“Emma,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. “Wake up, my love.”
They were crimson and lush, those parting lips, curling with life as she opened her vampyre eyes to gaze up at him—the mortal grey replaced by gleaming black pearl. The wind whipped the dark velvet of her hair against her porcelain temples. “Markus,” she said, her voice soft with the mellifluous whispers of the night. “Have I been sleeping?”
“Like the dead.” His heart stormed against his breast, euphoric and hungry, as he lowered his head once more to her sweet mouth. “Like the dead.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Rebirth
Dearest Mary,—I have found my flock at last. Were it not for you, I would not have seen the silver in my plumage.
God keep you always in his eternal light, dear Cousin. All my love and undying gratitude,
Emma.
There was no more silence in the world. No more darkness, even on a night nearly devoid of moonlight as this one was. Emma never knew the night had always held such luminance. It was no longer as obliterating a darkness as the nights she’d borne with mortal eyes. Every atom beneath heaven vibrated and glimmered with life and color—leastwise they did so through the lens of vampiric sight. Perfect sight devoid of all the blurry lines that had so poorly delineated the world throughout her brief mortality.
There was no want of tonality or tint in the sounds of nature, even those too faint for mortal detection. She’d not been prepared for such sensory brilliance and animation. To the preternatural eye and ear, the world (even this small parcel, somewhere between Dover and Ostend) was filled with light and vibrance.
The hull of the packet ship, upon which they’d secured the very best cabin, sliced effortlessly through the waves, bestirring bright flashes of bioluminescence. The North Sea glowed with life as no night sea ever deigned to do for the mortal eye. The sky was bestarred with heaven’s jewels, some glinting with sapphires and some veined with rubies. Some streaked purple dust and ember across a prismatic milky way as they hurtled past. Even the faint shard of moon still remaining was limned with gold and silver, the shadowed portion of its face detailed with mysterious craters.
She glanced towards her silent companion and wondered if he saw the world as she did. How could he understand the drabness of human sight? William had never seen the world through mortal eyes. His back was to the bulwark, his eyes boring into the deck, which seemed to creak nervously in reply. Wehr-wolves had always been preternatural, so how could they possibly appreciate the nuances? This wolf in particular, who was so unlike his gregarious brother in everything except the uncanny resemblance. She’d never met identical twins, all this time she’d mistaken William for Nicholas the few times she’d come across him. That first night at Winterthurse it had been William she and Milli had dined with, not Nicholas—the wrong Valko entirety.
Emma turned away with a sigh, searching the sky for Markus who had flown on ahead to secure rooms for his bride in Ostend. How strange to be a bride—stranger still to be a vampyre, she supposed. And to become both in less than a sennight! She glanced down at the golden wedding band upon which was perched a fat ruby solitaire glinting with fiery warmth and color such as she’d never known existed in a stone. Markus had replaced his signet ring with this one on their wedding night. A wedding night that had not yet been consummated, for there had been no time. There had been no time even to speak about all that had happened, and all that was happening to her. There was only Milli to think of, lest they think too long on the death of Nicholas.
What would their poor mother and father think of Emma’s rushed marriage in Gretna Green? Her uncle and aunt! Would they all imagine the worst? That she’d forsaken her virtue before the wedding night and been honor bound to set the matter aright without delay. She grinned. Well, that was not altogether untrue. But even an immortal could not waste time when the captivity of her sister demanded hasty action. So here she was, wedded and yet unbedded—she and Markus were as nervous strangers to one another. But the long journey that stretched ahead meant that they might find the time now to touch upon all that had been left unspoken.
Footsteps sounded from the poop deck as the Captain left the nightwatchman at his helm. When he reached her, she heard him hesitate behind her. She could smell the fear upon him. Fear for the brooding giant beside her and fear for the strange pale lady that had bought passage upon his ship. She could almost hear the cogs whirr as he wondered about the formidable lord who was nowhere to be seen. Emma knew she and her silent companion looked no more human than Markus ever had, but mortals had a way of explaining away a preternatural’s aegis as either strange beauty or some or other terrifying splendor unnamed. Aegis was a tricky concept: for wehr-wolves and vampyres it was their human facades masking the daemons within; for witches it was their familiars and their maleficium. It was fed by blood and flesh.
Even when she’d been human, she’d known—felt the truth shift along her bones like a primordial shadow—that there was something different about Markus and Victoria. Only Nicholas had been the most successful at imitating humanity.
The captain hemmed. “I beg your pardon, my lady…”
“Yes, Captain Maudsley?”
“We are on schedule to arrive in about five hours.”
Yes, Emma could already see the lights of the harbor shimmering weakly on the horizon, though he and his watchmen could not see it through the salt mist. “Very good, Captain.” She wished he’d take himself off with all haste, for she was exceedingly hungry!
Again he hesitated. “Will his lordship be—”
“My husband wishes not to be disturbed in his cabin, thank you, captain. That will be all.”
“Of course, my lady.” He gave a deferential nod and hurried off.
She shut her eyes and took a deep breath of unadulterated night air, unperfumed by human blood.
William grunted beside her. “You cannot avoid your nature forever, Emma. You will need to feed when we arrive at Ostend. Either that or—” he turned to rest his elbows on the railing “—you’ll go mad with weakness.”
She ran her tongue over her fangs, exploring their pearly edges. “Do not concern yourself with my troubles, Will. I’d much rather you concentrate on not eating the steerage passengers.”
“That was one time,” he muttered with a growl.
She shook her head, recalling what she’d heard about the growling crates on Astraeus. A change of subject was essential if she didn’t wish to fly at the poor watchmen who was doing his rounds amidship, unwittingly close to a ravenous vampyre and a wehr-wolf on the verge of a black moon, when his ferocious power was indirectly proportional to his self-control. “How do you know Milli was taken this way?”
“I tracked her to Dover.”
“Yes, I know, but how?”
The space between them seemed to grow dank with heaviness as William shifted uneasily. “Because I share a bond with her.”
She answered with a stiff nod. “Because it is you that bit her.” His venom was even now transmogrifying all of Milli’s cells. She needed no confirmation and he gave none.
Markus had said black wolves were far less…restrained than their full moon counterparts. And the younger ones took centuries to master themselves. Poor Milli, a deranged black wehr-wolf. A Valkolak—it had been explained to her that Nicholas had been the only white wolf in the Valkolak clan, so the appellation was generally only worn by black wolves who were direct blood descendants of Marbod. That William’s twin had been a white wolf was like as not explanation enough why Valko—Nicholas, rather—had always seemed more…human.
Would that Nicholas had not been the one to… “What if she was taken to Calais?” Emma asked, feeling guilty for the direction her thoughts had taken.
“She wasn’t,” William said with surety.
Well, she supposed the bond must work similarly to the bond between herself and Markus. It was how he always found her no matter where she was; and it, likewise, meant
that she could sense the direction of his life-force wherever he roamed. She could feel him now, approaching from the east, though he was as yet some distance off.
“Malach will not harm her, Emma.”
“Not yet,” she said. Not till Hexennacht anyway, when he’d use her heart for his wretched offspring bride’s Walpurgis ascension. “When will Milli…change? Tomorrow night?”
“No, Markus’s blood has repressed her transformation for now. But soon.”
Next black moon, he meant. They had a month in which to find her. And if not…well, at least the ascension of Mina was not for many months.
The mainsail flogged with a sudden shudder as a gust of air rushed down from the gaff to ruffle her hair and manteau. The very next moment, Markus appeared at her side, tucking his fleet black wings neatly behind him. He lifted her chin and kissed her mouth. When he pulled away, there was a frown twisting his brow. “Still not eaten?”
“The watchman was not to her taste,” said William with a disapproving grunt.
“I would rather feast on rats,” Emma replied.
“You wouldn’t say that,” said William, “if you’d tasted rat.”
“But if that would slake your hunger,” said Markus, “I heartily approve.”
William gave another low grunt and took his leave, presumably to find a crate in which to hibernate till morning. After he’d gone, Markus lowered his head and repeated the kiss, but this time it was far deeper. He lingered over her lips, his thumbs caressing the side of her jaw. She relaxed against him, savoring the salty tang of the kiss. Oh, this Markus she remembered well, not the one that had married her in a rush and dragged her along a whirlwind departure from England. Nor the one who’d penned that cold farewell.
“I’ve missed you,” she said when he released her mouth again.
His teeth flashed with desire. “And I you.”
Her transition had come on so slowly. Fragment by fragment, her mortality had given way to immortality. And all the while she was absorbed by the changes, Markus busied himself with plans for their marriage and subsequent departure from England; he and William had been hunting witches while she’d been left to marvel at herself—like a little child. No time for intimacy had he allowed between them.
She gently pushed him away. He’d been avoiding her. Always together but never really alone. Moreover, he’d been avoiding the unsaid things that were moldering between them. “I wish I could’ve flown with you.”
“We’ll be there soon enough.”
“No, I wish you’d not left me with the watchdog.”
He sighed and turned to glance out at the ocean. “I needed to feed.”
Ahh, yes, and he knew how she detested that side of immortality. Well, she would need to succumb to her nature sooner or later. “I suppose you also feed upon vermin, after a fashion.”
His lip twitched as though in fond remembrance of the human rat he’d fed upon tonight.
“Take me with you next time,” she said firmly.
He glanced down at her and gave a slow nod. “Have you overcome your aversion then?”
“I suppose I must if I’m to survive in your world.”
“It is your world now too, Emma.” His jaw hardened. “Do you blame me for…can you ever forgive me…”
“I do not blame you, Markus, for making me what I am. I am reborn because of you. Perhaps I did not always consider the thought of immortality with relish, but the alternative is…well, becoming worm fodder.”
His grin turned wicked. “You were always wyrm fodder, my beauty.”
“And you have always been a double-distilled overbearing dragon.”
“A dragon that loves you.”
“Then why did you write such a cold farewell and leave me when I needed you most?”
“Why did you leave, Emma? Why did you throw my—”
“You as good as told me to go!”
For a moment he blinked, bemused. “My words, Emma, were heart-fetched and sincere. They were as warm-blooded as ever any a word formed by a loving hand, even a mortal one. How could you have misread them?”
With tears brimming in her eyes, she confronted him. The unexpected upsurge of hurt sharpened her words before she thought to check them. And out poured his words, exactly as she remembered them. Unwillingly, she’d consigned them to memory.
By the time she’d done reciting the cruel letter to its author, Markus’s countenance was black. “But that is not my letter! And those are not my words!”
Just like that, Emma’s flame of resentment guttered out as though another gust had come to rattle the ship lines and bedevil the sails. “They were in your hand, Markus.”
“I cannot answer to that, but I know what I wrote: I spoke of adoration and love; I confessed that it was not I that possessed you but that you possessed my heart. I set you free to make your own choice, Emma, for I could not bear the thought of caging you, forcing you to be what you are not—forcing you to drink the blood of your own kind in order to survive. I would sooner cut off my wings and take my own freedom than force you to be with me if you did not return my love with equal fervor. And then I asked you to wear my signet ring as a sign that you still had hope for us—that I had not lost you forever. The very ring I found in the ashes upon my return, when I found you had flown away. When I found you had fled from me.”
“But I never saw your ring nor heard those words! And never would I have cast that ring to the fire! You must know I could never hurt you that way. I love you, Markus!”
“Then it appears we have both been played for fools.”
Emma thrust her hands into his cloak and wrapped her arms around his waist. “So you believe me?”
He stroked her upturned face with a light brush of his thumb. “You have never been particularly adept at lying, my lady. Yes, I believe you. But at the time…well, I could only remember your tone of voice as you cast me out of your sight, and as that was our last exchange, I could not help but be possessed of the awful suspicion that you hated me; that I had slayed whatever you’d once felt for me. Therefore, how could I doubt but that you’d sent my ring to the fire.” He kissed her brow. “How could you believe I would ever write such cool words to you? When has there been anything but heat and fire between us?”
“Who deprived me of your letter, Markus? Victoria?”
He chuckled, though it held little warmth. “Our sister is no particular admirer of yours, but I happen to know that she was in Hull that night, seeing Gabriel and Marbod off. Victoria is an audacious virago at times, but there is a limit to what she would dare.”
Emma nodded. “Then who?”
“No one may enter my house without my leave, especially not a witch. And the only creature I cannot account for is your sister’s little cat.”
“Boudicca?” Emma screwed up her mouth. “But—”
“Strange, is it not, that your cat happened to find herself adopted by your sister almost the eve of your departure for Winterthurse? A cat that was permitted entry. A cat that kept itself hidden and never made a sound but to squall at the wolves. And then your sister was bitten and the creature could not abide living in the same chamber as her. Am I wrong to suspect that your Boudicca is and always was, in fact, Mina.”
“Mina!”
“I believe the cat is her familiar, yes. And it would explain how my letter was liberated from my own chamber whilst you slept.”
“And I had no idea!” She gasped. “Think of all I might have confided in her presence!” A positively heinous violation of her privacy. “And the raven?”
“The witch Diana.”
Emma nodded. He had spoken of familiars before—she already knew who the snake and the spider belonged to. “How was I so easily manipulated?”
“Because you’ve a wholesome character and expect those around you to possess the same.”
“You mean I am naïve.”
“Even gods are not immune to human folly, Emma. You may live an eternity and still understand ver
y little of the world, take my word on it. But,” he said, taking her face gently between his hands, “I find I like to be surprised now and then. And you, my sweet rose, were the greatest surprise of all.”
Emma breathed in his beloved scent as he tucked her head beneath his chin. If only Milli were safe and Nicholas alive, nothing on earth could be more perfect than this moment. Emma had to believe Milli would be found soon, for who could possibly outwit Markus? And who could outrun the Valkolaks whose fangs ached with retribution? No, they would rescue Milli; Emma could believe nothing less. “You still owe me a wedding night, you know,” she said, peeking at him through her lashes.
“That’s all very well, Lady Winterly, but where do you propose I might remedy that unthinkable oversight?” He looked about him. “In the cabin with young master Valko?”
She chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Ay, a hinterland honeymoon seems just the thing.” And then his mouth drew into a stern line. “But not before you’ve taken a meal.”
“You say meal, I say murder.” Emma curled up her nose at him. “Can I not just—”
“No, you may not drink bovine blood, it won’t sustain you.”
But the thought of human blood still horrified her. Well, it had until the captain unwittingly filled her nose with that salty bouquet of juicy—no! Good God, what was she thinking? Her parents were mortal still, for goodness sake! She’d been perfectly civilized up until tonight. Perhaps it had taken this long for her transformation to be complete? For her abdominal hunger to rear its deadly head. “Can I not just take a little blood—a sip here and a sip there?”
“And leave in your wake a steady supply of wights?” He gave a scoffing shake of his head. “We’ve been over this already. Have you forgotten so soon what happens to a mortal who dies with only vampyre venom in his heart? Or has Skinner’s winsome features quite escaped your memory?”
Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1) Page 44
