by Lisa Kessler
The knowledge brought true fear into his world.
He rubbed at the scar on his chest. The slick, raised skin stood as an eternal reminder of his inability to save his people. It remained the only blemish on his immortal flesh.
When the demon had crossed into the world of man and slaughtered the Mayan people, Kane hadn’t been able to find a way to stop her. Instead, he attacked her, knowing he couldn’t win the battle.
But he’d needed to do something.
Finding himself unable to protect his people from the demon’s appetite introduced him to his first taste of real fear. It mutated into bitter frustration and raw anger until he allowed his emotions to make his decisions for him.
Even wrestling against an unbeatable foe felt better than doing nothing.
In the end, his efforts landed him on a boat, traveling across the ocean to France. After that night, the Great Separation, the four immortal brothers had scattered to the far corners of the world. He never saw his brothers again.
The moment he’d witnessed Rita in peril, all his past failures reared up to remind him that nothing would save her. In the end, death would still steal her from him no matter how well he protected her.
It was enough to drive him mad.
His flawed heart apparently welcomed madness. His heart wanted to spend every moment of the time she had left in this world with her, to share every smile, to love her.
Love.
He’d tried to deny it and respect the distance she placed between them while she cared for her cousin. Loving a mortal, knowing he would eventually lose her, hurt him in ways his immortal blood could never heal.
But denying himself her touch, the scent of her hair, her stubborn will… It would hurt more not to love her while he had the chance. How could he let her go now that he knew how she felt in his arms, the sight of her blissful smile after they made love? One night would never be enough.
Kane paced in the center of the barn. Kukulkan followed his movements, his large black head swaying back and forth with his ears pricked attentively toward his master.
“If I let her go now, regret will taunt me for eternity, but if I succumb to my feelings for her, watching her grow old and knowing she will die…” He shook his head and walked toward his horse. “She will go on to a world where I cannot follow.” The words constricted his throat as he stroked Kukulkan’s face. His horse nuzzled into his chest. “I do not know if I am strong enough for love, my friend.”
He stroked his hand down the Friesian’s thick neck.
“Not that she wants my love.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and he welcomed it. Anything to keep the ache at bay. “She judges me a monster. How far has the God of the East fallen to allow a mortal to pass judgment over me? I am a Night Walker. I uphold the mortal world, protect it.”
Kane rubbed under Kukulkan’s jaw until his stallion’s upper lip quivered in pleasure. “Perhaps that is what captivates me. Rita is a puzzle of contradictions. She would give up her life to save her cousin, and yet she has no regrets when she steals a man’s coin purse. Or his watch.”
The memory of that night brought a smile. “She worried that worthless vampire might hurt me.” He leaned against the stall door. The horse nickered, encouraging Kane as if he understood every word. “No one, other than my immortal brothers, ever showed concern for my welfare.”
The stallion nudged him with his muzzle.
“You are a good listener, my friend.”
Kukulkan answered by sneezing on him. Kane laughed in spite of himself, grateful for the respite from his thoughts.
Tomorrow he would try to talk with Rita. Hopefully, she would listen as well as his horse. The corner of his mouth curved slightly. She would do no such thing.
That strong will was part of the reason he loved her.
Marguerite woke up stiff and disoriented in her chair.
Stretching, she frowned and looked around the room.
Callia’s room. It was still dark outside, but it sounded like a teapot boiled, blowing steam.
She turned toward her cousin, and her heart sank. In the faint glow of the oil lamp, her skin gleamed with perspiration.
Marguerite moved to her bedside and pressed her hand to her cousin’s forehead.
Fever.
Turning up the light on the lamp, she stared at Callia’s gaunt face, and her eyes welled with tears. Callia’s eyelids and lips were discolored, a gray-blue, far from the color of healthy flesh. Marguerite reached for the basin and quietly left the room. In the kitchen, she emptied the basin and filled it with fresh water. She stoked the fire in the stove, begging the flames to heat the water quickly.
Gerard tottered in, wearing his robe. “Can I help?”
Marguerite nodded, fighting back tears. “Callia has a fever, and her breath wheezes from her lungs like a tea kettle.”
“I will fetch the doctor.” He hustled away, no longer dazed by sleep.
“Merci, Gerard.”
Marguerite wrapped kitchen rags around her hands to keep from burning herself on the basin, and hurried back to Callia’s side. She dipped a rag into the water and cleaned the fevered sweat from her cousin’s brow.
“Please, Callia. Stay with me.” The noise from dipping the rag in the basin and wringing the excess water became a comfort. It kept her from hearing the labor in each of Callia’s breaths. “Gerard is fetching the doctor. He will be here soon with an elixir to help you breathe.”
Callia started to shiver, her teeth chattering together.
Marguerite rushed to the fireplace, stoking the embers until angry flames leapt up the flue. She added another log to the fire, watching the sparks fly.
Heat radiated into the room. Marguerite replaced the poker against the fireplace and returned to her vigil at Callia’s side, finding her cousin’s eyes open.
“Cousin?”
Marguerite leaned in close to hear her soft, raspy whisper.
“I am here, Callia.”
She clasped Marguerite’s hands. Her skin felt clammy.
“Angels are coming for me.”
“No.” Marguerite blinked back tears. “You are strong.
The doctor will heal you.”
She shook her head. “I cannot catch my breath.” Her chest heaved in short breaths like a panting housedog. “My chest hurts. I do not wish to live in pain.”
A tear rolled down Marguerite’s cheek. “The doctor will ease the pain.”
She pressed her blue lips together, and opened them again, gasping for more small sips of air. Her green eyes wandered up until she met her gaze. “Have you ever wondered what it must be like?”
“I am not sure what you mean.”
“To be like Kane? Never sick, never die…”
Marguerite shrugged. “I have not considered it.” She squeezed her cousin’s hands, aching inside at the thought that this might be their last conversation. “It would probably be lonely.”
She panted, wheezing before she whispered, “How so?”
“While you would live, everyone around you would pass away.”
Callia shook her head slowly. “Unless you had a companion.”
Marguerite dabbed her forehead. “Kane mentioned his immortal brothers, but he has not seen them in hundreds of years.”
“You do not understand me.” She almost smiled. “You could love without ever saying goodbye.”
Marguerite sighed. “God did not intend for us to remain in this world.”
“How can you…pretend to know…what God intends… for us.” Her eyes drifted closed. “I love you, Cousin.”
A sob choked Marguerite. She bent to kiss Callia’s forehead. “I love you too, Cousin.”
Callia gasped for breath, her body struggling and exhausted. Marguerite’s chest ached. Surely, pain and suffering were never God’s intention. Her mind whirled with unanswerable questions. If God created the world of man, could he also have created immortals?
And where did she fit?
Chap
ter Eleven
The doctor used every treatment in his leather bag, but by midday, Gerard fetched the priest to offer Callia’s last rites.
With shaky, gnarled fingers, the priest made the sign of the cross over her cousin, chanting his prayers in Latin. Tears slipped down Marguerite’s cheeks while she whispered the Lord’s Prayer.
The priest offered her some words of comfort and left in silence.
Marguerite stared at Callia’s face, willing her to keep breathing. “Please, Callia. Do not go.” She bit at her lower lip, struggling to hold back the tears. “Remember when we were girls? We were going to grow up and marry princes and ride fine white horses.” Taking Callia’s cool hand in hers, she whispered, “I miss you already.” She sniffled, her voice cracking. “I am not ready to be alone in this world, Cousin.
Without your laughter, your smile, the sun will not be as bright.”
Her cousin’s breathing thinned to faster, smaller puffs of air, and suddenly stopped.
Marguerite’s heart raced. She squeezed her hand.
“Callia? Callia… No. Please God, do not take her from me.”
She embraced her cousin’s frail, lifeless body and wept. “I love you.”
Hours passed, she wasn’t sure how many. Marie entered the room and wrapped a caring arm around Marguerite’s shoulder. “Vespers are starting soon. Would you like me to light a candle for her?”
Marguerite accepted the comfort, wiping tears from her face. Since Antoine’s attack, her prayers had been limited to this room. Perhaps being in the sanctuary would bring her some peace. “No. I will go.”
She got to her feet, surprised at the ache in her body.
A wave of lightheadedness washed over her, making her reach up to rub her forehead. Seeing Callia motionless on the bed seemed like a bad dream, like she might wake up at any moment. She kissed her cool forehead and whispered, “I am so sorry, Cousin.”
She turned to go and lost her balance for a moment.
Dizziness blurred her vision.
“Are you sure?” Marie frowned, guiding her toward a chair.
Marguerite waved her off. “Oui. I will go. Callia would want me to pray.”
She walked to the door, consciously placing one foot in front of the other, each step leading her further away from her loss.
Two black dresses were laid across her bed, waiting for her to select the one she would wear to Notre Dame. The sight brought a fresh wave of tears. She dressed quietly, not bothering to wear a corset. Her first black mourning dress had been for her mother, followed by another for her baby brother. Years later, she had found herself in black for her father.
And now Callia.
She had no one left.
With trembling hands, she pinned up her hair and placed the veiled mourning bonnet over her blond curls. Before lowering the veil, she closed her eyes, pulling in a long, slow breath. Centering herself, she opened her eyes and lowered the black veil. She would survive just as she always had.
After the evening vespers concluded, Marguerite wandered behind the main altar of Notre Dame. At the back of the cathedral, she stopped at the Apsidal chapel dedicated to Our Lady of Sorrows. She stared up at Mary’s serene face, wishing for peace and balm for her wounded heart.
Marguerite sighed and moved to the candles. Dropping in her coins, she lit a candle in Callia’s memory before kneeling to pray. While she poured out her pain and worry to God, she sensed someone beside her.
She peered to her right and recognized the open collar, tanned skin, and strong jaw. Turning toward him, she whispered, “How is this possible? You are on hallowed ground in the shadow of the cross.”
On his knees beside her, Kane leaned close to her ear.
“Your religion holds no power over me.” He straightened, but moved in close once more. “I am not a vampire, Rita.”
Hearing the agitation in his voice lifted her heavy spirit for a brief moment.
“What are you doing here?” She whispered without looking at him.
“I came when I heard.” His large hand covered hers. “I am sorry I could not save her for you.”
“I am grateful that you tried.” Marguerite swallowed the lump in her throat. “But why are you here? You are not a believer.”
“You are. I came because…” His voice trailed off until she turned and met his eyes. He reached up under the veil to slide his finger along her jaw. His touch comforted her more than she thought possible. “Because I wanted you to know you are not alone in this world.”
“Thank you.” A tear spilled down her cheek. Marguerite stared into the candle flame.
She bowed her head to pray, and Kane remained at her side in silent support while her world crumbled around her.
When she stood, he offered his arm. Kane guided Rita to an inn and seated her at a table in the corner by the fireplace.
She’d spent the past two weeks tending to her cousin, and he worried. She looked frail. He ordered her a bowl of stew and a glass of wine.
She lifted her veil and pulled it back over her hat while she stared at him. He could almost see her mind working and fought the urge to peer into her thoughts. After she enjoyed a sip of wine, she sat back in her chair. “Tell me how you entered Notre Dame and Antoine could not.”
Annoyance festered inside of him. “Why am I constantly compared to that worthless creature?”
“I am trying to understand who and what you are.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I tire of explaining that I am no monster.”
She lifted her glass, swirling the wine. “I did not call you one.”
“You saw me inside the cathedral, kneeling beside you.”
He tried to remind himself that Rita was in mourning, but remembering proved difficult when her needling continued.
“That is not enough for you?”
She swallowed a mouthful of stew and lifted her gaze to meet his. “Why are vampires cursed and Night Walkers are not?”
Kane sat back in his chair, trying not to admire her tenacity. “Humans are not the only intelligent race in this world, Rita. Spirits, demons, and immortals all dwell among you.”
Her spoon hovered over the bowl, suspended for a moment. “I suppose that makes sense.” He waited for the information to sink in and expected more questions, but she finally shook her head and reached for her wine. “Tell me why you can walk where vampires cannot.”
“Vlad started the vampire race by making contact with an immortal spirit that longed for flesh. He believed he sold his soul to the devil, but I will tell you there are many demons who would bargain with a mortal for use of his flesh.”
“So you do not believe the devil himself gave the vampires immortality?” She glanced around the inn keeping her voice low.
“I have never met the devil himself, so I doubt his existence. But the demon that Vlad offered entry into his bloodstream does have an aversion to religious symbols.”
“And you do not.”
The corner of his lip curved into a half smile. “I have no quarrel with a God who offers his people peace.” He reached across the table to take her free hand in his. “Finish your food. I have something to show you.”
He paid for her meal and took her hand, admiring the feel of her warm fingers entwining with his. Outside, Kukulkan pawed at the ground, shaking his head. Rita ran her hand down his neck, and Kane lifted her onto his back before climbing into the saddle behind her. With one arm around her waist, he grasped the reins and turned Kukulkan toward the hills outside of Paris.
When they arrived at the lake, Rita rested against Kane’s chest, and he bent to kiss her hair. Her scent calmed the jaguar inside of him.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?”
Kane dismounted and reached up to help Rita down from his horse. “Not exactly.”
He took her hand and walked her to a grassy area by the water’s edge. They sat down, and her gaze met his. It hurt him to see the pain in her features. “I do wish I coul
d have saved Callia for you.”
Her eyes watered, but she blinked back her tears. “I know. You gave me more time with her.”
He nodded. “Perhaps.” His gaze wandered to the moonlight on the water. “Are you still going to the new world?”
She squeezed his hand, then pulled free from his grasp.
His heart burned like the vampire had staked him all over again.
“I wish I knew. The future I thought I wanted…
Everything has changed.”
Kane stood up and walked to the water, trying to clear his head. He didn’t want her to leave, but could he risk asking her to stay? He’d never felt this strange…insecure. Ever.
“Before you decide anything, there is something I want to share with you.” He turned to face her again. “I knew you would have too many questions. I thought showing you would be better.”
He took a deep breath, calling the energy around him while he welcomed the jaguar spirit to join with his own.
Marguerite frowned, hurrying to her feet. The air around Kane came alive, raising the fine hairs on her arms and neck. She rubbed her eyes, unable to process what she saw.
Kane’s body appeared to melt and shift from a man into a huge golden cat with black spots. The electricity in the air dissipated, leaving her staring at a massive feline with large, sharp teeth.
The cat paced along the water’s edge until it turned and met her gaze. She froze, unable to breathe. It took a silent step toward her. The sleek creature came closer, sniffing at her feet. Marguerite’s heart pounded in her ears, but she fought the urge to run. Somewhere deep inside, she knew this must be Kane. Impossible.
But she’d witnessed him change.
Fearing she might be sinking into hysteria, she reached out with a trembling hand. The cat sat in front of her, brushing its head against her hand. She’d never felt anything so soft and sleek. While it rubbed itself, she noticed he had deep blue eyes.
Kane’s eyes.
Marguerite knelt, face to face with a wild animal that could maul her to death. Perhaps she was closer to insanity than she realized.
