Dark Ages Clan Novel 12꞉ Ventrue by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub
Published: 2013-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jurgen slowly stood and looked around. Geidas, Jovirdas, and Rosamund were all present. Jurgen held the cup in his hand and tasted blood in his mouth; it had the same burning sensation as the blood of the Tzimisce woman he had killed. He looked at Rosamund’s eyes; they were the same lovely hazel-green as he remembered. He turned to Jovirdas, but the tysiatskii stood impassive, blue eyes steady. Geidas’s eyes were the same: dead leaves.

Have I lost, then? Jurgen looked down at the cup. It still contained some lingering vitae. He looked up at Geidas and felt the urge to drink the rest, to raise the cup and complete Geidas’s victory.

He heard nothing from outside. The entire world stood still. He searched with his senses, desperate for any sign that this was a trick, a constructed memory, another ploy. He found nothing.

He raised the cup, and then locked eyes with Geidas again and reached out, trying to read his thoughts, see his halo. He expected to feel the usual sickening sensation of violating another Cainite’s mind. He expected to see colors of victory, triumph in his halo. He expected to see plans for Gotzon’s death.

Instead, he saw only one word: “Drink. ”

Jurgen dropped the cup and smiled. He walked towards Geidas, grabbed the cup of his own blood from the table, and seized Geidas by the jaw. “Drink, ” he growled, forcing the Tzimisce’s mouth open. Geidas struggled, but had lost the support of his sire. Jovirdas, Rosamund, and the room faded away. Other scenes played themselves out around the two Cainites, much as they had in Visya’s mind, but Jurgen squeezed down on Geidas’s face, snapping his teeth and piercing his cheeks. “Drink, now. ”

He tipped the cup, and poured his vitae towards Geidas’s mouth. The kunigaikstis strained his lips, trying to force them shut, and then closed his eyes, trying to focus his way out of the memory. The colors around them began to solidify, changing into a clear night on a mountainside, Geidas together with.

“Enough, ” said Jurgen calmly. He released both the cup and the prince, but neither moved. Geidas stood, locked in the same position Jurgen had held him in, and the cup stayed in midair, a drop of blood suspended on its lip.

Jurgen was numb. He no longer felt the constant intrusion in his own mind, the emotions of the scene around him, the burning sensation on his tongue from Geidas’s trick—nothing. He felt cold, his mind slipping through this dream-world like an icicle through a child’s fist. He waved a hand, and the scene vanished. Geidas stood before him, naked and alone, hair hanging limply at his shoulders, hands covering his manhood like a boy caught pleasuring himself.

Jurgen raised his hand, and Geidas fell to his knees. The Tzimisce tried to resist, but Jurgen didn’t feel it. The prince had no strength, and could only watch as Jurgen cut open his wrist, and beckoned. Geidas surged forward, and his lips clamped down on the wound.

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