Blood Legacy: The House Of Alexander Part 26

The man stepped from the shadows, and Susan felt her heart miss a beat. The man was devilishly handsome with a gorgeous smile. He had beautiful, warm eyes and the knee-weakening charisma of all of Ryan's Kind.

He extended his hand.

"Dr. Ryerson, my name is Raphael."

"Like the turtle!" Jason yelled, running off.

"Or the painter," Raphael offered ruefully, his eyes on Susan.

Susan took his hand in hers. "Please call me Susan."

She held his hand for a moment, then blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry." She backed away nervously. "I guess I should find Jason."

"Let me help you," Raphael offered, and Susan felt an unfamiliar leap of joy at the prospect.

They exited the maze, and Jason again jumped out at them.

"Boo!" he yelled with more enthusiasm than success.

Raphael caught him, swinging him effortlessly up onto his shoulders. He smiled down at Susan, offering his arm.

Susan hesitated only the briefest moment, just enough to suggest some sort of decorum, then settled comfortably on his arm. They walked arm-in-arm across the courtyard.

Marilyn moved into the courtyard and began walking toward Edward, having already sensed his presence. Dr. Ryerson was in her path, and quite surprisingly, on the arm of one of her Kind, a handsome young black man. They were talking intimately, as if old friends.

As she neared, she had the subtlest sense of familiarity. The man was of her lineage.

Raphael looked up, amazed at the One coming toward him. The woman was ravishingly beautiful, with power beyond reason. Every step, every tilt of her hip, every flick of her eyelashes, every smoldering glance bespoke seduction. As she stalked by, she flicked that smoldering gaze Susan's way, amus.e.m.e.nt in her voice.

"Enjoy yourself, Dr. Ryerson."

The raven-haired woman did not alter her stride, and did not look back. Raphael glanced down at Susan, who had turned bright red.

For whatever reason, he felt like hugging her.

And so he did.

Ryan stood at the window, watching.

"You have chosen well."

Ryan knew Abigail was there, even before she had spoken.

"He seems an appropriate match."

Ryan looked down at her hands on the windowsill. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again.

"I should not have doubted you."

Abigail smiled.

"I told you," she said serenely, "I live to serve your father." She moved to Ryan's side, staring out the window. "As I live to serve you."

Ryan continued to look out the window, but was staring at nothing. Abigail extended her influence to the girl, sensing her mood. It was subdued, filled with a strange uncertainty. Ryan made no attempt to hide her mind from the matriarch.

Abigail found the girl's mood fascinating, because the girl was now more powerful than she had ever been, perhaps even more powerful than her father. Having recovered from her wounds and nearly defeated the virus in her system, Ryan had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of the world she had destroyed.

But as always, Ryan seemed oblivious to this fact.

Ryan felt Abigail's gentle, insistent probing, felt her influence settle on her like some great mantle, soothing and seductive. She closed her eyes, offering no resistance.

Abigail smiled. It was time.

"Come rest with me awhile, my dear," she said gently.

Ryan knew that it was not a request. And with the peculiar obedience that only Abigail inspired in her, she took the hand that the matriarch offered, allowing her to lead her from the room.

Abigail leaned against a pile of cushions, settling into the bed, smoothing her skirt. Ryan lay down beside her, her head upon the cushions and upon Abigail's lap.

Abigail stroked her hair, and Ryan closed her eyes at the sensation. She could feel Abigail's presence settle on her, its comforting warmth spreading throughout her extremities, ensnaring her, entangling her, binding her.

Ryan did not resist in any way, opening her eyes only when she felt Abigail's silent command. She looked up.

Abigail held the girl's gaze, then slowly pulled the neckline of her gown to the side, revealing the smooth, perfect skin below. Ryan eyes dropped to the hand's resting place, below the collarbone, just above the breast. She saw the blood that flowed through the vein, just beneath the cream-colored skin.

And she saw clearly, Abigail's control over her, saw that to take her blood was to subjugate herself in ways she little understood, perhaps forever. Ryan saw that not all dominance came by physical power, and realized that she was facing One who was master of that alternate domain.

Ryan no longer cared. She leaned forward, slicing the perfect skin, and felt the blood flow into her mouth.

For once, Abigail was unable to maintain her perfect poise. It seemed impossible that the hunger of another could bring her such pleasure. She held the girl in her arms, cradling her head, feeling the warmth of the girl's need spread throughout her body.

In the instant Abigail's blood touched her lips, Ryan grasped an astonishing fact: Abigail had concealed herself from all of them. She was startled at the enormous power residing in the woman she fed upon, sensing the immense force coiled inside Abigail like a colossal, primeval serpent. She tried to process this information, to comprehend the motive, to understand the implications. But it was too late.

The serpent was unwinding.

Ryan laid her head back on the cushion, a trace of blood on her lips. She gazed up at Abigail, whose eyes were filled with amus.e.m.e.nt, an enigmatic smile on her lips.

"It is time, little one."

Ryan could not resist her, could not withstand her gentle, indomitable, controlling seduction. She turned her head, laying her fevered cheek against the cool, silky softness, leaving the throbbing veins in her neck exposed.

Abigail lowered her head, and Ryan felt the coolness of her lips just before she felt the sting of her teeth. The ache did not subside, but rather swelled to keep pace with the accompanying pleasure. Ryan felt the blood drain from her system, felt the dangerous la.s.situde begin to steal over her, felt her limbs grow heavy, and conversely, her body grow unbearably light. She could not fight, did not want to fight, the languor that stole her will.

Abigail's pleasure was intense, the dark power she was consuming at times threatening to consume her. But she was in complete control, reveling in the sights and sensations the girl provided, forcing the girl gently but firmly into complete submission. She savored the culmination of her six hundred year seduction, enjoying it the more for its intricate, convoluted path. She pushed the girl's heart, demanding obedience from that organ as well, treating it with the same tender and torturous domination she did the girl.

Ryan was in the blood-red netherworld, unsurprised that she was there by herself. Abigail had deceived them all, disguising her immense power with her cool poise and demeanor, her matronly elegance, her aloof refinement. Ryan stood on the very edge of the blackness, looking into the void. She wondered what it would feel like when she fell into the darkness, and felt curiously detached at the prospect.

The world swayed, and she teetered on the edge. Her balance was such that it would take merely a push to pitch her headfirst into the void. She was not surprised when she felt that pressure at her back, nor when she felt her weight began to shift inexorably forward.

She was surprised, however, when that momentum was arrested, and her fall halted by a powerful grasp. She was pulled rearward into an all-encompa.s.sing embrace.

"I will not allow that, little one," came the seductive whisper in her ear.

Ryan gazed into the blackness, then closed her eyes. And as she had so many times in the physical world, she took Abigail's hand and pressed it to her chest.

Edward escorted Marilyn to Victor's side.

"Would you like to be alone, my lady?"

Marilyn shook her head. "No. I simply wanted to pay my respects."

Edward stared down at the p.r.o.ne man. "Dr. Ryerson believes that Ryan's blood will provide a cure for her father."

Marilyn did not look up. "That is not surprising. The girl has many gifts."

"As does the One who holds her now."

Marilyn glanced over at Edward sharply. "And what gift do you believe Abigail has?"

Edward did not lower his eyes, and although his words were circ.u.mspect, there was an underlying edge to them. "I believe she has a gift that no one else has."

"And what might that be?" Marilyn asked, sarcasm in her voice.

Edward still did not yield. "The ability to hide from Ryan."

Marilyn's eyes narrowed. This little man had more insight than she gave him credit for. She was intrigued by his speculation. "Go on."

Edward began his list. "Victor is 'indisposed.' Aeron is missing and possibly destroyed. Kusunoki and Ala have sworn allegiance to Ryan, and you yourself are loyal to my master."

Marilyn did not speak, waiting for him to continue.

"It seems that out of everyone in this protracted, tragic situation, Abigail has emerged unscathed."

Edward gazed at her with unblinking eyes.

"And now she has Ryan," Marilyn finished for him.

"Yes," Edward said, "Now she has Ryan."

Marilyn stared at the patrician gentleman. "It would be best for you to keep your thoughts to yourself on this matter," she said, her warning apparent.

Edward nodded politely, bowing as the dark-haired woman brushed by him. He noted that she had not disagreed with him.

Marilyn entered Abigail's chambers, noting that they were decorated in Abigail's ever-present white. In fact, this room was decorated overwhelmingly in white, with no color in it anywhere. The carpets were white, the drapes were white, the comforter was white. Even Abigail was dressed in white, leaning against white cushions, holding the girl, dressed in white, in her arms.

The only color in the entire room was a touch of red upon Abigail's decollete, and a trace of the same color upon Ryan's lips. Ryan slept like a child in Abigail's arms.

"I am surprised you do not feed her from your breast," Marilyn said scathingly.

Abigail merely smiled at the barb, stroking the girl's hair. "That is always a possibility, my dear."

Marilyn's eyes narrowed at the thought. Ryan shifted feverishly, and Abigail stroked her soothingly, calming her. She again turned her attention to the dark-haired woman in front of her. She continued casually.

"You see, Marilyn, that was your mistake, as was everyone else's."

Marilyn could not control her sarcasm. "And what might that be?"

Abigail again stroked the girl's hair, reveling in the dormant power present in the p.r.o.ne figure even now. Her words were calm, matter-of-fact.

"Ryan does not need friends, companions, or lovers," she said simply. "She does not need servants, or subjects, or acquaintances of any Kind." Abigail looked up a Marilyn. "She could have those without measure." She returned to stroking the girl. "There is only one thing that Ryan has lacked in her entire, eternal, immortal life."

"And what is that?" Marilyn asked, her sarcasm barely contained.

Abigail gazed at her, a gleam in her eye.

"A mother."

And Marilyn understood. Understood how great the orchestration, how complex the manipulation, how deep the hooks were that now pierced Ryan's skin. She now understood Abigail's game, from start to finish.

"And so now you will fill that role for her," Marilyn said, putting the final pieces together.

Abigail did not respond, the triumph in her eyes speaking for her.

Marilyn thought through all of the implications, thought about the man lying in the next room comatose, thought about the thousands who had died in this diversion, thought about the girl lying exhausted before her. She placed the final piece.

"And now you are Queen Mother," Marilyn said.

Abigail could have offered any number of responses, any number of excuses, any number of clarifications. She could have offered any number of explanations, objections, or elucidations. She could have agreed or disagreed, confirmed or denied.

Instead, she simply sat there, stroking the girl's feverish brow, gazing up at Marilyn with the unblinking gaze of their Kind.

And she smiled.

end.