was too much.” Lenobia stopped and put her face in her hands as her heart knew the truth, and pumped it through her body and soul, becoming reality. “I am a coward. If Travis is not Martin I do not want to open myself to him—to take a chance on loving another human. And if he is Martin returned to me, I cannot bear the inevitable, that I will lose him again.”
Lenobia sat heavily in the old rocking chair she’d placed beside her bedroom window. She liked to read there, and if she couldn’t sleep her window faced east so she could watch the rising of the sun and look out at the grounds beside the stables. Though Lenobia appreciated the irony, she couldn’t help but enjoy the morning light. Vampyre or not, at her core she would eternally be a girl who loved mornings and horses and a tall, cappuccino skinned human who had died long ago when he had been far too young.
Her shoulders slumped. She hadn’t thought of Martin so often in decades. His renewed memory was a double-edged sword—on one side she loved recalling his smile, his scent, his touch. On the other his memory also evoked the void his absence had left. For more than two hundred years Lenobia had grieved for a lost possibility—a wasted life.
“Our future was burned away from us. Destroyed by flames of hatred and obsession and evil.” Lenobia shook her head and wiped her eyes. She must regain control over her emotions. Evil was still burning a swath through Light and goodness. She drew in a deep, centering breath and turned her thoughts to a subject that never failed to calm her, no matter how chaotic the world around her had become—horses—Mujaji, in particular. Feeling calmer now, Lenobia reached out again with that extra special part of her spirit that Nyx had touched, and gifted with an affinity for horses, the day sixteen-year-old Lenobia had been Marked. She found her mare easily, and instantly felt guilty at the mirrored agitation she sensed in Mujaji.
“Shhh,” Lenobia soothed again, repeating aloud the reassurance she was sending through her bond with the mare. “I am only being foolish and self-indulgent. It will pass, I give you my vow, sweet one.” Lenobia focused a tide of warmth and love on her night-colored mare, and, as always, Mujaji regained her own calm.
Lenobia closed her eyes and released a long breath. She could envision her mare, black and beautiful as the night, finally settling down, cocking a back leg, and falling into a dreamless sleep.
The Horse Mistress concentrated on her mare, shutting out the turmoil that the young cowboy’s arrival at her stables had caused within her.
Finally, Lenobia slept.
Even though the feline was not bonded to her, Shadowfax came willingly at Neferet’s call. Thankfully, classes were over for the night, so when the big Maine coon met her in the middle of the field house it was dimly lit and empty—no students were about; Dragon Lankford himself was also absent, but probably only temporarily. She had seen only a few red fledglings on her way there. Neferet smiled, satisfied at the thought of how she added the rogue reds to the House of Night. What lovely, chaotic possibilities they presented—especially after she ensured Zoey’s circle would be broken and her best friend, Stevie Rae, would be devastated, grieving the loss of her lover.
The knowledge that she was assuring future pain and suffering for Zoey pleased Neferet immeasurably, but she was too disciplined to allow herself to begin gloating before the sacrificial spell was complete and her commands were set into motion. Though the school was unusually quiet tonight, almost abandoned, the truth was anyone could happen into the field house. Neferet needed to work quickly and quietly. There would be ample time to revel over the fruits of her labors later.
She spoke softly to the cat, coaxing him closer to her, and when he was near enough she knelt to his level. Neferet had thought he would be leery of her—cats knew things. They were much harder to fool than humans, fledglings, or even vampyres. Neferet’s own cat, Skylar, had refused to relocate to her new Mayo penthouse suite, choosing instead to lurk in the shadows of the House of Night and watch her knowingly with his large, green eyes.
Shadowfax wasn’t as wary.
Neferet beckoned. Shadowfax came to her, slowly closing the last bit of distance between them. The big cat wasn’t friendly—he didn’t rub against her and mark her affectionately with his scent—but he came to her. His obedience was all that concerned Neferet. She didn’t want his love; she wanted his life.
The Tsi Sgili, immortal Consort of Darkness, and former High Priestess of the House of Night, felt only a vague shadow of regret as her left hand caressed the long length of the Maine coon’s gray tiger striped back. His fur was soft and thick over his lithe, athletic body. Like Dragon Lankford, the Warrior he’d chosen as his own, Shadowfax was powerful and in the prime of his life. Such a shame he was needed for a greater purpose. A higher purpose.
Neferet’s regret did not equate to hesitation. She used her Goddess-given affinity for felines and channeled warmth and reassurance through her palm and into the already trusting feline. While her left hand caressed him, encouraging him to arch and begin to purr, her right hand snaked out and with her razor-edged athame, she quickly, cleanly, slashed Shadowfax’s throat.
The big cat made no sound. His body spasmed, trying to jerk away from her, but her hand fisted in his fur, holding him so close that his blood sprayed, hot and wet, across the bodice of her green velvet dress.
The threads of Darkness that were always present around Neferet throbbed and quivered with anticipation.
Neferet ignored them.
The cat died faster than she’d imagined, and for that Neferet was glad. She hadn’t expected him to stare at her, but the Warrior cat held her gaze even after he had collapsed into the sandy field house floor and could no longer fight her, but lay breathing shallowly, twitching silently, and staring.
Working quickly, while the cat was still living, Neferet began the spell. Using the blade of her ritual athame, Neferet drew a circle around Shadowfax’s dying body, so that as blood pooled around him it poured into it, and a miniature moat of scarlet was formed.
Then she pressed one palm of her hand into the fresh, warm blood, stood just outside the circle, and lifted both hands—one bloody, one holding the scarlet-edged knife, and intoned:
Neferet paused, allowing the sticky threads of cold blackness to brush against her and gather all around the circle. She felt their eagerness, their need, their desire, their danger. But above all else, she felt their power.
To complete the spell she dipped the athame into the blood, and wrote directly into the sand with it, closing the incantation:
Holding an image of Aurox in her mind, Neferet stepped inside the circle and plunged the dagger into Shadowfax’s body, pinning him to the field house floor while she loosed the tendrils of Darkness so that they could consume their feast of blood and pain.
When the cat was thoroughly drained and absolutely dead, Neferet spoke, “The sacrifice has been made. The spell cast. Do as I command. Force Aurox to kill Rephaim. Make Stevie Rae break the circle. Cause the reveal spell to fail. Now!”
Like a nest of seething snakes, the minions of Darkness slithered into the night, heading away from the field house and toward a lavender field and the ritual that was already underway there.
Neferet gazed after them, smiling in satisfaction. One particular thread of darkness, thick as her forearm, whipped through the door that opened from the field house to the stables. Neferet’s attention was pulled its way by the muffled sound of breaking glass.
Curious, the Tsi Sgili glided forward. Being careful to make no noise, and cloaking herself in shadow, Neferet peered into the stables. Her emerald eyes widened in pleased surprise. The thick thread of Darkness had been
