by Keary Taylor
“What is it you’re looking for?” I asked him one night as I sat next to the fire in his shop.
Cyrus stood hunched over a dead cheetah, the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. It had come all the way from a land called Africa. I’d never heard of it before.
“Hmm?” he said absentmindedly as he removed what I was fairly certain was the animal’s heart.
“You’ve never expressed an interest in treating animals,” I said, watching the black blood drip down his hands. “Why do you keep studying them? What is it you’re looking for?”
Cyrus set the heart on the stone table. Placing his hands on either side of it, he looked up at me. There it was, as always: that intensity. Like he’s searching for something, excited, exhilarated. But it’s the hunt that spoke to him as well.
“They’re all so different,” he said. His eyes rose to the wall where there were several long shelves. They all held glass jars, each containing the blood or heart of a different kind of creature. “They all have their different strengths and abilities. I just want to understand…” he trailed off. His eyes were unfocused, as if searching for the words. “I just need to know more. I want to understand it all.”
“All of what?” I asked.
His eyes came to mine, and in them, I saw such an excitement, such spark. “Life,” he said breathily as a smile began growing on his face.
Chapter 20
I stood at the edge of the well, looking at my reflection. My hands came to my stomach, and with tears rolling down my face, I held my hands to its flat surface.
Two years we had been married. Two years we had been with each other. Two years we had been a tiny family of just two.
I should have conceived long ago. I should have a baby in my arms now. I should be looking into the dark green eyes of my son or daughter.
But I was empty.
Another sob ripped from my throat. I turned away from the well. I couldn’t stand to look at myself any longer. I couldn’t stand the disappointment I felt for myself.
We had spoken very little about it. Cyrus always reassured me that when the time was right, it would happen. He was happy just to have this time with me, just the two of us.
He meant it. I know he did. He was happy with our life.
But an ache had long begun in me.
A hollowness.
I needed more.
But maybe it wasn’t in the stars.
Maybe it was my punishment for turning my back on my family. I’d found so much happiness with Cyrus. Surely I couldn’t get everything I wanted and have children as well.
I stepped into Cyrus’ shop, ready to help with whatever he needed me to do. I needed to forget myself.
He was just seeing a patient out the door. He coughed quietly as the woman hobbled out. He waved to her with a smile and closed the door behind her.
He turned, and coughed again, three times.
“Cyrus,” I said, my brows furrowing. I stepped forward when I saw the sheen of sweat on his brow, his upper lip. I placed a hand on the side of his face. “You’re burning up.”
He coughed again, bracing a hand on his workbench. “Just a minor illness,” he said, trying to brush me off. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
My eyes narrowed and I moved my hand to the back of his neck. It was just as hot. “You started coughing last night,” I say. “Stay here, let me make you some tea.”
He coughed again as I walked to the fire to boil the water. “Thank you, my love.”
* * *
Two days later, Cyrus could not rise from our bed.
He was sweating profusely. His body trembled as if he were freezing to death. He could not hold down any food or water.
Soon, he was delirious.
I’d watched Cyrus work for two years now. I had picked up on many of his simple practices. So I tried everything I’d seen him do.
But nothing broke the fever.
“Sevan,” he called out in the night. I’d been getting more water to try and cool him down, but darted to his side instantly.
I dropped to my knees beside him, taking his hand into mine and holding it to my chest. Tears welled in my eyes. His breathing was so ragged and labored. “I’m here.”
“Sevan,” he said again, his words slurred. “I don’t think…” he struggled to speak. “I think this might be the same illness that took my parents.”
I shook my head. “No,” I said as a few tears broke free. But I forced my voice to be even. “No, it isn’t. They tried to cure it with magic and earth. You know what you’re doing. You know the science. The fever will break come morning, and you’re going to be fine.”
It terrified me when his eyes cleared for just a little while and they focused, meeting my own. Weakly, he raised his hand to the side of my face, caressing it.
“I promised to take care of you for the rest of my life,” he said, his voice so regretful. “I keep my promises, my love. But I don’t know if the universe is going to cooperate.”
I placed a hand over his, shaking my head. “You’re going to be fine.” My lower lip trembled as his breathing grew more ragged. “You’re going to keep that promise. Because I love you too much for you to leave me here.”
He seemed to gain a little more strength, just for a moment. “I love you, too,” he breathed. “My forever heart.”
His strength gave out, his arm dropping into my lap.
“Cyrus,” I said as his eyes slid closed. They didn’t open. “Cyrus,” I cried.
His chest continued to rise and fall.
But his breathing sounded so terrible.
I clutched his hand to my chest, rocking back and forth, tears cascading down my face.
I offered up a prayer to whoever would hear me. Loud. Shrill. Terrified.
I begged for my husband’s life.
* * *
For two days, I thought he would die.
His breathing would stop.
His skin was so hot I could barely stand to touch him.
He never opened his eyes.
He never responded to me calling his name.
But finally, I touched his arm, and his skin did not burn.
Finally, the sweat diminished.
Finally, he gripped my hand.
Finally, he opened his eyes.
“My forever heart,” he said as I gathered him into my arms, holding him to me as I wept tears of gratitude.
Chapter 21
I looked over at Cyrus as he carved his way through a man who had died two nights ago. The family had donated his body to Cyrus so that he might further study.
I noted the hard set to his lips.
I saw the steady firmness in his hands.
I saw the raw determination in every corner of him.
It had been one week since my husband had nearly died. A week since he stopped breathing for a few minutes. A week since I thought I was a widow.
Cyrus was alive.
But he’d been odd.
Quiet.
Reserved.
More focused and determined than ever to learn. To understand.
I had asked him, over and over, what was wrong. If something had happened while he was sick.
But he only told me that he needed to work. He was fine. He just wanted to focus.
Something was different.
A frantic knock on the door sounded just a second before two bodies barged inside, one of them carrying a small child. They frantically started shouting about their daughter, to please help her.
Cyrus told them to lay her on one of the tables and he immediately set to diagnosing what was wrong with her.
“I…” he shook his head after just a few minutes, looking back toward her parents. “Your daughter is dead.”
The mother’s face hardened. “But she is not gone,” the woman insisted. “I can feel her. Fix her!”
Cyrus’ face seemed uncertain. But he looked at that poor girl’s parent’s faces. And he saw their desperation.
&nbs
p; Turning back to the girl, he dipped his fingers in a bowl of ash beside his table. He rubbed it over his hands.
He leaned down, listening to her chest. He pushed his hands into her stomach, feeling her organs. He placed his fingers to the side of her neck, feeling for the pulsing of her heart.
For several minutes, Cyrus searched her body. He closed his eyes as he ran his hands through the air over her.
I watched in fascination as he leaned over her. I watched him take in a breath. And he put his face to hers, his mouth covering hers, and breathed into her.
He then put one hand on her chest, the other on her stomach. And he pressed. Depressing her chest a bit. In a rhythm, the same as a heart would beat.
He breathed into her once more, before beating her heart for her once again.
For several minutes, he repeated the process. Breath. Beats.
And then a sound came to every ear. A small breath in.
With wide, surprised eyes, Cyrus watched her.
Rise and fall. Rise and fall, her chest went.
She breathed.
And a moment later, her eyes fluttered open.
“Father?” she called. Her voice was hoarse. “Mother?”
With sobs and cries of joy, they snatched her, holding her to their chests. “Thank you,” the father said, his eyes full of wonder as he looked at Cyrus. “You…you brought her back.”
“You snatched her from death,” the mother said, gently reaching out and touching Cyrus arm.
His eyes still dazzled, Cyrus gave a little smile and a nod.
The family, still together because of Cyrus, walked out, carrying their child like the most precious cargo in the world.
His eyes were still wide when he turned to me.
I beamed at him, amazed. I held my arms out, hugging him to me. “That was incredible, Cyrus. You brought her back from death.”
“She’s alive,” he breathed. “She…she was dead. And now she is alive.”
* * *
I felt it, then. The shift.
Cyrus had been fascinated with life since the day I met him.
But from that day forward, it changed.
All Cyrus could think about was cheating death.
Chapter 22
I lost him then.
I lost my husband. The man I loved.
From then, over the next two years, all Cyrus cared about was science and magic and death. He scarcely even saw me, though I was always there.
And then, two years later, after dozens of tests, he came to me with a gleam in his eye.
“I’ve done it,” he said.
“Done what?” I asked. Fear started creeping into my voice. Because that look in his eye? It could lead to no good.
“Created the cure,” he says. He held up a vial filled with black liquid.
“Cure?” I asked in a breath.
“The cure for death.”
Chapter 23
“Please don’t do this,” I begged that night. Cyrus whirled around his shop, gathering things. Double-checking notes. In general, pacing. “You have no idea what is going to happen if you take that! What if…what if it kills you instead?”
“I’ve run dozens of tests,” he responded, though he was hardly aware of me at all. “I’ve made adjustments as needed. Every subject has been successful. This is going to change the world, Sevan!”
I grabbed his arm, making him look at me. His eyes were too bright. Too wild.
“Men are not supposed to live forever,” I said, turning my voice calm. “It is the natural order of things, to one day pass away. You’ve done incredible things with your life, Cyrus. Is it truly not enough?”
His eyes narrowed. “There is so much more to this world. I will never have the time to learn it all. I will never live to see it all, and all the life it holds. This…” he held up the vial again. “This is true greatness. This will change the course of history.”
Tears welled in my eyes. Slowly, my fingers fell away from him as Cyrus stepped out of my grasp.
He stood by the door. I watched as he unstopped the vial.
And tears rolled down my face as he brought the glass to his lips, and drank his creation.
* * *
“Is it a coma?” a very far away voice calls through the dark.
“She is still reactive,” another one says. “This is something different.”
“Is she ever going to wake up?” a familiar one asks with fear.
“I don’t know,” someone else says quietly.
My eyes flutter. Fuzzy shapes float above me. Hazy shadows mix with light.
“Logan?” someone calls me.
But I can’t answer.
Not when my heart is broken.
Not when I’ve lost the man I love.
Not when terror is racing through my blood as I watch the man I married bound down the street like an animal. He leaps through the air. His eyes glow brilliant red.
Fangs extend.
He lands on top of the man.
And he bites into his neck.
* * *
Numbly, I sat in a chair, staring at the wall.
I could feel him, as if there were a tether tied between us. Across the room. Watching me. Waiting for a response.
“Please say something, Sevan,” Cyrus said.
My eyes remained fixed on the wall.
Twice now he had promised me he would not kill again. Twice he had sworn he would find a way to fix this.
He had tried. I would give him that. Cyrus had spent hours in his shop, working and scheming and testing.
But three times now he had killed an innocent.
Three times now he had hunted down a person. He had grown fangs. His eyes had ignited brilliant, blood red. He had drunk their blood. Every bit of it until they were stone white, their body looking depleted and empty.
“I don’t know if I can cure this,” Cyrus had just admitted. “I don’t know if I can reverse it. Any of it.”
Something cold and heavy settled through my body at his words.
“And I don’t know if I want to,” he had said after. “The bloodlust,” he had shaken his head. “I never expected it. It’s…a terrible consequence. But Sevan,” his voice had gone breathy. “This strength, the power in me. My vision. My instincts.” He had taken my hand and stared up at me, even if I wouldn’t look at him in return. “It may have only been seven days, but I can feel it, Sevan. The cure for death was successful. I will never die.”
My eyes slid closed.
I felt sick.
So sick.
“Can you not be proud of me, my forever heart?” he whispered. His tone… I could hear his agony. His desire.
I couldn’t find any words.
He had sat at my side for a long moment, just watching me.
He gathered my hand into his, holding it to his chest.
He was no longer human, but still, I felt his heart beating in his chest.
“Do you still love me, Sevan?” he asked in a terrified breath.
Still, words did not come to me.
So I had sat there.
Cyrus eventually let go of me. He sat across the room. He watched me.
And I could not find the words to answer him.
* * *
I could not tell my husband that I loved him.
But as disgusted as I was by what he had become, I could not bring myself to leave him.
I kept myself removed for those first few weeks.
But eventually, I found myself looking into his dark eyes. Eventually, I let him wrap his arms around me once more.
Eventually I let him whisper familiar words in my ear.
Eventually I let him back into our bed.
“Join me, my forever heart,” Cyrus eventually dared whisper one night. “I cannot stand the thought of moving on in this life without you when one day the course of your life runs out.”
I rolled over, my brows furrowing as I looked up at him.
“I created two dos
es,” he said, placing a hand on my cheek. He softly brushed his thumb over my skin. “Join me, Sevan. Let us lead this new life together.”
I reached up, gently touching his face. My insides twisted, filled with so much uncertainty. So much anger. So much doubt. And fear.
“And go through the bloodlust?” I said. “The inability to control myself? The loss of myself as a human?” I shook my head. “Cyrus, this is a path you set yourself upon. It is one I cannot join you in.”
His eyes darkened. They filled with sadness and anger and betrayal. “Sevan, when I said that I would love you for the rest of my days, I meant it with every single fiber of my being. Those days never, ever have to end.”
I still had my doubts. It had not been long. It would be years until we were certain.
I shook my head again. “I cannot.”
* * *
Cyrus continued to hunt people. He drank their blood. His fangs would lengthen and his eyes would glow, and he would drain them of their blood.
He continued to study.
But he could no longer practice. He could not control himself when someone walked in with a bleeding wound.
He adopted a new practice, though. That of exacting control over himself. He was determined to not let the bloodlust take hold of him, turning him into a monster.
He hid what he was from our town.
And every night, wrapped in his arms, with my heart trembling and splitting in two, I stayed with my husband.
Every night, he tried to persuade me.
A lifetime of immortal strength together.
Endless time to see the world. To learn everything about everything.
A lifetime of he and I.
He swore he would give me the world.
But I would raise a hand to my neck. I would imagine how those people must have felt as he hunted them down. The terror that must have consumed them as they realized they were going to die at the hands of Cyrus.
