Buried Passion Read online

  Unbelievable? To think, one person in this world sustained your life with their blood. “Then why can I drink from multiple people?”

  “You haven’t found your moitié yet. When you do, you’ll know. No other blood will satisfy you…unless of course”—he tipped his chin at his brother—“you fall into the same path as Maurice. He became an addict before he discovered his moitié. By then it was too late. He may need her, but he’s an addict to blood in general.”

  She prayed that never happened.

  “Can you give your little vampire lesson someplace else,” Maurice snapped and sank to the floor in the corner. “I’d rather stare at the walls than share your company. Oh, and do me a favor, dear brother…” He swirled the last bit of blood in the vial. “Encourage Cynthia to crawl out of her depressed, little hole. Perhaps go out on night walks for some fresh air and exercise.”

  Tristan gave a humorous snicker. “And you say you don’t care.”

  Maurice sipped the last of the blood and cringed. “I’m not telling you for her benefit, but my own. In the last few weeks her blood has tasted so…” His face paled, pupils dilated. The air crackled with tension, and sent a chill down her spine.

  “So…what?” Tristan insisted.

  In a flash, Maurice stood against the glass. Panic set lines in the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Weak. Her blood is weak.”

  “Weak?”

  Maurice shook his head with frantic haste. “Check on her. Now!”

  Tristan’s features morphed from confusion to utter despair. “Come,” he told her, and rushed out the door.

  Before Rachel followed, she gave one last look at the frail vampire as he paced the cramped confinement.

  Brianna straightened when spotting a worried Tristan. “What’s wrong?”

  “Maurice thinks Cynthia might be in trouble.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “Me too,” Rachel threw in.

  Tristan placed his hands on their shoulders. The room around them faded. They resurfaced in a different part of the cave. The three of them stood in a long hallway before a set of arched double doors with a beautiful swirl design ironwork on the rich wood. Tristan banged on the door with frantic haste.

  “Cynthia, are you there?”

  He looked to her sister who trembled and threw her hands in the air. “Smash it down.”

  Tristan gestured with a wave to stand back, then kicked at the barricade. A loud crack reverberated through the hallway. The door broke off its hinges.

  Tristan and Brianna rushed inside the large, dark place as Rachel stood at the threshold and took in her surroundings.

  Something about the room differed from the rest of Désuet. The air inside the chamber chilled her skin. In the back stood a four-poster bed which looked neat and unslept in, enclosed by a red, velvet canopy. A black upholstered bench sat before a large mahogany dresser. The most noticeable attraction had to be the wooden chandelier with at least fifty lit candles.

  Brianna and Tristan searched every corner, then both stopped before a closed door. Without hesitation, Brianna opened it and stepped inside. “In here,” she called out.

  Rachel marched toward the room her sister and Tristan entered. Candles lit the large bathroom with modern fixtures.

  “Cynthia,” her sister cried, crouched in front of a frail woman. Frail was too light of a word. Slumped against the tiled frame of the bathtub, the woman was the epitome of death with her sunken cheeks and eyes shadowed with dark circles. Even in her state, her fall of raven hair, full lips and sharp cheekbones hinted at her beauty.

  Tristan’s face paled as he peered inside the tub. “Oh, Cynthia. What have you done?”

  Curiosity snagged her. Rachel stepped closer and glimpsed inside the bath. Empty glass vials filled the tub, the name Maurice labelled on the side with printed dates from weeks ago. Brown and red stained the rim of the drain, evidence of the dumped liquid.

  Tristan had explained how Cynthia and Maurice exchange blood to survive, but if empty vials lay piled here, this meant Cynthia…starved herself. Why do such a thing? Rachel experienced first hand the torment of hunger, how the need to feed compelled one’s instincts. How could this woman refuse the essence giving her life?

  “You need to feed,” Brianna pleaded.

  Cynthia squinted, her mouth drawn downward. “No. I will not,” she blubbered, her voice low and scratchy.

  “You’ll die if you don’t.”

  A single tear slid down Cynthia’s cheek as she stared at Brianna, her thin body trembled from either weakness or emotion. “For two hundred years I have loved a man, and for two hundred years he has hated me, rejected me, and used me. Tell me, what glorious life am I missing out on if I live? Besides, if I die, he will eventually die, and you can have your vengeance for your sister’s death.”

  Brianna shook her head. “My sister is not dead,” she said with a smile, then pointed at Rachel. “Do you see her? She’s alive.”

  Rachel stepped forward with a small grin, but never expected dizziness to attack. Blood drained from her face. She clutched her head and sank to the floor.

  “Rachel?” The worry in Brianna’s tone warned her something was off.

  Tristan was right beside her. “Are you all right?” His voice became a deep, faded echo, almost mechanical.

  She wanted to respond yes, but the answer would have been a lie. Instead, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as darkness engulfed her.

  Chapter 14

  A merciless sting behind Rachel’s closed lids matched the throbbing in her head. Pins and needles vibrated her limbs. What the hell happened? She stirred against the warm mattress beneath her.

  “Rachel?” Brianna’s worrisome tone sounded beside her.

  Rachel opened her eyes. Dark spots marred her vision, and she blinked away the interference. With a groan, she propped herself up, but her lethargic limbs along with a new wave of dizziness sent her crashing back down. “Where am I?”

  Her sister gasped. “Oh, thank God you’re awake. We didn’t know what happened. You fainted, so we brought you here to the clinic.”

  She met her sister’s teary gaze. Brianna still wore the dark gown, her blonde hair dishevelled as though she’d pulled at it. Gray, bloodshot eyes trembled in their sockets when peering at her. She gave her sister a weak smile, and a warm glow encompassed those gray eyes. Brianna tucked a strand of Rachel’s hair behind her ear. This was what family was all about, what she’d searched for from the moment she awoke in the grave. Rachel opened her arms. Brianna didn’t hesitate and dove in for a hug.

  A neat hospital bed sat unused by her side. She glanced in the opposite direction. Her breath hitched. An unconscious Cynthia lay on a mattress with a gray sheet tucked under her arms.

  “Is Cynthia okay…?”

  Brianna eased out of the embrace, her focus on the unconscious vampire. “The medic is looking after her, but I haven’t heard news on her condition. On either of you. He should be back soon, so hopefully he can tell us what happened to you.”

  “I hope so.”

  Brianna reached under her seat and retrieved a laptop. “Look, I have something to show you.”

  Rachel eased back against the cushions as her sister opened a video file.

  “Lucas came across our home videos when he settled our house. He converted it to a digital format and emailed it to me a few months ago.”

  She hit play and the screen lit with male laughter. Rachel knew that sound. “Dad?” she whispered. Her father gave a tour of the house. A staircase was decked with garland and baubles. In the living room stood a grandiose tree lit with twinkle lights and adorned with ornaments and tinsel. She and Brianna sat by the tree, huge smiles on their faces as their mother passed them presents to unwrap. Her mother looked so beautiful, biting her lip, and watching her girls tear into their gifts.

  Rachel giggled. “We look so young.”

  “We were. It was our first Christmas together as a family.”


  In the video, Rachel jumped up and hugged Brianna, then waved into the camera and shouted how her new sister was the best present she’d received this year. The excitement and happiness reached out from the screen, touching her emotions. She’d loved her sister, her parents. She’d been a happy child, raised in a good home.

  “This is wonderful.” Rachel leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder.

  Brianna wrapped an arm around her. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Me too.” She let out a sigh. “How did they die?”

  Brianna tensed and grew silent. “Car accident. We were out at dinner with Amber and were called to the hospital, but it was too late,” her voice faulted.

  Rachel’s heart clenched at the image Brianna’s words evoked. Even without the memory, it still hurt. If only things had been different. If only their parents had survived.

  Mumbled voices echoed in the distance. Rachel focused. Superhuman hearing was so convenient.

  “Then we visit the Primes.”

  Tristan? He spoke fast, his voice strained.

  “If only it were that easy,” the soft, soothe undertones of the second voice sounded like Lord Sylvestre.

  “But, if we don’t have her transformation completed by a witch…well, that means—”

  “Yes, Rachel will die.”

  No. She gasped, her body stilled like ice. This cannot be. Her hands curled into fists as she mentally willed for a different outcome.

  Brianna leaned back when Rachel stiffened. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  Tristan and Lord Sylvestre entered the room. Rachel met their gaze. Lord Sylvestre frowned, and Tristan swallowed.

  “Rachel, answer me.”

  “What’s going on?” Tristan asked as he approached her bedside.

  Rachel stared at him whilst shaking her head. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me, I heard wrong.”

  His nostrils flared as his gaze averted to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  Brianna blinked at the two of them. “Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?”

  Lord Sylvestre cleared his throat. “One of the elders examined Rachel earlier, and from what they’ve gathered—”

  “I’m dying.” No point denying what she’d overheard. “That’s what you said.”

  “It seems your body is rejecting the change.” Lord Sylvestre kept his voice even and gentle, but it failed to calm her erratic pulse.

  Tears ran down Brianna’s face as she listened to the leader. “No,” she croaked.

  “Without a blessing from a witch, your transformation is incomplete.”

  Incomplete. The word stung. Ever since Rachel awoke in the grave, she’d felt strange, confused…but incomplete? The worst-case scenario would have been she was an addict. She honestly assumed that was what the medic would have discovered. Instead, she was dying…again. How many funerals did a woman had to have in one lifetime? She did not smile at her own joke. How could she when deep down, she didn’t want to die? She might be weak and hospitalised now, but death didn’t seem possible. “How long do I have?”

  “This isn’t over,” Brianna declared, swiping at her tears. “We can ask our cousin Lucas, or my Aunt—”

  “Brianna,” Tristan interrupted, his tone thick. “A transformation blessing hasn’t been done in centuries, not since the Primes forbade witches to conduct such spells. I doubt your family even know how to perform this spell. And we can’t afford to waste time searching for a coven who know how it’s conducted. The spell must be performed by the first original witches.”

  Brianna clutched Tristan’s arms. “Does that mean you’ll ask The Primes?”

  “Tristan wants to,” Lord Sylvestre threw in. “But I’ll tell you what I told him. The Primes won’t care about Rachel’s situation.” His jaw twitched. A bad memory had to be playing in his head for that twisted expression. “I confronted them after my own transformation. Half the village had turned vampire, and the other half, werewolves. We wanted to be alike, but they refused to rectify the spell.”

  “That’s how the feud started between each species,” Tristan added with a curt nod.

  Brianna drew in a breath before she spoke. “But now we have a peace treaty…we can at least visit them and ask.”

  Lord Sylvestre shook his head. “Even with the treaty, The Primes don’t do anything for anyone without a price.”

  “We have money,” Brianna sputtered, clutching Rachel’s bedsheets.

  “Not money. They’d want something to benefit them.” A faraway look humbled his eyes.

  “What did they ask of you?” Rachel cringed. She had to stop speaking her mind.

  He smiled without humour. “I fell in love with one of them…Adele Marie LaChapelle, daughter of the great warlock, Armand LaChapelle the Second. He gave me a choice; give up consorting his daughter for my revenge. I chose revenge over love.”

  Brianna shook her head. “You once told me a witch hexed your hair, made it white…was that Adele?”

  “She was young.” He pinched a strand over his shoulder. “This was the result of her heartbreak. I don’t think she possessed the courage to do real damage.” Lord Sylvestre stroked his chin then released a loud sigh. “I’ll contact them, see what I can do. In the meantime, Rachel needs rest.”

  Brianna opened her mouth, ready to protest, but Rachel seized her sister’s hand. “I am a little tired.” Rachel didn’t release Brianna’s hand, she couldn’t. What about their girls’ nights on the couch, talking and laughing like sisters do? A lump in her throat threatened to choke her, but she swallowed the painful ball and let her sister go.

  Brianna leaned forward. “Okay, I’ll return later.” She planted a trembling kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way.”

  The whispered promise pierced her heart like a pair of wings and took flight. She never imagined she’d be so blessed to have a sister such as Brianna. Saying goodbye would be too painful. Rachel refused to think about it.

  Brianna’s gaze landed on Cynthia in the next bed. “How is she?”

  “Stable, but weak,” Lord Sylvestre said. “We gave her a blood transfusion of Maurice’s blood. She should feel refreshed when she awakens.”

  “Does Maurice know?” Rachel blurted out. Did he care that his moitié lay here, malnourished, close to death? Rachel’s chest ached at the sight of the beautiful vampire. Maurice had to have loved Cynthia in some way, right? If he held on to that love, then maybe he could be redeemed and have a second chance.

  “Not yet,” Tristan said over his shoulder. “I was about to pay him a visit. We’ll let you rest and return later.”

  Rachel clenched the sheets as they all headed for the exit. “Lord Sylvestre, will you wait a moment?”

  He stayed behind as her sister and Tristan left. “You never answered my question. How long do I have?”

  “According to the medic, a few weeks.”

  Rachel sank back against the pillows and stared at the rocky ceiling. The pins and needles that had attacked her limbs now wrapped around her soul. She was numb. Regrets flashed in her mind, of the way she’d treated people in the past, for the things she’d done to Ian, of the fact she wouldn’t be able to make up for any of it.

  A warm, soft hand encased hers, and she blinked.

  “I will try my hardest with The Primes.”

  When he left, she closed her eyes and exhaled. Did the world hate her so much it would snub her out a second time?

  A soft shuffle sounded beside her. She twisted to see Cynthia shoot upright. Her brown eyes widened at the IV Bag filled with blood. “No.” Yanking out the catheter inserted in her hand, she tossed the thin tube to the floor and jumped out of bed.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing? You need your rest.”

  Startled, the dark haired beauty glanced her way. Cynthia’s throat bobbed, and she licked her dry lips as she staggered to Rachel’s bedside. “So, it wasn’t a dream. You are Brianna’s sister.”

 
; “Yes, I am. And you’re Cynthia, Maurice’s moitié.”

  “Moitié.” She snorted a cynical laugh. “As if this bond means anything to me now. Maurice destroyed the last of my feelings.” A single tear slid down her cheek and hovered at her chin. “Which is why I must die.”

  Rachel leaned forward and placed a hand over Cynthia’s. “Don’t talk that way.”

  “Do you remember the monster who killed you? I don’t wish that fate on anyone. If I die, so will he. He’ll weaken without my blood, and the world will be a better place without Maurice Delacroix.”

  “He’s in the facility, unable to harm another being. I don’t see why you have to suffer, too. This is your chance at a new start, a new chapter in your life.”

  Cynthia gazed at Rachel then scoffed. “Start over? As if I have that privilege. I’ve disgraced my friends and family. I lied to keep Maurice from being caught.”

  “We all make mistakes. My past isn’t perfect. But I’m willing to move on, to try again. Don’t give up.”

  The woman trembled, her stark expression twisted her beautiful face.

  Rachel squeezed her in for a hug. “It’s okay, everything will be okay. You’ll see.”

  “Death seems easier,” Cynthia whispered with a sniffle.

  “The only one dying around here is me.”

  Cynthia leaned back, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m an Impure without a blessing. I can’t keep down the blood I consume, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m dead.”

  “You’re an Impure? I…I’ve never heard of a witch changing into a vampire.”

  “I guess I’m unique.”

  Cynthia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced away. “You and Brianna have been through so much…you can’t die. Not again.”

  “We’ll see what The Primes say.”

  “The original witches? Yes, they are very powerful. They must help. They have to.”

  “I hope they do.”

  Cynthia swayed and grabbed Rachel’s bed rail.

  “Whoa.” Rachel caught the woman by the arm. “You are in no condition to be on your feet. Get back in bed.”