Hearts At Stake - By Alyxandra Harvey Page 0,70

I had to get to Solange. I reached the bier with only shallow scrapes and a bruise from the elbow of a clumsy Helios-Ra agent. I swatted at the ravens until they flew off, landing on nearby furniture and eyeing me malevolently. Solange was cold, so cold I snatched my fingers back. Her eyelids and fingertips were the same purple as her lips. She made strange wheezing sounds, as if she was trying to breathe but couldn’t. Her mouth opened and closed, like a baby bird starving for its first meal.

And I had nothing to give her.

Which wasn’t even our biggest problem.

“Natasha, darling, you always did know how to throw a proper party.”

The fighting stopped. It was as if someone pressed a cosmic pause button. Everyone turned to stare at the vampire now standing just inside the cave, surrounded by warriors in brown leather tunics. He was smirking, his pale face striking under long black hair. I’d have thought he’d used Hypnos with the way people were reacting. He walked slowly forward, as if he had all the time in the world. His guard kept pace.

“Montmartre,” Lady Natasha murmured, satisfied. “I knew you’d come.”

Leander Montmartre and his Host. Lady Natasha was the only one who was pleased with this new development. She actually shook Helena off to smooth her hair back into place. The mirrors reflected her smug, chilling smile.

“Yes, darling, but you’re looking a little haggard.” His gray eyes tracked Solange’s fitful breathing, her bruised-looking lips. “I’ve come for her, actually.”

The smile turned to a snarl. “No.”

“Of course.” He sniffed the air as if it were laced with perfume. “No one else will do, surely you know that.”

“She’s a child. You love me.”

“Love.” He flicked a surprisingly smooth manicured hand. I would have expected it to have long nails crusted with blood, that’s how menacing his aura was. “Don’t be banal.”

“You’ve let yourself be swayed by talk of prophecies and legacies. But I’ll change that, you’ll see. She’s nearly dead.”

“I’ll have her, Natasha,” he said coldly.

“You’ll die first,” she shot back. “Araksaka!”

At Natasha’s command her tattooed guard swarmed forward to attack. She threw a white thorn stake, fangs gleaming. Montmartre’s Host bared their own teeth and leaped into the fray. The snarling and growling made the hair on my arms stand up. Vampires turned to ash all around Montmartre, as if he was standing in a dusty field on a windy day.

“A moment, if you please,” he interrupted.

Again, the fighting stopped.

“There’s no need to thin our numbers this way,” he said pleasantly. “All I want is the girl.”

“Stay the hell away from my daughter.” Helena seethed. She flung her own stake, but one of the Hounds intercepted it before it could hit its mark.

“Your daughter needs me,” Montmartre told her. “So you’d best mind your manners when you speak to me.” He held up a chain with a glass vial encrusted with silver ivy leaves. “My Host were tracking in the woods and came across this most curious artifact.” Every single one of Solange’s brothers hissed. “I am assured this was once filled with Veronique’s blood, for Solange here. There are only a few drops left, but it should be enough. It rather looks as if she needs it.”

Solange was barely breathing, and she was so pale the blue of her veins made her look nearly violet.

She was dying.

Or about to turn into a Hel-Blar.

I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Hang on,” I whispered. “Please, please hang on.”

“I am prepared to let her have this,” Montmartre continued, swinging the chain. The Drakes watched it, as if he were a hypnotist. “But I am going to need something in return.”

“What is it you want?” Liam asked, standing close to Helena, his hand on her arm. She was straining not to explode.

“Why, I want the queen, of course.”

“I’m the queen,” Lady Natasha barked. Montmartre ignored her, which enraged her further. The whites of her eyes were slowly going red.

“You give me Solange, and I will give her life.”

“No way,” I croaked, though no one paid any attention to me.

Liam suddenly looked old, as if all of his years were hitting him at once. He nodded his head once.

“Dad, no!” Quinn advanced.

“She’ll die,” Liam said. “She doesn’t have any time left. We have no options.”

Montmartre gave a courtly bow and strode toward the bier, his Host at his side. Liam was jostled, trying to hold back his family.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

I felt sick. Montmartre leaned down and picked Solange’s unresponsive body up into