes where my stare has fallen. "Drusilla..."

"Is not here," I cut him off as my angry gaze meets his condescending one. "Seeing as I'm next in line to the throne, it would be wise for you to hold your tongue before I silence it myself."

I don't wait for a response. Instead, my feet have a mind of their own as I stalk off towards the party in the ballroom. My eyes once again lock on Esme's. As if pushed by the winds of destiny, she smiles and graciously starts to walk towards me, too. The crowd parts for us as I focus everyone's mind on something else. On drinks they suddenly feel the urge to get. Conversations they can't wait to have. Urgencies to find a dark corner, a private balcony, anywhere that isn't here where Esme and I suddenly find ourselves standing toe to toe in the middle of the ballroom.

Her mind was the only one I didn't alter.

The knowledge she came to me on her own free will warms my heart when it shouldn't.

"I told you to stay away."

"I told you I like a challenge," she counters.

Grinning, I say, "You don't question your actions enough, mon cheri. I'm a challenge you might seek, but have you ever stopped to consider the risks?"

She studies me then takes a surprising step closer and rises on her tiptoes until her breath feathers against my lips.

"Life is risky."

My damned pulse quickens when it shouldn't.

"And death?" I ask abruptly.

Her eyes search mine as she whispers, "If you risk nothing, you risk everything. Including death."

My arm snakes quickly around her waist. I pull her close with a burning desperation that causes us both to catch our next breath. She lets out a gasp as darkness quickly cloaks us. Before she can respond to my brash need to feel her pressed up against me, a burst of glittering light illuminates the ballroom. Music floats around us on a heavenly breeze. Her eyelashes flutter as she studies the illusion I've pulled us into, and I begin to guide her body into a sensual waltz.

Purple and white wisteria hang majestically from the ceiling. Roses climb the pillars at our sides. They snake around them with ease as their smell threatens to deepen the spell we're both cast under.

Sparkling light dances around us, cascading us in a cover of enchanting magic. The room is now empty, except for the two of us. Pulling her closer, I drown in the blue of her eyes as the instruments play on their own accord while they stand cast under a spell on stage. Esme smiles. Her eyes hold mine captive. Carelessly, she wraps her arms around my waist and anchors herself to me.

If I was smart, I'd release her and step away. Now. Before I'm in too far over my head. But no man, mortal or otherwise, ever thinks right when he's suddenly holding the woman he desires more than anything in his arms.

Taking note of the desperate yearning hanging in her eyes and recognizing how it calls to the same longing inside me, I lean closer until my lips press gently against her ear and whisper, "I'm not worth the risk." Her body trembles. "Look around you. Just like what you see is an illusion, trust me when I tell you, what your body, your soul wants, is one as well."

But as the words leave my lips, and I continue to hold her close in my arms, she suddenly becomes a dream so tangible, I wish I could go back on what I just said and risk everything if it meant I stood a chance at keeping her.

Esme gently pushes back against my chest until her eyes meet mine.

I try to read her thoughts, but I'm too clouded by the feeling of her warm, soft body pressed up against mine, and it becomes an impossible feat. She looks down between us, to her hand resting on the left side of my chest and asks, "What if it's not my body that's doing the craving? What if the yearning, the hunger, the longing is coming from my heart?"

My chest aches from her touch as if it senses the final spike that'll inevitably take my life.

My eyes darken.

A sinister grin pulls at my lips.

"I don't have a heart."

My hands around her waist shake against my will and threaten to betray me and the lie I've just said. To my dismay, my hope, my horror, she doesn't back down. Instead, she pulls me closer, and I warn one more time, "At least not a heart you'd ever truly want. Only one that you'd be smart to stay away from."

She shakes her head, "You're wrong. So wrong. I..."

But her words trail off as my eyes lift and catch the gaze of someone who was not supposed to have access to this illusion. Someone that I wasn't expecting to see here tonight. Someone who suddenly changes everything.

Alfred Crowley.

When she spoke his name earlier tonight, she hadn't said his surname. Now, as I put the two and two together, death's fatal grip crushes any hope for her and me to have a future.

I step away from Esmerelda so quickly she almost trips and falls to the floor between us. A shocked huff leaves her lips as she rights herself and studies me with displeasure. My jaw ticks. My brow furrows as realization dawns. The Magister Council. The letter. The assassin that has been chosen to train against us.

My gaze falls back to Esme's just as anger simmers to life in her beautiful blue eyes.

Good. Let her temper grow.

If he's here watching over her that could only mean one thing.

Alfred regards me with a malicious glare that, if the blood in my veins weren't already ice cold, would send a jolt of fear through my chilled skin. But as it is, I shake my head and step further away from Esmerelda Martin.

The Slayer.

A resentful chuckle leaves my lips. My gaze falls to hers as a mutual hatred grows between us. "I was wrong, mon cheri. It is my heart you want." Taking a heated step forward but keeping my distance, Igrowl, "But trust me when I say I'll never let you have it."

Shooting past her before she can stop me, the illusion breaks, the party returns and chaos ensues. Alfred watches me with a vigilant eye as I stalk past. He nods in a friendly greeting, but nothing is cordial about the matter between us.

He hasn't started training her yet. Not fully. That's evident. But that doesn't mean he won't. And when he does, she'll forget how she felt towards me. She'll want me dead. The coven dead.

No matter how drawn to her I am, it's imperative I keep my distance.

Knowing so, I tell myself to stay away as I stride off to find my brothers. Though, truth be told, I'm not sure how long I can tell my heart to do the same.