Heart of the Vampire

by Guida, ML

  Violet moaned. Her face was paler than the moon. Her blood had smeared onto Amadi’s chest. Fear spurred through him like a hurricane. He needed to see to her arm before she bled to death.

  “Spread out, men.” Dubois’ snarling voice sent Amadi’s heart plummeting to his toes.

  The bastard was practically right next to him.

  Heavy footsteps and angry voices forced Amadi to move. He edged along the wall and stopped. He’d have to run across the path to get away from the sound of crunching footsteps echoing in his ears. If he were a vampire, he’d be quicker than the human eye. But dawn had betrayed him.

  The footsteps were nearly on top of them. His angry breaths burned his throat. He had no where else to go. He needed a miracle.

  As if to answer his prayers, lightning crackled and lit up the dark sky. Something huge flew across the moon, casting a shadow. A piercing screech filled the air.

  “Up there!” A man cried. “What is it?”

  “’Tis a fire breathing demon!” Another hollered. Fear filled their voices.

  But to Amadi, the screech brought joy, and hope swelled in his heart. William! He had changed into his dragon form, but he was flying too high to hear him. Amadi thought about changing into a bat and fly up to meet William, but if he did, he’d leave Violet to a terrible fate.

  William flying in the air meant the Soaring Phoenix was nearby. The Cap’n was looking for him. There was still a chance Amadi could escape.

  “Douse the torches, you fools!” Dubois yelled. “The beast can see us!”

  Amadi wished William would fry their asses all the way back to hell.

  Shots fired near them. The henchmen were too close. The stench of sulfur and rain hung in the air. Footsteps thundered around them. Amadi’s thumping heart ricocheted against his ribcage like the firing buckshot outside. He refused to be dragged to Celeste and become her love slave.

  Assuming their pursuers would be preoccupied with a dragon, Amadi risked putting Violet on the wet manicured grass. He pulled on the mausoleum’s iron gate until it slid across the cracked stone; bits of pebbles fell onto the ground. It creaked, shattering the silence around him.

  Pistols stopped firing.

  Amadi clenched the bars tight. He was too afraid to move or breathe.

  “It’s leaving.” The man’s excitement crushed Amadi’s miracle.

  “I heard something. They’re here. Search for ’em.” Dubois’ evil voice sent fear gushing through Amadi’s veins.

  Dubois was close, too damn close. Ignoring the panic building inside him, Amadi quietly picked up Violet and her black bag, then cradling her to his chest, he crept inside the crypt.

  Wind blew. Clank, clank! Amadi flinched. The traitorous metal gate had slammed shut. ’Twas like a cannon going off.

  “D’ye hear that, you idiots?” Dubois said. “They’re in one of these here vaults. Find ’em.”

  “Looks like they went this way.”

  Amadi heard the words and the sound of squishing footsteps. Violet’s face grew paler. Tingles sneaked through his arms and legs, leaving him chilled. He held Violet close, but her body failed to warm him and stop the cold numbness spreading through his body. Violet, the crypt, and the world left Amadi like a ship pulling away from another on the open sea.

  He took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to fight the numbness. He had to be strong for both of them.

  Only the rickety door stood between them and the enemy. Drops of rain scattered onto the floor, mixing with dust and cobwebs. Darkness shrouded the cemetery, and without torches, the men wouldn’t be able to see, but he could. His vision gave them an advantage.

  Amadi lowered Violet onto the dusty floor and faced the door. His muscles coiled to fight, his fangs elongated. He’d give them a hell of a fight.

  He stared at the metal door, waiting to attack and kill the first bastard who dared to enter. Long minutes passed. Blackness faded, and twilight emerged. His fangs retracted, and agony throbbed in his feet. He was a man again.

  “The creature,” someone yelled. “It’s coming back.”

  Someone screamed outside.

  “To the caves, you idiots!”

  Amadi took a chance and peered outside. He couldn’t see where William was or where Dubois and his men were. If he carried Violet across the bone yard, William might see them and help them escape. But what if he didn’t see them? They’d be caught for sure.

  He listened and waited. “I think they went into the cave. For now.”

  “Amadi.” Violet’s strained voice stopped his heart.

  He slowly lowered himself, never taking his eyes off the door. He held up his finger as a warning to be quiet. She grew silent. He glanced down. Her head was to the side, her red hair covering her face. Blood drenched the side of her arm.

  He opened her bag, hoping to find something to dig out the shot lodged in her shoulder. Her bag resembled Doc’s with needles, thread, and rags. He wished he had water to cleanse the wound, but he’d have to make do. Gently, he untied her stays, then pushed her crimson-stained shift past her creamy shoulder. Flesh was torn apart, and blood gushed from the wound. It looked like a clean entrance, but he had to make sure.

  “Violet, can you hear me? They’re gone, but they’ll be back.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was so weak he had to strain to hear her.

  He wasn’t a surgeon and tried to recall what he’d seen Doc do a thousand one times. “I can’t tell if there’s any shot in the wound. I’ve got to check it before I stitch it.” He took a rag and wadded it up. “Open your mouth and bite hard.”

  Violet nodded.

  He gritted his teeth, not wanting to do what he must. But if he didn’t dig it out, it could get infected. Sweat trickled down his temples. He took a deep breath and pressed his finger into the wound.

  She arched her back and clenched her fists. She shivered and released an anguish cry.

  The sound tore out Amadi’s heart. How did Doc do this? Doc never shook when he cleaned or bound wounds, but Amadi shook like an old man. He couldn’t speak and swallowed his panic. He could do this. The entry wound was definitely clean, and he didn’t feel any buckshot. He wiped the blood off her shoulder then threaded a needle.

  Thinking of how Hannah always spoke encouraging words when men were wounded, he tried to come up with something to soothe her, but nothing came to mind. He remembered a song she sang once, but only remembered a couple of verses. He cleared his throat and sang in a low voice.

  “Sweetheart, come along!

  For to hear da fond song,

  Da sweet notes where da nightingale flows?

  For hear da fond tale

  Of da sweet nightingale...”

  Concentrating on the words helped him to stop shaking and pull the needle through Violet’s soft flesh. His stitches were small and close to the wound.

  Violet pulled out the rag.

  “You should—”

  “I’m fine,” she murmured. “That’s beautiful.” Her voice was weak and her eyes glossy. “Do you sing often?”

  “No.” He leaned over and broke the thread with his teeth, tying the ends tight. Not as good as Doc’s, but five or six stitches neatly crossed through her skin. He wrapped a piece of cloth around her shoulder, hoping to keep out infection.

  Violet closed her eyes, and her breasts rose up and down each time she inhaled and exhaled. “You did once, didn’t you?”

  He thought about lying, but she would know. He moistened his lip. “’Twas a long time ago.” He couldn’t hide the sadness in his voice.

  “Tell me.” She opened her eyes and clasped his hand. “’Twas to a woman, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye, she was my first love—Nefertiti.” He’d not thought of her for so long. “She had a smile that melted da harshest heart. Even when I’d been beaten, she could make me laugh.”

  “Tell me about her.” Violet trembled and gritted her teeth. “It helps me forget the pain.”

  “We fell in love
here at da Sorcière de Mer. She taught me to sing. She said singing helps you forget da pain and da misery.”

  “Did it?”

  He didn’t answer right away and wrestled with burying the past. “No.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened to her? Is she still here?”

  “No. She was sold to da Americas. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead.”

  “Have you fallen in—”

  “Love isn’t for slaves. It only brings pain.”

  Violet closed her eyes. “’Tis a shame. Because you have a voice made for love. Deep and husky.” Her voice trailed away, and her breathing became deeper.

  She was beautiful, but it was her bravery that touched his heart. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman he cared about, only satisfying his lust with whores. Could he take a chance again?

  He brushed Violet’s damp hair off her pale face. He cradled her in his lap. Not able to resist, he leaned over and kissed the top of her forehead. “Rest, sweet flower.”

  Weariness gripped him. He closed his eyes, but stayed fully alert. He couldn’t afford to sleep, not with being hunted. There was no way to get a message to the cap’n or to wave William down, not with the pouring rain and posse outside.

  Maybe Dubois and his men had retreated deeper into the tunnel. If he didn’t hear anything, he’d take a chance. But someone could be outside watching. It would have been what the cap’n would have done. Dubois was many things, but foolish wasn’t one of them.

  Voices murmured. A twig broke outside. Amadi’s eyes flew open. His hopes died. They were back.

  Something slapped against the outside wall and echoed inside the crypt. “Search, this one,” a gruff voice said.

  Amadi’s heart pounded fiercely, and his muscles bunched into attack mode. They’d be caught. And he’d be dragged back to the Maîtresse. He blocked out what she would do to him. To Violet.

  He could withstand the hell. But not Violet. She was human. He’d seen the slaves Dubois had raped and murdered. What Dubois’s did to female slaves made the bravest man weak in the knees.

  He hid Violet behind the stone sarcophagus along with her bag. “Stay here, brave little one.”

  Not giving himself time to re-think his plan, he peered outside. Men searched a mausoleum a few feet away. Cursing his bad luck, he pushed open the squeaky metal gate. Surprisingly, it shut softly.

  He darted behind a nearby gravestone. The sun peeked over the horizon. Dew covered the grass and drooping flowers. His limp limbs were weary after the bloodlust last night. But he couldn’t think of himself. He had to think about Violet. Drawing on his remaining strength, he bolted.

  Amadi rushed through the soggy graveyard, pumping his heavy legs and arms. darting around tombstones, grave markers, and mausoleums, hoping to draw them away from Violet. His spent heart threatened to stop, and his lungs screamed for air. He forced himself to move through the thick mud, but he was weak, too damn weak, and he marched, rather than run.

  Sizzling lightning betrayed him.

  “There he is!”

  Dubois cracked the whip. “Get ’im idiots!”

  “Over! He’s headin’ for the gate.” A deep voice growled.

  Adrenaline pulsed through him. Pounding feet chased him. Damn it! His pursuers were gaining.

  Up ahead loomed a stone wall and a metal gate. Amadi gritted his teeth, determined to climb over the wall.

  Pistols fired. The smell of sulfur exploded into the dewy air. Buckshot whizzed around him. He pushed himself hard and harder; his muscles straining to find the littlest bit of energy, and he feared his heart would burst from his chest.

  He crashed into the metal gate then climbed. Someone cracked a whip. It looped around his neck, cutting into his throat. One hand still on the bar, he wrestled to uncoil the lash.

  “Get off there, you big bloke!” The same deep voice ordered, but ’twas as if the man were right behind him.

  Amadi refused to look over his shoulder. He grappled with the strap for freedom, but it tightened, cutting into his throat. Between gagging and choking, he fought to breathe. Spit rolled down his chin. He slipped his fingers underneath the whip and loosened it. But instead of getting it off, he yanked hard.

  A loud oomph rang in Amadi’s ears. The whip went slack.

  “Damn you!” The same voice cursed.

  Amadi didn’t turn around. He flung the whip onto the ground and crawled up the gate like a scurrying spider.

  “He’s gettin’ away!” Another man cried.

  “Not if I can help it.” Dubois’ voice was too confident.

  Amadi had reached the top when another crackle hit the air. Lightning lit up the gate, and he saw the jungle of freedom. He swung his leg, but rawhide coiled around his foot, hewing into his flesh.

  Dubois held the whip and a cruel smile spread across his thin face. “Give it up, darkie.”

  Amadi grabbed the cat-o’-nine-tails with his shaking hand and yanked. Heat rushed down his face, and his arm shook. But he needed both hands.

  “Boyle, get your ass over here.” Dubois pulled on the whip as if it were a fishing pole.

  His face and shirt covered with mud, Boyle grabbed the bowed whip. “You’ll pay, bloke.”

  The men backed up, and with one fierce haul, they won. Amadi flew off the top of the gate, tearing his palm and thigh. The sky and clouds spun around him. He landed on his side. Pain slammed into his shoulder. He seized the whip and jerked. This time, it loosened, and he staggered to his feet.

  Five men surrounded him. Desperation, anger, and hatred flooded their eyes. Battered and bloody, Amadi stood tall and met their fierce gazes.

  Dubois chuckled. “There’s no sense fighting us, slave. You can’t escape.”

  Amadi analyzed each one and hunted for the weakest codfish. He settled on the fattest one, who seemed a little slower than the others. This didn’t mean he’d be easy to overtake, but it was an advantage. Amadi charged and put his shoulder down.

  The pudgy man’s eyes widened. “Help!” His flabby jowls shaking back and forth, he put up his shaking hands.

  Amadi crashed into him, knocking him down. The man slid in the mud, slamming into a tombstone. He moaned.

  Between two mausoleums, freedom waited. Amadi charged. Nothing was in his way.

  But a rope and another rope lassoed around his neck. He wrestled with the ropes, but they tightened and tightened around his throat, strangling his breath. Dizziness gripped him, and his legs wobbled.

  “Down, boy.”

  Someone slammed something hard into the back of Amadi’s knees, and he fell. The men were on him like an army of fire ants, binding his hands, kicking and beating him.

  Dubois stood in front of him and shoved a pistol in his face. “Get up.”

  Coughing and gagging, Amadi dragged himself up. Pain pulsed through him, but he drew on his last bit of strength to stand.

  The bastard cocked the pistol. “Where’s the girl?”

  Amadi glared. “I don’t know. We got separated.”

  “I’m going to ask you again.” Dubois pistol slapped him. “Where’s the girl?”

  Pain exploded onto his cheek, and Amadi staggered. “I answered your question, you gutless devil.” Blood spat out of his mouth with each word, spitting onto Dubois’s shirt.

  Dubois glanced at his shirt then stuck his redstained pistol into his belt. “Take him back to the Maîtresse. She’ll teach him what happens to escaped slaves.”

  Amadi’s stomach tightened into tangled knots, and his knees knocked together, but he braced his shoulders, trying to hide the terror soaking his bones.

  Dubois waved his hands. “The rest of you search for Violet. She’s got to be here somewhere.”

  Dread bore into Amadi’s heart. He glanced up at the sky. But there was no dragon, no bats. Not even a bird. Loneliness and hopelessness crippled him. Had the Soaring Phoenix sailed out to sea?

  Dubois got on his horse and tied the rope to the saddle horn. He kicked t
he side of the horse, and the horse trudged through the mud, forcing Amadi to march back to the Sorcière de Mer, to a woman whose heart was blacker than the devil’s.

  His only hope of escape was death.

  Chapter 13

  Violet slowly opened her eyes. Tingles ran up her arm as something spiky crawled over her hand. She jerked and shivered. A black spider scurried to the other side of the stone mausoleum. “God, I hate spiders.”

  Cobwebs clung to corners. Cockroaches lumbered across the floor. Dampness and mold permeated the air. Coughing, she pushed herself upright. Her shoulder screamed. She winced. “Amadi?”

  Her heart froze over. He was gone. She was alone.

  She hauled herself up, but her legs wobbled. She stumbled and fell into the sarcophagus, banging her hip. “Ouch!”

  Catching her breath, she put her trembling hands on the sarcophagus and gripped the edges tight. But it was a mistake. Pain pulsed in her shoulder. Floating black dots swarmed in front of her eyes. She bit her lip.

  Don’t faint.

  She shook her head, trying to douse the fog in her brain. Where had Amadi gone? She missed him. He had been so tender and kind, even singing to her. Who would have thought a fierce pirate would possess such a beautiful baritone voice and sing about nightingales?

  Her breath thundering between her ears, she stumbled toward the door and listened.

  No human voices.

  No heavy footsteps.

  No screams.

  Only the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects. She peered through a crack, but didn’t see anyone. Dubois was crafty, and if anything, the man was patient.

  The sun was high in the sky. It had to be at least noon. She weaved back to where her bag was. A discarded needle was wrapped in a cloth and pushed up against the wall. Amadi had tended her wound and watched over her. She pressed her lips together and her eyes watered. Heaviness beat down on her slumped shoulders. Why would he leave her?