BloodWish Read online

  Bloodwish

  Book four

  Tima Maria Lacoba

  BOOKS BY TIMA MARIA LACOBA

  Laura's Locket: A Dantonville Chronicle

  BloodGifted: Book 1 of the Dantonville Legacy

  BloodPledge: Book 2 of the Dantonville Legacy

  BloodVault: Book 3 of the Dantonville Legacy

  Editing by Dionne Lister

  Book Cover by JC Clarke [email protected]

  Formatting By Paradox Book Covers & Formatting

  License Notes

  This book is protected under the copyright laws. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional.

  CONTENTS

  BOOKS BY TIMA MARIA LACOBA

  License Notes

  About The Book

  Chapter 1 – Portrait

  Chapter 2 – Numb

  Chapter 3 - Housekeeping

  Chapter 4 – Return of the Lamia

  Chapter 5 – In Memoriam

  Chapter 6 – Not Done Yet

  Chapter 7 – Antigen

  Chapter 8 – Diaries

  Chapter 9 - Explosive Little Book

  Chapter 10 – Too Long Apart

  Chapter 11 - Behind the Pearl

  Chapter 12 - Nothing Stays Hidden

  Chapter 13 - Easy Solution

  Chapter 14 - In Dei Manus

  (In The Hands Of God)

  Chapter 15 - Deadly Encounter

  Chapter 16 - Venom

  Chapter 17 - Blood Trail

  Chapter 18 - Collateral Damage

  Chapter 19 - Nighthunter

  Chapter 20 - Kari’s Run

  Chapter 21 - I Do, I Do, I Do

  Chapter 22 - Pazuzim

  Chapter 23 - Drunvela

  Chapter 24 - Delaney’s Dilemma

  Chapter 25 - Not At My Hands

  Chapter 26 - Curse’s End

  Epilogue

  Glossary Of Characters, Places And Terms (With Some Extra Information About The Characters)

  AUTHOR BIO

  About The Book

  Escaping from a venomous gargoyle. Searching for a hidden diary. And running from a vengeful vampire hunter weren’t how Laura Dantonville expected to end her family curse.

  Alec and Laura’s story comes to an electrifying conclusion in this final instalment of The Dantonville Legacy Series.

  What do you do when the price of ending a curse means losing the one you love?

  As Laura and Alec await the birth of their child, the end of the curse seems in sight.

  To fulfil the prophecy, they must travel to Drunvela, in Scotland, the place where everything began and where it must end.

  But two deadly foes stand in their way.

  Each determined to exact their revenge and destroy every last descendant of the House of Dantonville.

  Chapter 1 – Portrait

  Zoe Peterson’s designer heels clicked on the parquetry flooring of her Surry Hills gallery as she prepared to lock up for the night. It had been a successful evening. She’d received several offers for one painting in particular. It was simply entitled, My Laura. The beautiful young woman in the painting had intrigued many.

  One man had stood staring at it for, what seemed like, hours. That was one reason she’d noticed him: he’d barely glanced at the rest of the exhibition. The second reason was the fact he was also tall and attractive in a dishevelled kind of way. His mussed brown hair set off his ice-blue eyes, and he hadn’t shaved in days, whether through laziness or an attempt to grow a beard, she couldn’t tell. Then he’d abruptly left, without making an offer.

  She shrugged, dismissed him from her thoughts, and continued to lock up. Zoe did a final patrol of the gallery before strolling past the other prize nominees to the portrait that had everyone talking.

  The unknown artist had been a popular choice for the coveted prize. For the first time in years, the entire committee had voted unanimously. All had agreed the technical skill and the detailed approach to the subject was unsurpassed.

  ‘Definitely should be entered in the Archibald Prize,’ one of them had said.

  She couldn’t agree more.

  Beneath the recessed floodlight, dark auburn hair, luminous porcelain complexion and unusual lavender eyes stared back at her. Who was she, this girl in the painting? The artist’s lover perhaps? She wouldn’t be surprised. If only they could find him, it would be the first thing she’d ask.

  She craned her neck to view his signature in the bottom right of the painting—John Phillip Reynold. Why hadn’t she heard of him before? Her secretary had scoured the Internet searching for any other works by him. He didn’t have a website like most other artists. Mystery man.

  David, her secretary and right-hand man, strode out from the office. ‘I officially give up. Our man doesn’t exist!’

  ‘Any response to the notice in the papers?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not even a flea bite.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! Nobody submits a portrait and then disappears.’ Frustration laced her voice as she turned and faced him.

  David crossed his arms. ‘This guy did. I went everywhere online that was legal, and some that weren’t. Even checked the hospitals in case the guy had an accident. And before you ask, I rang the morgue. They’ve got no one by that name.’

  She rubbed her temples. Artists! Why did they have to make life difficult? According to the contest rules, they couldn’t award the prize without the artist being present, and the official ceremony was only a few weeks away. Unless he showed up—and soon—first prize would go to the runner-up. Blasted shame.

  ‘Maybe it’s time we got the cops onto this.’

  The front doorbell rang. She sighed. ‘Doesn’t the Closed sign mean anything anymore?’

  ‘It’s that bloke again, the one who keeps coming in here and staring at the portrait.’ David nudged her.

  Sure enough, peering through the dark glass and holding up—what looked like an ID—stood the same tall, attractive man. ‘Open up. Police.’

  The guy was a cop? Zoe’s gaze panned to David.

  ‘Don’t look at me. I didn’t call him.’

  She hurried to the door, and cracked it open wide enough to examine his badge. ‘Anything the matter?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Matt Sommers. I need to ask you a few questions about one of your clients.’ Steely grey-blue eyes gazed back at her. He pocketed his ID, unfolded the newspaper that had been tucked under his arm and showed it to her. ‘The painter in your missing persons notice.’

  Zoe recognised the advert she and David had just been speaking about. They had posted the first one a few months ago, doing a repeat, and final ad only yesterday. Her stomach gave a nasty little lurch as she worked through the reasons for the detective being here. There could only be one conclusion. ‘The guy’s dead, right? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

  His lips thinned, and his gaze slid past her. David’s footsteps echoed on the polished floor as he joined her. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Somewhere we can talk?’

  Her thoughts were a muddle as she ushered the detective into her offic
e. Had his visits to the gallery been part of his investigation or something more? And probably more importantly, what to do with the painting if the artist really was dead? Then again, what could she or David tell the police? They’d never met the guy, only seen his photo, which he’d sent through with his application.

  ‘Tell me everything you know about him.’

  ‘Not much to tell. Never met him.’ She retrieved a folder from her desk and handed it to him. ‘All the paperwork’s in there. The painting was delivered via courier.’

  The detective’s head bent over the mass of papers, his lips pulled taut as he stared at the artist’s photo. She was sure he’d suppressed a sneer.

  ‘Mind if I take these with me?’

  ‘Go ahead. Everything’s stored on here anyway.’ She waved toward her laptop.

  He placed the papers back into the folder, tucked the newspaper in as well, closed it and stood. ‘Thanks. We’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘Something must’ve happened to him, right?’ David, ever ready for any juicy piece of gossip, smiled and leaned forward in his seat.

  The detective’s eyes steeled. ‘As I said, we’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘Wasn’t he a mine of information,’ David said as Zoe returned from seeing the detective out.

  ‘Something’s going on for sure.’ She pivoted on her heel and strode back out into the dark gallery to stand in front of the painting of Laura.

  ‘Now what? Keep it up or take it down?’ David had followed her out.

  Good question. There was nothing in the contest rules about withdrawing a deceased artist’s work. That is, if he was dead. But, what if the guy was just a crazy recluse?

  She stared into the unusual lavender eyes of the mysterious girl in the portrait and wondered if she knew.

  Chapter 2 – Numb

  ALEC

  I’d heard it said that the mantle passes from one generation to the next.

  And Luc’s was damned weighty.

  Princeps for nearly a century, yet only now did it sit heavily on my shoulders. It had all been Luc’s work—his machinations, his presence at my shoulder that ensured I had the respect of the Brethren.

  But he was no more. Lord Luc Lebrettan, the man who had been my maker, my mentor and my friend was dead, leaving me as sole leader of the Brethren.

  You wanted this, Munro—princeps without Luc’s interference. Well, now you have it.

  ... But not like this! Not like this!

  I stepped outside. Some of the staff were draping the sides of the chateau in black crepe. Blood tears smeared their faces. All wore black attire.

  Three pairs of eyes turned in my direction, as I reached the crypt.

  Blood, dirt and tears smeared Cal, Sam and Terens’s faces. I dug my nails into my palms and clenched my jaw as I met their stares. None of us would ever forget Luc, but to our satisfaction, we’d dealt with their killers. Luc and Judith had been avenged.

  I swallowed and glanced around the ruins. They’d cleared a lot—levelled the domes and filled in the massive cavity created by the explosions. Only a narrow opening remained. Some of the household staff helped, their green uniform jackets strewn on the ground. Using picks, shovels and some their bare hands, they brought down the remains of the chapel.

  Nothing of the bloodvault would remain. Thankfully, we’d managed to collect most of the Ingenii blood vials, but some had still been destroyed. It was an inestimable loss. How would we keep its destruction secret? Should the Brethren find out, how would they respond? Each of the prefects had been given a few weeks worth of blood vials as reward for their loyalty to the Principate. At the time, it had been a good move as it had ended the rebellion. But how would they feel once the vials ran out? Having tasted the daylight, would they demand more? I barely had enough left to cover the period of Laura’s pregnancy. How much did each of the men have? I had no idea.

  Cal spied me, dropped his shovel and brushed the dirt from his hair. ‘You okay?’

  I nodded. ‘You?’

  He shrugged and used his shirt to wipe away the dust and sweat from his chest. ‘It’ll take some getting used to. Good that Marcus is back.’

  Marcus Antonius Pulcher had been their original commander, nearly two thousand years ago. He’d passed command to his son, Luc, sometime after establishing the Brethren Principate.

  ‘You are now Lord D’Antonville.’ Cal’s eyes bore into mine.

  My throat dried. ‘I know. Huge shoes to fill.’ I looked around for Jake.

  With a flick of his head, he indicated the still-unfilled pit. ‘Marcus and Jake are down there. Went to get their bodies.’

  A pit of another kind opened in my stomach. I swallowed hard, again. Would there be anything left to retrieve? The flames and heat from the massive explosions would have reduced everything to ash.

  Cal must’ve read the expression on my face. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Doubt there’s anything left of them, but he had to go ... you know....’

  I nodded. Last chance to see his son, or at least his remains. That took guts.

  Marcus appeared, springing from the narrow gap amidst the rubble—face ashen, jaw tightly clenched. His gaze met mine. ‘Yours now. It belongs to the—’ his voice raspy with unshed tears ‘—master of D’Antonville.’

  Covered in black ash and grit, Luc’s green ward ring lay in his open palm. It was responsible for the psychic shield guarding the princep’s resident. For nearly two thousand years, it had been on Luc’s finger. I glanced at Marcus. He was the first Lord D’Antonville before passing it to his son. He had as much right to wear that ring as I had. ‘What about you?’

  He shook his head. ‘You’ve rightfully earned it. Take it.’

  Over his shoulder, Jake emerged from the pit, dusted himself off and came towards us. Red rimmed his eyes. ‘Luc explain how it works?’

  ‘It’s based on thought control. Imagine a shield around the estate as a door. See it opening and closing, allowing some to enter, some to leave.’ Luc had explained to me how the ward ring worked early in my transformation.

  Peeking above his shoulders, Terens’s crossed swords caught the glint of moonlight as he and Sam approached. The thud of their boots on the frosty ground was reduced to a faint echo by the blood roaring in my ears. I shook my head to clear it.

  I took a deep breath and slipped it on my finger. Unlike the serpent ring, there was no special warmth or tingling. Instead, as I looked into the night sky, the shimmering outline of the defensive shield appeared: a gossamer dome, through which I could see the stars, enveloping the estate in a protective bubble.

  It was staggering.

  My jaw dropped open. So this was what Luc had been able to see all these centuries! How would it look during the day? And this was what the now deceased Rebel prefect, Count Timur, saw around his fortress after stealing the ring from Luc. Much good it had done him. Acid burned in my stomach at the thought of the many lives he’d destroyed.

  ‘Do you still believe you can replicate whatever it is in the Ingenii’s blood that enables us to daywalk?’ Marcus’s voice jolted me from my musings. Bits of dirt and ash fell from him as he dusted himself down.

  His question took me by surprise. Only the day before, he’d expressly forbidden me to attempt anything of the sort, fearful it could adversely affect the curse. Although I couldn’t see how it could. ‘Why this sudden change?’

  His eyes held a dangerous glint as he shook specks of dust from his hair. ‘I have nothing left that wretched witch can take from me. Luc was all I had, and he’s gone.’ The enlarged blue vein in his left temple throbbed. ‘Deus! The curse is about to end, and he should’ve been here to see it! He did everything possible...’

  In the short time I’d known Marcus, I’d witnessed a man with deep passions held in check with almost superhuman control. His many centuries secluded in a monastery no doubt contributed to that. But now, that control appeared to be at breaking point—and who could blame him.

  ‘To prepare for thi
s time. There was nothing left for him to do. Luc made his choice, old friend,’ Jake said. He swiped Marcus’s black coat from the ground and held it out to him. Night frost clung to the leather surface.

  Their long years together, their shared suffering, had created a bond between them that transcended the normal military boundaries. Marcus had long ago ceased to be just his—or the others’—commander.

  ‘He wouldn’t have had to make such a choice if he’d been human. Or if Judith had been allowed to become Brethren.’ Marcus’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he threw on the coat and spun on his heel to face the ruined chapel. ‘That damned witch ensured my pain would go on and on. But no more!’ He unsheathed his sword and drove it into the ground, his other hand clutching the wooden crucifix at his chest. ‘I swear on my son’s remains that I will see this curse to its end, and then I will hunt down and destroy every last witch on this planet until not even a memory of them remains.’

  The household staff stopped shovelling rocks and turned to stare at Marcus. Silence descended. No crickets. No night birds. The Earth’s shadow passed across the surface of the moon staining it the colour of blood—a blood moon. It was only a lunar eclipse, yet a dreadful sense of foreboding chilled my bones. Was he serious? There could be hundreds, maybe thousands, of witches in the world, and only a few had true demonic powers.

  Did he want to get himself cursed again?

  Nor did I want to see a bloodbath with him slaughtering the innocent. I figured I had a little time to dissuade him from that course.

  ‘Let it go, Marcus. Jake’s right, Luc knew what he was doing. Revenge won’t bring him back.’

  A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw. ‘All those years doing penance, and for what? To see my son die on the eve of freedom? It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He and Judith were meant to live ... to hold their grandchild ...’ His voice broke and he turned his face from us.

  Jake gripped Marcus’s shoulder.