Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(110)

"Briefly. He's as well as can be expected. The Houses are convening next month to elect the new member to replace Enhard." His eyes clouded.

"I'm so sorry, Christian," she said.

"It's okay. Time heals everything, and that's one thing I have plenty of." Victoria wished she could erase the sadness etched in his face. She smiled brightly.

"Speaking of Enhard, did you know that he could fly?"

Christian looked at her, knowing she was trying to make him to remember the good things, the happy things, about Enhard. "Yes. He was over eight hundred years old. At that age, vampires can fly or shape-shift. There are very few left as old as he was."

"He told me about Valerius and Brigid," Victoria said quietly. "He said Valerius was his mentor. He must have hated her so much when she killed Valerius—almost as much as he hated me."

"He didn't hate—"

Victoria interrupted him. "Not at the end when he helped me. It was only his love for you that made him trust me. But I know that he was afraid of me, of what I am." She hesitated. "He was afraid that I would kill you, too."

Christian marveled at her perspicacity. As strong as she was, he knew the possibility was there that the blood could eventually control her and it scared the hell out of him too. It was a heavy curse, Le Sang Noir, or as she called it the Cruentus Curse, which she had explained to Christian meant bloodthirsty in their old language. It was an apt name. Bloodthirsty.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Victoria said.

"I was thinking about you, and about the blood," he said. He could feel her body tense but then immediately relax. "It would protect you at all costs, right?"

"Yes, probably," she said. "What are you worried about?"

"Me." Victoria sighed and looked up at his handsome somber face. "And ... you," he admitted.

"Christian, we've been through this before," she said. He quelled her words by placing his finger against her lips.

"I know that, but sometimes fear is healthy. It's what keeps us alert and not seduced by a false sense of security because of who we are, especially because of who we are." He smiled sadly. "I don't want to lose you, Victoria ..."

"You won't."

"Will you do me one favor?" he asked. When she agreed, he continued. "Will you put a protection charm on yourself when we are together?"

Victoria said nothing and bit her lip as she nodded once. Truth was she always had a shield spell in place whenever they were together, not because she feared him but because she didn't want to hurt him. Enhard had had a right to worry; she was every bit as dangerous as Brigid had been.

She sighed as Christian stroked her hair, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and closed her eyes, falling victim to the safety of his embrace as she always did.

Christian kissed her temple and felt her pulse immediately jump with life beneath his lips. Like a beacon, her blood soared, cognizant of its own seductive power and predatorily recognizing his weakness against it. He could hear it calling sensually to him with the tone of a forbidden lover and he sighed as he felt the tightening of his upper jaw. He'd fed earlier, but still it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

He stood and stepped away putting several feet of distance between them, and stared out the window at the moonless night. Her scent curled around him. He sighed. Without any noise, he opened the French doors and stepped out onto patio, welcoming the cool air against his face.

Victoria heard him leave. She had reawakened the minute her treacherous blood started its tormenting song. Her heart wrenched at its duplicity. She closed her eyes, refusing to consider the possibility that he'd be better off without her, and without her blood tempting him every infernal second. Christian was right, they did have every reason to be afraid, but as long as they had each other and fought to protect what they had, then their love had to mean something.

Didn't it?

She leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, her fists clenched at her sides. After some time, she heard the sound of a violin in the next room, passionate and violent. Christian played to assuage something he too fought to express, his music giving voice to everything unsaid between them. Its cadence was harsh, the melody fraught with notes that sung of pain, and anger, and loss.

From Bach to Vivaldi, Victoria could feel him playing the runs faster and faster, whipping his bow at an impossible speed as if trying to exorcise something inside of him, the storm building and building and building, scale after scale, until it came to an exhausted, crashing halt.

Expelling a shaky breath, Victoria felt his spirit ease then as his strokes on the violin gentled into a more tender Adagio, soaring to something unbearably, poignantly sweet. It was music that only love could make, its language hauntingly beautiful, and one Victoria recognized—one that her mother had played to her father often.

It was a message ... a promise ... a love letter.

Christian was playing for her, weaving a spell she'd almost forgotten, one of beauty, and love, and unconditional hope. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as her throat constricted, the sounds of his raw emotions owning her completely, as she knew hers owned him, and telling her what no words could.

I will love you forever.

A few moments later, Christian returned to the room, closing the doors behind him. She felt the weight of the sofa shift as he sat down beside her, his smooth hand finding hers and gripping it like a lifeline. It was warm to the touch. Strong. He would be strong enough for both of them.