Francesca waited in silence, one hand over her stomach to protect her unborn daughter, the other holding on to Brice, who was still under her mind control, unable to comprehend anything going on around him.
Lucian was a thousand times more powerful, more deadly, than the vampire she had just faced. She stood watching him with her dark eyes, her small teeth biting down on her lower lip, betraying her nervousness. He moved then, a flowing of grace and timeless beauty, a two-edged sword more destructive than anything she had ever known. Gabriel was right to hunt this monster. Nothing could stop him, nothing the humans had would slow him down if he should decide to give up the murderous game he played with his brother and turn to something even more vicious.
Francesca swallowed the tight knot of fear blocking her throat and lifted her chin defiantly. “I must thank you for coming to my aid, dark one.”
“To my brother’s aid,” he corrected softly, moving around her with a flowing grace. He seemed not to touch the ground, but to glide through the air itself. He moved so softly there was no sound, no disturbance in the air. Lucian’s black eyes moved over her face, and he seemed to see right into her soul. “My brother is the only one able to provide me with diversion. Life is tedious when one is so much more intelligent than all others.”
“Why have you come to his aid?” Francesca asked softly, puzzled that he did not appear as foul to her as the other vampires she had encountered over the centuries. Was he so good at illusion that even an ancient such as she could not recognize what was foul and wholly evil? His power was very disturbing to her.
The broad shoulders shrugged in a lazy ripple. “I do not allow others to interfere in our game. You are an anchor he weighs himself down with. A pawn I can use against him when I so desire. What is between my brother and me shall remain so always. Any who dares to interfere, hunter or vampire or woman, will die at my choosing.”
She tilted her chin. “What are you going to do with me?”
The perfect mouth slanted into a brief, humorless smile. “Call him to your aid. You would not want me to make you my slave. Call him.” His voice was pleasing and subtle, an insidious whisper of purity. He seemed not to move, yet he was so close she could smell his scent, clean, not foul. She could feel his power.
Francesca swallowed hard and took a step backward, shaking her head to be sure she wasn’t under compulsion. “Never. There is nothing you can do to make me betray him, not of my own free will. Gabriel is a great man and my lifemate. I willingly exchange my life for his.” She waited to be struck down. There was a silence, long and empty. She couldn’t hear him breathing, couldn’t hear his heart beating, if he had a heart.
Her long lashes fluttered as she regarded the master vampire standing so motionless, looking like the statue of an ancient god. It took a moment to realize there was no entrapment in his voice, just plain black magic. His voice simply made one want to comply with his every wish. “Why aren’t you forcing me to do your bidding?” she asked curiously, sweeping one hand nervously through her long blue-black hair.
“I do not need the aid of women in my battle.” She felt a whip of contempt in his words. “I find it rather astonishing that my brother has grown so weak he has allowed this mortal you guard to remain alive. What do you see in this mortal that you would prefer his company to that of one of your own people? He is self-seeking; his mind is filled with plans of revenge. His main purpose in life seems to be to get at my brother.” His black eyes were steady on her face. “But you know that, Francesca.”
She shivered, running her hands up and down her arms. She was suddenly cold. It was his voice again. The tone was exactly the same. Soft. Pure. Beautiful. Yet somehow she felt threatened now. And worse than being threatened, she felt the heavy weight of his rebuke. It shouldn’t have meant anything to her. He was the undead. Yet she felt as if she were a young girl censured by the Prince of their people. It hurt and it was humiliating. Francesca could not meet those empty black eyes. Instead she found herself looking down at the toes of her shoes. She wanted to make him understand, yet she didn’t understand her own feelings. How could she possibly explain them to someone who had no emotions at all?