Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14) Page 19

  “As I said, it’s a long story.”

  1796, Catalonia, Spain

  XAVIER PROSPERO Flores strode into his Sire’s drawing room, every aspect of his bearing conveying not only the confidence of a man born to wealth and nobility, but of a vampire even more powerful than his Sire, whom he was visiting. Power burned in his veins and had, ever since the night he’d been turned. He had the strength, the immortality of a vampire, but not just any vampire. Xavier had the strength to rule, to become a lord. A vampire lord, with the power of life and death over hundreds, even thousands of lesser vampires.

  He grinned at the Catalonian ladies he passed, seeing the admiration in their gazes, the lust that would scandalize their mothers and grandmothers had they been there to see it. He winked at the one or two he knew . . . intimately, but didn’t stop for any of them. His Sire had summoned him. And while he was no longer bound to respond, he chose to do so, out love and loyalty for this man who had given him the gift of life itself.

  He might partake later of the festivities—and the ladies—to be had this evening, but for now, his purpose was clear. His Sire required his service, and he had come for the man who’d given him a gift beyond measure. He’d been dying when he’d been turned, riddled with infection from a wound that had seemed minor, but had swept through his body leaving him on the very precipice of death. His parents, desperate to do anything that would save their son’s life, had requested the intervention of Lord Josep Alexandre, a powerful vampire who lived in Catalonia, and partook on occasion of invitations to court offered by royals and others who found him a pleasing companion. Josep had agreed, seeing in Xavier a permanent grasp on his family’s extensive wealth and holdings, since he was their only child. It hadn’t worked out that way for Josep, given Xavier’s strength, but he nonetheless felt both gratitude and loyalty to the vampire who’d saved his life.

  Catching sight of his Sire entering from the front of the room, Xavier caught the vampire lord’s eye and exchanged a quick telepathic acknowledgement. By the time he reached Josep’s side, the vampire lord had turned and was leading him to a small chamber behind the large drawing room, one that was used for a variety of private exchanges.

  “Sire,” Xavier said, taking Josep’s proffered hand and bending to kiss it. “How may I serve you?”

  The vampire lord smiled warmly. “You serve simply by existing, Xavier.”

  He dipped his head in a way that was meant to be humble, but didn’t quite meet that standard. Xavier was far too arrogant, far too sure of his power and skills, to be truly humble. But his Sire either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  “A drink?” Josep asked, as he served himself, pouring dark red liquid into a small crystal glass.

  “No, thank you, my lord.”

  “Sit, then. I want to discuss a matter with you. I need your advice.”

  “Any wisdom I may possess is yours.”

  Josep chuckled. “Your mother taught you well, Xavier. But modesty sits uneasily on your tongue.”

  Xavier had nothing to say to that, as it was the simple truth, and so he sat when Josep did, then waited.

  Josep took another full sip of the blooded wine before saying, “What do you know of the war we vampires fought against the magic wielders some centuries ago?”

  He tipped his head curiously, taken aback by the unexpected question. If he had the right of it, the war between vampires and sorcerers was more than mere centuries past. It had occurred in the previous millennium, maybe even the one before that, which as far as he knew, was well before his Sire had been born. “I know somewhat of it, my lord. It was brutal, with terrible losses on both sides. More so in the early months, when the magicians, lacking honor and courage both, rallied humans to seek out and kill vampires as they lay helpless in their daytime sleep.”

  “Just so,” Josep agreed. “You’re wondering if I was alive then.” His smile widened. “I was not, though there are others still alive—both vampires and sorcerers—who were. Not many anymore, but enough that a wise vampire needs to beware.”

  “Is there some new danger on the horizon, my lord?”

  “Not specifically. But let me not play with words. A sorcerer has arrived in my territory. He comes from France, and while I’ve no reason to believe his home is elsewhere, it would seem that he thinks to settle with us in Spain.”

  “Why?”

  Josep raised a single finger. “Exactly. Why? And what use can I make of him?”

  “Is he powerful enough to be useful?”

  “My spies tell me so.”

  Xavier considered the problem for a moment, his thoughts raising and rejecting possibilities in a whirlwind of calculation. “You wish to turn him,” he said in dawning realization.

  Josep threw back his head in a delighted laugh. “It is no wonder that you’re my favorite child. You understand my thoughts as well as I do myself.”

  “You honor me, Sire.”

  He waved away the comment. “It is no more than you deserve. Now, what do you think of my idea?”

  Xavier hesitated, thinking how best to convey his opinion. “If it is possible, it would seem an excellent strategy. It must be said that I’m unaware of any threat from those who currently use magic, and indeed it is my understanding that the number of sorcerers is dwindling, just as you said. But, while it is always best to anticipate your enemy’s moves, rather than react to them, I have heard from others that when a magic user, or sorcerer as the case may be, is made vampire, he loses any shred of magical ability.”

  “That is no more than superstition. No one has ever attempted to turn a sorcerer, certainly not in my lifetime, which is a fair number of centuries, nor can my scholars find any mention of it in their books and scrolls.”

  Xavier frowned. “Perhaps you’re right in this, but does the sorcerer believe the same? And if not, will he consent?”

  “That is why you must bring him to me, so that I may ask. I cannot go to him myself—it wouldn’t be seemly. But while you are powerful, you live far from this city and are less likely to be known by a sorcerer from France.”

  Xavier stood immediately, ready to undertake this rather simple mission. But Josep waved him back down.

  “Not this instant, Xavier. Enjoy the reception, and the many lovely guests. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin.”

  XAVIER HAD LITTLE trouble locating Sakal the next night. Unlike many, if not most, magic users, this sorcerer had set himself up in an elegant townhouse, which spoke to his success, if nothing else. Ignoring the line of petitioners, Xavier strode up the stairs and into the small foyer. Few argued his right to do so, and those who did were quickly silenced by the pewter gleam of his dark eyes. People knew what it meant when a vampire’s eyes possessed that eerie glow—power, and a lot of it.

  A servant appeared in front of him when he started down the hallway of the small, but well-appointed home. The man was human, but then why wouldn’t he be? Sakal was also human . . . for now.

  “My lord.” The servant spoke quietly, as if to avoid disturbing whoever was behind the door he’d just closed and now stood in front of. “I am unaware of your appointment.”

  “That’s because I didn’t make one.” Xavier smiled, fangs on full display. “But your master will see me now.”

  The servant froze, quivering like a terrified rabbit under the force of Xavier’s gaze. “Yes,” he whispered at last. “One moment, if you would.” He fumbled for the handle behind him, nearly falling inward when the door opened.

  Xavier was amused by the servant’s terrified reaction, and didn’t immediately shove into the room where Sakal was receiving petitioners. For money, of course. He had no doubt the sorcerer charged a handsome fee for his services. His amusement was not infinite, however. He decided to wait three minutes before entering the room with or without an invitation.
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  The door opened again as a well-fed merchant hurried out, face paling when he saw Xavier waiting. The man squeaked a greeting of some sort, or perhaps it was an apology. Xavier barely glanced his way, his attention already drawn to the tableau inside the room. Sakal—it could be no one else—sat on a gilt-backed chair dramatically placed between two tall candelabras, each bearing six fat, wax candles. The sorcerer’s robes were black velvet with glyphs embroidered in silver thread. Xavier glanced at the glyphs, but made no attempt to reason them out. Chances were they meant nothing and were simply there to impress the ignorant. But if not, then he wasn’t about to trap himself by foolishly reading the wrong thing and getting caught up in some spell.

  Sakal stood when Xavier entered, his outwardly calm expression betrayed by the wariness hiding behind his gaze. “I’m told you require an audience,” he said. “You’ve been quite insistent.”

  An audience, Xavier thought scornfully. The last thing he needed or wanted was an audience with a fucking sorcerer. If not for his loyalty to Josep, he’d have killed the human on the spot for daring such arrogance. But what he said was, “Lord Josep would speak to you. Come with me.”

  The sorcerer appeared taken aback at the brusque command, but recovered quickly. “And if I choose not to go with you, do you believe you can take me against my will?”

  Xavier regarded him with a cold stare. “Do you believe I cannot?”

  Sakal made a slight moue, as if the answer was uncertain, but said only, “I am intrigued. I will go.”

  Xavier snorted dismissively and gestured at the door, for Sakal to lead the way.

  “Surely if we are to be colleagues, we should trust each other,” the sorcerer observed.

  “You’ve much to learn of the world, if you believe that to be likely.”

  Sakal scowled at the ambiguous response, fussed pretentiously with his robe, but finally surrendered and marched out of the room, with Xavier a dark presence at his back.

  Xavier telepathed his Sire when he and Sakal arrived at Josep’s home. His telepathic reach was considerably greater than most, but he’d have been able to contact Josep regardless. The bond between Sire and child was very strong.

  The vampire lord was not waiting when Xavier hustled Sakal into his receiving room. He wasn’t some common line vamp, or even a powerful master. He was the fucking Lord of Spain and didn’t lower himself to wait in eager attendance upon a mere human, no matter that this particular human styled himself a sorcerer.

  Sakal searched the large room, plainly surprised to find it empty. He aimed a glance at Xavier that was part question and part arrogance. Xavier ignored him and simply took up position near the entrance to keep others out. Josep didn’t require his protection, although if Sakal became a threat, Xavier could kill the bastard in a heartbeat without taking a step closer.

  “Ori Sakal, I presume.”

  Sakal spun at the sound of Josep’s voice. He recovered quickly, but Xavier caught the moment of shock that he hadn’t sensed the vampire lord’s arrival.

  “Lord Josep Alexandre,” Sakal said smoothly, as if he hadn’t been summoned as one would a servant. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  Josep shot Xavier an amused glance, sharing his view of the sorcerer. Except for his magical skills, Xavier reminded himself. There was a reason Sakal stood in this room.

  “I have plans for you,” the vampire lord informed him.

  The sorcerer’s brow shot up in unconcealed surprise, but he held his tongue. Perhaps he wasn’t so ignorant, after all.

  “And I have a gift for you, as well,” Josep continued. “A great gift.”

  “Might I inquire as to the nature of this gift?”

  Josep laughed. “So cautious and courtly. You’ll do well amongst us.”

  Sakal stilled. “Amongst whom, my lord?”

  “Don’t be coy. You know who and what I am.”

  “Vampire,” the sorcerer whispered. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  “I’m going to make you one of us. A vampire sorcerer. You’ll be the first.”

  “And if I choose to refuse this . . . gift?”

  It was Josep’s turn to look surprised. “Why would you? You’re a sorcerer, and I’m offering to add the power of a vampire to the magic you already possess.”

  Sakal took a cautious step back from the vampire lord who’d drawn steadily closer as he spoke. “Lord Josep, I am greatly honored that you would consider such a thing, but you surely remember the war between our peoples, and the carnage that resulted. Vampires and sorcerers are both creatures of magic, that’s true. But the two magics are opposed to one another. The best outcome would be that I wake from”—he gestured in agitation, clearly uncertain as to precisely what action was necessary to make him a vampire—“the ceremony,” he said finally. “To find myself with no power at all.”

  Josep seemed amused. “If that is the best, what would then be worst?”

  “That the two powers would battle within me until the conflict caused such pressure that my body exploded into a fine paste of blood and entrails.”

  Xavier smirked. In his opinion, that was the least likely outcome, though Sakal couldn’t know it. The magic that turned a man into a vampire was more than powerful, it was possessive. It might do battle with the sorcerer’s magic, but it would win, and would then rebuild whatever parts of Sakal’s body had been damaged in the process. It could take months, or even years, he supposed. But eventually vampire magic would claim the body.

  “That scenario is highly unlikely, for reasons you cannot yet be trusted with.” Josep shrugged, as if either outcome was acceptable, to him anyway. “The best case, however, would be that you wake as a powerful vampire, with your sorcery intact. A sorcerer vampire. Something this world has never seen.”

  Sakal couldn’t hide the greedy gleam in his gaze. He was also unable to hide his thoughts from the two vampires, though he probably didn’t realize it. The fool magic user actually saw only two possibilities, one of which was his death. But the other . . . . He saw himself with a power equal to Josep’s. Saw his future as the ruler of Spain with greater power than any vampire or sorcerer in the world.

  He pretended to ponder Josep’s offer, not knowing that he would be turned before the night was over, whether he agreed or not. Josep wasn’t interested in Sakal’s future, only his own. If Sakal proved a useful tool, he would be kept. If not, he would be discarded, one way or the other.

  Xavier wanted to bare his fangs in a grin. If Josep decided the sorcerer needed to be killed, the task would fall to him. And he would most definitely enjoy it.

  “Very well.” Sakal somehow managed to imbue the simple words with an overload of pomposity. “I agree.”

  Josep’s lip curled in an amused smile, but he said nothing. He simply crooked a finger in Sakal’s direction, then turned and led them all through an open door into a small sitting chamber, with a richly brocaded lounge and plenty of shadows. Xavier secured the door behind them with his own magic, then stood guard over his Sire, just in case the sorcerer was stupid enough to attack during the ceremony.

  Sakal discarded his elaborate robe and loosened the neck of his tunic willingly enough, seeming intrigued more than anything else. At least, until Josep sank his fangs into his throat. Then the almighty sorcerer whimpered like a child, until he finally spared himself further humiliation and passed out.

  The blood exchange took some considerable time. It wasn’t a simple thing to drain a human’s blood until he stood on the knife’s edge of death, and then to replace that blood with the vampire lord’s own. But eventually it was complete, and Sakal was lying unconscious and limp on the elaborate lounge.

  “He’ll be moved to the cellar before sunrise.” Josep poured himself a glass of blood-dosed wine.

  “And then?”

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sp; “And then we’ll see how he wakes.” He spoked dismissively, uncaring of the outcome. “Go, Xavier. Enjoy your night. Only, return after sunset tomorrow. I’ll want you with me when he wakes.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “And thank you, Xavier.”

  “My honor, Sire.” Xavier managed a slight smile, but in his heart, he was worried. It wasn’t his to agree or not with whatever Josep chose to do, but he thought this evening had been unwise, and even foolishly arrogant. This “experiment” could go terribly wrong.

  XAVIER STOOD IN a dank basement room the next night, waiting for Sakal to wake to his first night as a vampire. The first night of a vampire’s life was disorienting for everyone, just as his own had been. When the sorcerer finally stirred, Xavier knew at once that Sakal was definitely now a vampire, but did he have any power? While the new vampire lay blinking in confusion, Xavier sent a narrow thread of his own power searching for the same in Sakal. But though he twined his probe through flesh and thought, he found no measurable power, beyond the small amount necessary to keep him alive. No vampire power. But what of his sorcery?

  “Is it done?” Sakal’s question was little more than a croak of sound.

  “Yes,” Xavier said evenly, not wanting to reveal what he’d learned.

  The sorcerer turned bleary eyes his way. “What is the outcome?”

  “That is for Lord Josep to determine.”

  Sakal sighed heavily, but managed to swing his legs over to sit on the side of the bed. At which point, he looked around in mingled confusion and disgust. “What is this place? It’s primitive. And cold as the grave.” His eyes widened. “Is that what this is? Am I in a grave?”

  Xavier laughed, despite himself. “That is a tale for children. You’re in the basement of Josep’s home. Vampires require darkness and safety during the day. This basement provides that.”