Blood and Damnation

by Belinda Boring

  “Would you prefer the alternative?” he fired back, holding out the drink.

  This was how I drank my blood. It was mostly human with different concoctions added—whatever Knox was testing to see if it would help curb my cravings and keep the beast at bay.

  Before his help, I’d resorted to slipping into town every night and gorging until I couldn’t swallow another mouthful of blood. My hunger all but consumed me, and there were still whisperings in the nearby counties of a monster that scoured the countryside in search of new victims.

  I’d left death and carnage in my wake. There were times when I’d been too lazy to cover up my kills, launching the town or village into mass hysteria. Banners were placed all around with generous rewards for anyone who could bring the killer to justice.

  Once I knew that Knox could be trusted, I’d confessed who I truly was, and he’d set about trying to find a cure for the curse. He’d been adamant that perhaps alchemy could hold the answers, and that I couldn’t wait to find the gypsies.

  And here we were. I was drinking his god-awful elixirs, and my appetite for blood was under control. Unfortunately, he still hadn’t figured out a way to fully restore me.

  He was the only thing in which I had any faith left. Sooner or later, he would be successful. He was too stubborn to admit defeat.

  “Sometimes I miss the pleasure of sinking my teeth into something warm,” I murmured, bracing myself to take my first swallow. “The way the blood flowed freely into my mouth . . . the ecstatic way it left a blazing trail of fire down my throat.” I took a deep breath and decided to swallow the contents in one gulp.

  The sensation was a meager substitute to the real thing, but it did its job. The uneasiness I always felt began to subside as it heated my stomach, and the loud, growly presence in my head grew quiet.

  “Was this new?” I asked, placing the now empty glass beside Knox on the bench. “There was something . . . different about it.” I gestured to the red liquid still staining the cup.

  He nodded. “Gold. I added gold flakes to it with the hopes that as it builds up in your system, I may be able to alter your organs. By perfecting you, I will have created a vessel that can transform to whatever I wish it to be.”

  Like always, whenever he tried explaining the science behind his experimenting, my head began to throb. “So, I’m essentially a creature you’re testing your theories on.” It was more of a fact than a question.

  Knox paused long enough from swirling about some clear liquid in his bowl to glance at me. “You disagree?”

  It had been a long time since I’d lingered after taking my nightly tonic. He was more used to me gruffly accepting the blood, drinking it, and then leaving in a similar manner.

  Yet here I was—trying to start a conversation and interrupting him from working.

  “I trust you, Phineas,” I assured him. “I sometimes wish I understood exactly what it is you do down here.” Picking up one of the loose leaves of paper, I turned it about to show him. “This looks like utter nonsense, but if you tell me this brings us closer to removing this damn curse, that’ll be enough for me. It will have to be enough.”

  Abandoning his work for a moment, Knox turned about, his hands resting on his knees. “I gave you my word that I wouldn’t stop until I helped free you. You saved me that night in London, and I owe you a life debt.” He chuckled as he took the paper back. “As for these, even the failures are a step forward. I don’t possess the same skill and clarity of my former master, but what I lack in expertise, I make up for in sheer stubbornness.”

  “And gold flakes are the latest?” It felt weird knowing the precious metal was now pumping through my veins.

  He shrugged. “It’s just a thought. In alchemy, gold is considered a source that promotes human renewal and regeneration. My theory is that by infusing your very organs and blood with it, perhaps it will trigger that transformation within you—that it will help your spirit fight against the evilness of the curse, and triumph.” Knox glanced at the empty glass, his brows furrowed in thought. “Again, that’s the notion I’m exploring right now.”

  “And here I thought you were merely throwing in different ingredients to see which one made me sick,” I teased, suddenly struck with appreciation for my friend. He had grown to be much more than someone who served me. I gave his study one more sweeping look. “Do you require anything?”

  It wasn’t uncommon for Knox to come to me with a long list of the items he required. I learned not to question some of them, especially if they would end up in my elixirs.

  I could already see his focus returning to his work.

  “Yes. I may need to go to London for the supplies.” He wasn’t even looking at me now. Whatever he’d been writing had snared his attention again, and his silence was a loud indication that our discussion was over.

  “I may join you then.” There was a certain seer I’d been trying to gain an audience with, but each time, I’d been denied. Knox wasn’t the only one who refused to admit defeat. I was determined to finally meet with the infamous Lady Hannah.

  Knox mumbled something in return.

  One more nightly ritual was complete.

  As I headed toward the door, he called out again, surprising me. “One of the added ingredients in your drink will help you dream walk. Just in case you wanted to visit anyone . . . understand anyone.”

  His comment stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Dream walk?

  “You don’t need me to explain that, Marcus. You now have the ability to visit someone while they’re asleep.”

  “Why?” I asked, curious how he’d deduced that. I didn’t sleep very often, and therefore, didn’t dream. I wasn’t interested in making social calls that way either.

  It was his turn to look at me, bewildered. “I had the thought the other night when I went to dispose of the gypsy. What if instead of trying to break his body and spirit, we attack from a place where he wouldn’t be expecting it? A man can tolerate unimaginable pain if he believes it’s for a just cause. In our dreams, we are more vulnerable . . . more susceptible to coercion.”

  I was impressed. Knox’s reasoning was sound, and if it worked, could save a lot of time. In fact, it was a brilliant idea that I hoped prove fruitful. “I can’t wait to see the results then. We’ll bring home a subject to test it on.”

  The corners of his mouth curled in a mischievous way, and I instantly saw he had an ulterior motive. “Why wait? There’s someone who resides under this roof you could understand better.” And with that, Knox looked up in the direction of Catriona’s bedchambers.

  “No,” I retorted, my response loud and forceful. “Absolutely not.”

  “Do you have so many friends, Marcus, that you can’t stomach to nurture another ally?” I had his full attention again, which made me wonder how long he’d been preparing to tell me this. “I am good at what I do, but there are certain places even I can’t enter. Don’t you think it a good idea to have Catriona help you break this curse as well? Women talk—a lot. They gossip. Why not befriend her and see what she can uncover?”

  I loathed the suggestion with a fiery passion. The thought of confessing my secrets to the female forced into my keeping felt intolerable. It would require my being vulnerable with her—discarding the persona I’d adopted with her and being someone . . . softer.

  “She thinks me a monster.”

  “She only sees what you show her. You already know my thoughts on that.” Knox gave me a shrewd stare. “She should never have been placed in the role of an enemy.”

  “Who is the master here?” I thundered, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. It wasn’t because I thought it was ridiculous. No, slowly but surely, I was beginning to see the sense in it.

  “You, but that doesn’t change the fact that my advice bears consideration.”

  I didn’t speak another word. His words bounced around in my head, and no amount of refusal and denial on my part dimmed the truth.

&n
bsp; She would make a better ally than enemy.

  If she was going to remain here with me, it would be better that I find a use for her, instead of letting all that pent-up frustration and hostility percolate. Sooner or later, it would need an outlet, and I had a sinking suspicion Catriona would level me with her anger.

  Part of me wanted to witness that.

  But common sense won.

  “Let me consider it,” I muttered, heading for the door again.

  “All you need do is think of her before sleeping and you’ll find yourself where she is.”

  I’d sworn I wouldn’t rest until I was fully human again and my cursers dead by my hand. If dream walking helped me accomplish that—if it finally uncovered the answers I’d spent over a decade looking for—then it was time to win over my wife.

  Chapter 8

  Sleeping was such a foreign concept to me, something that I required less of as the years passed. Mostly, I reserved it for those moments where I needed a break from the drudgery of everyday living. The brief respite seemed to soothe my nerves around the edges, making it possible not to completely lose my mind.

  Now I was seeking sleep for a different reason, and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. Once upon a time, I thought knowing the innermost thoughts and feelings of others would be a useful trick to have, but I still wasn’t convinced understanding Catriona was a good idea.

  There was so much that could go wrong. Tampering with another person’s psyche, especially when they were vulnerable, could only complicate matters further. Something told me that my wife wouldn’t appreciate the violation, either.

  But my curiosity, once stoked, was a hard thing to quell.

  Laying back on my bed, I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible. Slowly I could feel my muscles releasing their tension, and the first telltale signs of sleep started trickling through my body.

  It wouldn’t be long now before I ventured into unknown territory.

  “Think of her,” I whispered beneath my breath. Images of the beautiful brunette surfaced, and despite the countless times she’d irritated me, there was no denying that my wife was in fact an extremely attractive woman.

  I pictured the way her dark locks seemed to have a mind of their own—hanging in long curls that framed her pretty face. I hated admitting that my fingers often itched to tangle in the thickness, missing the way it had felt that day back in my office when we first met. What had started as a way to undermine her confidence had turned around and bitten me hard, because it was often all I could think about.

  I wanted to trace the soft curve of her face, relishing the way heat flooded her cheeks at my touch. She was unspoiled and virtuous—the brief taste I’d stolen confirming she would open up like a beautiful flower, each petal begging to be admired.

  Her red lips held my attention regardless of what she was saying. Whether it was the way she softly sang to herself when she thought no one was watching or the way they pursed when she disapproved of something I had done, they drew me to her. Her mouth—her kiss—would be as intoxicating as a flagon of ale. I doubted there was a man alive who would escape becoming drunk on such a taste.

  But it was her temperament that drew me in like a moth to a flame. She was both fire and tenderness—chaos and stability—strength and fragility. She was a walking contradiction to me, because one moment she would flay me on the spot with her shrewd brown eyes, and in the next breath, gently cradle a wounded bird in her hands. The way she viewed the world was at complete odds with how I had been forced to see it.

  She saw injustice and sought to correct it by showing kindness to others.

  I saw injustice and wanted to rain down blood and violence until I gained my revenge.

  Drowsiness beckoned until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. With one last murmur of her name, the world dissolved, and I found myself someplace strange.

  “Marcus?” The breathlessness of her voice caused a ripple of awareness to pulse through me. She’d never spoken to me like that before, and the part I had tried denying flared back into existence. I felt greedy for such softness.

  “Catriona,” I replied, finding her sitting on a brick wall covered with green moss and vines. “Where are we?”

  I couldn’t tell if this was a figment of her imagination or if she was visiting a place she knew.

  “The ruins where Lancelot and Guinevere would meet secretly.” There was a wistfulness about her as she looked around with fondness that told me she was a romantic at heart. “At least, that’s what I’ve told myself. I’m sure this is merely the long-forgotten home of someone.” Catriona stroked the brick wall she was still perched on. “But I like to come here and think.”

  She gave me a pointed glance that told me I was often the subject of such musings.

  I slowly started walking around, noting how secluded it was, half believing that this was actually a place that lovers rendezvoused—stealing kisses and heated embraces away from the prying eyes of the world.

  “I could see that,” I confessed, gingerly touching a rich green vine with budding white flowers dotting it. “We live in a world where the forbidden intrigues us.”

  “And where we can’t always act on our passions.”

  Her response caused me to stop long enough to study her next. “You have passions, Catriona?”

  Females in society didn’t have the luxury of acting upon their own, let alone acknowledging openly that they were stirred by the same instincts and cravings men were.

  “Why are you here, Marcus?” she gently pressed. “I’ve never dreamed of you before, yet here you are as though you belong here with me.”

  Like a queen on a throne, she hadn’t moved since I’d come across her, the height of the broken wall making it so she sat higher than me.

  With the light shining from behind, she looked ethereal.

  “How do you know you haven’t brought me here yourself?” I countered, unable to keep myself from being somewhat honest with her. I held her gaze as long as I could before lowering my eyes.

  I was completely out of my element here and unsure of how to proceed. In the waking world, I would exert my dominance and force her to cower and answer whatever questions I had. I wasn’t used to being asked my intentions.

  “So, at last, you are my prisoner.” Her smile was genuine and void of any malice. I couldn’t say I would be as gracious if the roles had been reversed. “Seeing as you are intruding on my dream, I would say I also hold all the control.” A twinkle sparked in her eyes, revealing a side of mischievousness I hadn’t seen before either.

  “So it seems,” I replied and bent at the waist, offering my respect. “What would you wish of me, my lady?”

  I added a flourish with my hand and was rewarded with the soft tinkling of her laughter. Another sound I hadn’t known I needed until this precise moment.

  I had nothing to lose by dropping the persona I held in the waking world. If there was ever an opportunity to lower my guard and simply enjoy something carefree and innocent, it was now.

  Sadness skated across her features. “No matter how much I would love for this to be real . . . for us to hold a genuine conversation where we mutually liked one another . . .”

  A stray tear fell from her lashes. It killed me not to reach over and capture it with my thumb. These emotions—the foreignness of feeling compassion after all these many years—churned up confusion inside me. Bit by bit, I could feel the façade I had cloaked myself with fall, until all that was left was . . . me.

  I didn’t like it.

  I hated it.

  But I also embraced it, stood in awe of it—of knowing such affection was still possible for a monster like me.

  “Pretend with me then,” I encouraged, and finally moved from where I’d been standing to her. Knowing this was only a dream, I bravely took her hand and held it between my own. The warmth of her skin felt real enough to send a shiver up my spine.

  Warning bells sounded in my head—cautioning that to proc
eed would only result in heartache and would be dangerously reckless. In truth, the last time I had allowed myself to feel anything remotely close to the romantic feelings swirling about in my chest, I’d woken to find myself holding a dead body in my arms, and the wrath of a gypsy clan dragged down upon me.

  Drop her hand, a voice screamed inside me. Wake up. The way before you is folly and you know it.

  My fingers twitched as if they longed to obey, but I held on tighter. This was what I had been secretly craving—yearning for. Human connection. Revenge had kept me warm throughout the years, but it hadn’t brought me a speck of solace.

  I was bone weary of constantly fighting.

  Just once, I wanted to see what it felt like to find that peace in another.

  “Catriona,” I murmured, finally cupping the side of her face, my thumb softly circling over her skin. “We are quite impossible.”

  She nodded, holding herself still as though with one wrong move, this would all fade away. I could see the questions bubbling up in her eyes, each one waiting to be asked. I was sure she was biting her tongue, unsure about whether to give them voice, or whether she should remain silent—waiting to see where this moment might lead us.

  “I never wished this life for you. In another lifetime, I know I could grow to love you deeply, to delight in growing old with you. You are quite a remarkable woman . . .” I struggled to find the right words, my tongue tripping over my own thoughts. “A treasure to any man.”

  “Then why do you act so abominably toward me? Why must we be enemies?” The earnestness in her voice was almost strong enough to break me. There was nothing more I wanted in this moment than to promise her things would change and that the happiness she desperately longed for could be ours.

  But we weren’t part of some fairy tale of star-crossed lovers, fighting against the odds to be with each other. My reality was set in stone—at least until Knox and I found a cure. By then, it might be too late for anything to grow between Catriona and me.

  “What do you want from me?” I finally asked, holding the side of her cheek as I tilted her head to look deep into her eyes. “Ask now, because once this dream is over, what we want can never be.”