The smell of blood reached Avrum’s nose and made him tremble, but where was it coming from?
Then he saw it. A single drop of blood made its way down the mound of muscle on Cornelius’ arm. He expelled his held breath. That was it―the first sign of blood. The duel was won.
The crowd erupted with cheers and laughter. Lysander’s eyes returned to his natural calm, gray color, and he lifted his chin high as he walked over to where Avrum stood.
“That was quite a performance,” he told him.
“Merci.” Lysander took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed the few beads of perspiration on his upper lip. He glanced over his shoulder to where Cornelius still laid. “Someone had to quiet him.”
Avrum laughed, patting his friend on the back. “You had me nervous there for a while.”
Lysander waved the cloth at him in dismissal. “I like to keep things interesting.” He turned to the men. “Now, who is up next?”
No one moved. Fear and hesitation washed over every face.
“It seems you have quite a reputation,” said Avrum.
“It seems I do.” Lysander smiled and glanced over his shoulder again. “Oh, and tell Cornelius that when he wakes, he must see to his end of the bet.”
“You bet him?”
He nodded. “He must take over my guard duty for a month.”
Avrum’s eyes widened. Being a part of Lord Henri’s guard was a noble position. The lord only chose the best to protect him, and Cornelius may have been large in size, but as Lysander had proven this night, he was not a skilled fighter.
“Lord Henri will not approve,” Avrum told him and shook his head. Lysander was an expert with a weapon, and in exchange for Henri’s housing, Lysander had taken the position of head of his guard. The way Avrum saw it, Lord Henri might even take this as an insult. “I don’t think it wise, Lysander―”
“I’m sure Henri won’t approve,” he interrupted, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket, “but this is why you never make a bet you aren’t willing to keep. Dear Cornelius can handle those consequences.” Lysander paused before clapping his hands together and starting to walk towards the manor. “After all this, I think I deserve a drink. Avrum, would you care to join me?”
As Avrum followed him, his mind turned to Haven. He wondered if Henri had scolded her for leaving the party and running away to the city alone. He hated thinking of her being yelled at or punished.
Haven had to understand that she had a better life now. She had everything she could ever want.
The night the fire took everything from him, Lord Henri found him. He had scooped him up like a father and had introduced him to a life of riches and wonder. He took Avrum out of his rags and put him into tailored suits. He brought him to operas, allowed him to taste real food and drink expensive wine. It was as if he had been given a second chance. There was nothing left for him at the Brenins’ farm.
“Did you ever find her?”
Avrum blinked as Lysander’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Find… her?”
“Haven,” Lysander said blandly. “Did you ever find Haven?”
He hadn’t even noticed, but they had reached the manor. Lysander now held the door for him with one arm behind his back like a true gentleman.
“Yes, I did.”
“Was she far off?”
Avrum nodded. “She went to the city. To see her father.”
“Her father is still alive?” Lysander asked as they walked down the dimly lit corridor, their footsteps muted by the soft burgundy carpeting. He lowered his voice as they passed other men and women. “How... interesting.”
“I didn’t understand it either,” Avrum said, rubbing the faint stubble around his mouth and along his jaw, “but I am sure Lord Henri has a good reason for bringing her here. He had one for the rest of us.”
Lysander shrugged, stopping in front of the doors leading to the kitchens. “You put a lot of faith in him.”
“Why shouldn’t I? He saved my life. He took me into his home and treated me like a son. He did the same for you, didn’t he?”
But Lysander seemed uninterested now, and he ran his hands over the front of his shirt. As a maid walked passed them with an empty tray in her hands, he beckoned her over. She was very young and very human―like most of the servants working under Henri―with wheat-colored hair braided like a halo around her head.
“Two scotches,” ordered Lysander, “and bring them to the library. That is where we will be for the rest of tonight.”
“Please,” Avrum added with a small smile.
The little maid nodded.
Lysander walked off towards the library, and Avrum knew he expected him to follow. But before he could, there was one thing he wanted to do.
“Please, miss,” he whispered to the girl, “I must ask something more from you.”
She waited for him to continue.
“Do you know of a young woman here named Haven? Her bedroom is the one beside Lord Henri’s, yes?”
She gave him another nod, her round eyes wide.
“Could you just see what she is doing this evening? Make sure all is well?” His voice quivered, and he cleared it before continuing, “She was left in the rain for some time last night and—”
The maid curtsied, understanding, and went through the kitchen doors.
“Thank you,” he sighed, relieved he didn’t have to explain himself more, and headed down the hall to catch up to Lysander.
* * *
Henri drew in a deep, filling breath. Everything about him tingled as the living blood pumped through his greedy veins. He leaned against his desk in the study and closed his eyes. There was never silence after drinking from Haven. He could hear the hum of the new and old power under his skin, the slow, steady beating of his lover’s heart in the adjoining room, and even the muffled voices of his guests and friends readying themselves for the morning’s routine sleep.
The night had been a success. Avrum, his newest turn, was proving himself to be more loyal and more capable than his older counterparts. Henri could see promise in the young man. Since the beginning, he had been eager to learn, to improve, whatever and however he could. He had ambition. He had courage. He had strengths that―with Henri’s guidance―could someday make Avrum Brenin a lord very much like him. He just had to be pushed beyond his limits and encouraged the right way.
Now, what was he going to do with Haven? He did not understand her defiance to him. It certainly wasn’t hatred she felt. She was stubborn. She is young still, he assured himself, but did she always have to be so harsh with him? Returning to the city was an act of naïveté that he would not allow again. She had to see that her life was better here with him than it ever would be anywhere else. As much as Haven reminded him of his dear Linna, she was still too young to know how to properly love him.
Linna. His Linna. Henri licked his lips as the memories came flooding back to him. Some of the metallic taste of Haven still lingered there. As a youth, he had known loneliness. It had been his companion for many, many years. His own mother had died during his birth, and so, as a young man, his father remarried, aware of the absence in his son’s life. His new wife was named Lady Caroline Beatrum―or as she soon became to Henri, Linna. Even with twelve years over Henri, she was still a masterpiece handcrafted by God. She was a tall woman, as tall as he at twenty and two years of age. Even with her height, he always saw her as petite for her shoulders were narrow, her waist was all the more narrow, and her face was slender enough to accentuate her high cheeks, small nose, and mild chin. She had hair the color of autumn leaves, and it was long, sweeping across her waist and curved hips. She was perfection wrapped in glossy, cream skin.
Despite all these striking features, it was her eyes that had gripped him. Her eyes were the strangest color he had ever seen, but really, they were not truly one color at all. They were an array of colors. The prominent shade, and the one seen upon first glance, was a radiant sapphire. It matched the gem s
he wore each day around her neck on a gold chain. As time went by, Henri discovered the irises also held a band of green around the pupil and a few shimmering specks of gold. It was those eyes that haunted him since his death and rebirth. He had loved her with everything.
It was Linna who had showed him what love was. When his father was away at the king’s court, she invited him to her bed at night. She had instructed him on how to properly please a woman with every inch of his body. She was forceful at times and demanding, always wanting more of him, and he would always oblige. She was all he wanted and all he needed.
Linna had been his life before this one, and after so many decades and centuries of being without her, Henri had found her again. Haven reminded him so much of his Linna. The two didn’t have the same manner―no―but there was a glimpse of fire in Haven that he remembered burning so bright in Linna. And those eyes! Haven bore the very eyes that had captivated him so long ago! The blues, the greens, and golds. She had Linna’s beautiful eyes, and since first finding Haven, Henri wondered if she and his Linna shared a relation. They were just too similar.
Their paths had crossed for a reason, he was sure. They were supposed to find each other so that he could somehow experience again what had been unfairly taken away from him almost three centuries ago. He just needed to guide Haven like he had with the others of his clan. He needed to awake in her the feelings he knew she had for him. He had to show her, as Linna had done for him, what love felt like.
Henri glanced at the door that separated him from Haven, who he could hear still sleeping in the next room. The bronze crow figure hanging in the center looked back at him with fierce pride. She was his Haven now. Like it was then, she would love him. He would make sure of it.
* * *
Haven awoke from her peaceful sleep, but instead of opening her eyes, she squeezed them shut tighter. She prayed for the numbness that usually came with sleep to stay with her while awake, but the moment she drew in a lungful of air, all her senses returned with it. Everything was throbbing―her chest, her neck, her hands. Even though a part of her wanted to open her eyes and see the state Henri had left her in this time, there was another part that wished to remain ignorant.
She tried to think back to that past night. She remembered being in Henri’s study, the letter opener, and his mouth on her breasts, but when she tried to think of what happened next, her temples pounded. She must have swooned as he drank from her because she remembered only blackness after.
Had Henri taken her this time, defiled her? Haven wiggled her toes and stretched her legs. Even though she was aching, her inner thighs still felt untouched. There was no pain in her lower body, just weakness. She was still pure.
Henri was insane and too strong. She could not fight him off of her forever. It was clear he wanted her, all of her, and he wasn’t going to stop the torture until she gave him what he asked for—willingly or not.
Haven felt nauseated. She wished he would kill her and get it over with.
Suddenly, something damp and warm touched her chest. She jumped out of her thoughts, heart racing. The ropes that were wrapped around her wrists jerked her back, and she gasped and pain shot down her arms.
“Oh! I’m sorry, miss!”
Haven’s eyes snapped to the right. A girl dressed in a black and white frock stood beside the bed with a towel in her quivering hands. When she recognized her as Emma, one of the many maids in Greystone Manor, Haven took another deep breath and let her aching body sink into the mattress again. Behind Emma, rose, indigo, and amber colored lights reached out from the room’s large stain glass window. They couldn’t quite touch the wooden four-poster bed where Haven lay.
“Oh, Emma,” she muttered, her voice cracking at the end. She wished she would tell her more, like she was really all right, but even in her thoughts it felt too much like a lie. This was not the first time Emma had found her this way in the few nights of her being here. They had met the first morning after her abduction. She had been sent to change Lord Henri’s bed sheets and found Haven frightened, weak, and tied to one of the bed’s four posters like a captured animal. Even at the young age of fifteen, Emma had showed more compassion to her than anyone else.
Tears prickled the back of Haven’s eyes, and she blinked to keep that at bay. Her gaze drifted to the navy canopy above her. Beyond its shimmering, dark charmeuse material, delicately painted little cherubs looked down from the ceiling with round faces and auburn colored wings. Through the canopy, she could feel them watching her as if she was some kind of poor, damned soul who was too far gone to be saved.
“I’m sorry for startling you, miss,” Emma muttered, and brushed away a stray hair that had escaped the blond braid around her head, “but you were bleeding…” Her eyes traveled up and down Haven’s half-naked body. The remaining cloth from her torn nightgown covered only from her hips to her knees. Haven could feel Emma’s shame and discomfort as if it was radiating heat off her body. “Did he—”
“No,” Haven finished, knowing what she meant. “Not this time.”
Emma gingerly pressed the cloth against Haven’s wounds again, and she did her best not to wince. If she was still bleeding, it meant Henri had only left her a few moments ago. Her eyes rolled up to where her wrists were tied above her head. She could see the red, raw flesh underneath the ropes. More scars for her to bear. What would happen, she thought, if she was to show all of his loyal followers the scars and bruises he forced her to hide from them? What if she was the one to leak the truth about what she was to him?
She knew she wouldn’t do it, and that made her feel like a coward. Maybe they all knew. She was sure there were some that did. Yet no one had made any attempts to help her.
At least she had Emma here. At least there was someone else she was sure that knew the truth of what Henri was.
“I brought you some bread from the kitchens and tea.” Emma pulled the white sheets over her nakedness to her chin. She gestured to a tray of freshly made rolls and a steaming teapot on the bedside table. “I know you can't eat or drink any of it now but—”
“Thank you,” Haven whispered.
Emma’s green eyes searched her face. Then, she wrung the water out of the cloth into a bowl in her lap and continued to dab at her wounds. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” She licked her dry lips, and let her eyes drift closed. “I went to see my father.”
“Oh, no, miss. During the party? The lord must have been so mad…”
The mention of Henri made her cringe. “Henri has assigned a man named Avrum to keep me here. He found me and brought me back.” She rolled her eyes to the left, and then to where her wrists were tied again. “That’s one of the reasons you’ve come to find me this way.”
“He asked after you, miss. I don’t really know why, but Mr. Brenin sent me here to check on you,” she said.
Haven stared at her in disbelief.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Mr. Brenin showed great deal of concern for you.”
She was right. Haven didn’t believe her.
“He did.” Emma’s cheeks reddened in the flickering light of the candle. “He asked me to see how you were doing. If you were well.”
“Do I look well?” Haven snapped. Heat prickled along her skin. Was Avrum mocking her? She thought back to his attempt to kiss her in the foyer, and the truth of his intentions crashed into her. He knew what his lord was doing to her. He must have! He was trying to get in her bed too, trying to see if she would let him in.
How could I be so foolish?
Exhaustion washed over her, as did sorrow, and she lay still with her chest heaving. “We live among demons. I have to get away,” said Haven. “I don’t know how much longer Henri will keep delaying or keep me alive. If I’m dead, I’m sure he will kill my father too, just for the sport of it.”
“What do you mean, miss? Run away from Greystone Manor?” Fear filled Emma’s eyes.
Haven nodded. “I was so close to my father last
night. If I could reach him before Avrum finds me, we could flee the country.”
“If you are caught…”
“I would be brought right back here,” Haven replied. “Either way, Henri will have his way with me. The only chance I have is to get far enough away that neither Henri nor Avrum can find me.”
“But miss, you don’t know what they are capable of.”
“I know, but what other choice do I have?”
Emma didn’t reply.
“Emma, I know I haven’t known you for long, but you have been so kind to me. I would feel just terrible if I left you here alone. I want you to come with me.”
She jumped to her feet. Her eyes snapped to the bedroom door. “If you are heard talking about such things—”
“Emma, please.”
“We could be killed.”
“Or we could be free.”
Emma dropped the towel back into the bowl and sat down. She pressed her hands against her face. “I have nowhere to go…” she mumbled into her palms. “Nowhere.”
“Where are your parents?” Haven asked.
“My mother works as a governess in Tours.”
Tours, France? Haven wondered what had brought this young girl to England and so far away from her mother. She decided not to ask. Instead, she said, “You will be with me. We would have each other.”
Emma placed her hands in her lap, and Haven could see tears glistening in her eyes. “I can’t, miss… I just can’t…”
Haven understood Emma’s fears. She was young, alone, and scared of the consequences. The maid wasn’t willing to take the risk, and now that Haven thought about it, she agreed. She was sure of her punishment if they were to get caught, but not Emma’s. She would have to do this alone.
Even with the chance of being caught or killed looming overhead, Haven knew running away was a better option than the one she was living. She didn’t know when she would do it or how, but she was sure of one thing—this time when she left Greystone Manor, she was not going to return.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 205
