Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Kindred, Book 8.1) by Nicola Claire Read Free Book Online

Not yet tired.
    I take a step back from the door and wait this scene out. For now my kindred has the upper hand.
    "And what do you believe is your due?" Lucinda is asking.
    Petra smiles, it's cruel and calculating. I've seen it many times before. Lucinda pulls back, just fractionally. Not a show of fear, but one of disgust.
    "I was first born," Petra purrs. "I was Amicus' favourite. It is I who should be the Champion, not him."
    I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. What the hell has she ever done to ingratiate herself within the Iunctio?
    "You are a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, aren't you?" Lucinda says conversationally. The smile spreads my lips before I can stop it. "Well, whatever," she adds. "You can't just barge on in here and demand the vampires respect you. Are you planning on killing Michel?"
    My wife still does not understand.
    "Of course not," Petra simpers. "I plan on making him mine."
    I see the Light flare in the cell block, coating the vampyre behind the bars in a white glow. Petra is so far under the glaze she does not realise the Nosferatin before her has just become enraged.
    "You truly believe you can steal him from me?" my beautiful, fiery kindred demands.
    "Steal him? You are not suitable, and the pact will ensure he does what I suggest in this regard."
    I make a plaintive sound, Alain flicks concerned eyes at me. I do not divulge how close to being burned I actually am right now. My kindred has just given me the mental equivalent of a stake to the ribs in a Lucinda what-the-fuck? manner.
    "This pact," Lucinda says, and to hear her you would not know she is seething. "How exactly does it work?"
    "Blood is the Bond. Words are the Law. He has agreed to accept my support and guidance in all his political and private needs."
    A choked sound emits from Lucinda's lips. Equal to an inarticulate you've-gotta-be-fucking-kidding-me.
    "And you believe he can do better than me? And he is obligated through this blood pact, this accord, to follow your directives?"
    "Yes," Petra responds with enthusiasm, pleased her audience understands her goal.
    "Why on earth would Michel agree to that?" Lucinda asks, but the question is rhetorical. However under a glaze, Petra does not comprehend the nuance.
    "He had no choice."
    My eyes close briefly at the reminder. I do not want Lucinda to know. Not because I am ashamed as such, but because she will feel my pain with me. She always does.
    Don't do this. I send the thought into her head. Open the door and we will deal with Petra.
    Did you think I would let you face this alone, Michel? she queries. When it obviously hurts you so.
    My hand reaches up and presses palm flat against the cool metal door. My kindred is on the other side, delving into my ancient past, because she wants to protect me.
    I don't know what to say to make this go away, to stop history invading the peace of my present life. We've been through so much, and yet there always seems to be more to contend with. And now we have the children to think of.
    Trust me , Lucinda says quietly in my mind. Let me do this one thing for you.
    For a moment I freeze, already conscious of where Lucinda is taking this, and momentarily stunned immobile by the consequences this could bring.
    "Why did he have no choice?" Lucinda is asking, her voice soft and lyrical, trying to avoid causing me more pain. But the words bring my mind back to the present, and conversely hurtle it into the past as well.
    Petra pauses, fighting the glaze. Aware that what she is about to divulge is detrimental to her argument. The argument that she would make a better mate than Lucinda.
    I feel Lucinda tiring, increasing the force of the glaze, drawing on the Bond for more power, Light blazing in the cell room, coating the silver in bright diamanté sparkles. My Sanguis Vitam surges, in an effort to offer her more, but the cell block is surrounded in silver, making vampyre talents null and void.
    My fist pounds on the door, a thick, dull metallic