Buried Passion

by Marianne Willis

  Peace? She breathed in the word as though tasting the weightlessness it offered. From the moment she awoke in the grave, she experienced fear and anxiety. After she learned about Maurice, her goals centred on rage and revenge. And then there was Ian. A pulsating ache attacked her heart. Not to mention the lump in her throat at the reality of their treacherous past.

  “Tristan and Brianna will show you to one of our guest rooms now.” Lord Sylvestre stared at the box in her hands, then nodded to one of his guards. Quick to respond, the guard stepped forward and took the chiller box. “I will send for someone so you can feed.”

  “What? Do you have human stock kept here or something?” Typical, this place was too good to be true. What shady activities transpired down in this underground cave?

  Lord Sylvestre chuckled, and waved a hand. “Yes, we have humans here, but no, they are not stock. They are the families of the human moitiés. Vampires can drink from one another.”

  Oh, so far this place was beyond her expectations. She imagined her teeth buried in a stranger’s flesh. Bile rose in her mouth at the notion. A sure reminder of the blood she failed to keep down earlier. The last batch did a number on her. Hopefully, when she fed again, her stomach wouldn’t reject what they offered. If only she could drink from Ian again. Warmth spread through her belly. She licked her lips. His taste had been powerful, fresh, full of zest. And the way her body responded to him…it was almost as if she could taste more than his blood, taste the passion that burned for her. No wonder she preferred to be in his arms and experience his intensity whilst she satisfied her natural urges.

  With a polite smile, the leader strolled away. Onlookers gave a short curtsey or bow as he sauntered by.

  “This way.” Tristan led them down a hallway which broke off into another, and another. Her sister seemed calm as they followed Tristan through the maze-like passages. How on earth did they not get lost in such an enormous place? Lit torches lined the wall in the next corridor, with several doors spaced between the flame sconces.

  Brianna smiled over her shoulder, the sparkle in her eyes matched that of a young girl at a slumber party. “These are the guest suites.”

  Tristan stopped before one and pushed open the unlocked door. Strangely enough, the doors weren’t numbered. She followed them into a spectacular room. A golden glow from the candle sconces illuminated the space. Rachel sauntered around the upholstered antique gilded furniture, and stared at the high vaulted ceiling. The air fragrant with Frankincense and Myrrh, much like an old cathedral. Even the vintage dresser and carved posts of the four-poster bed were covered in gold. A beautiful black chiffon canopy complemented the bed.

  Others might find a room such as this unnatural, but for some reason the unusual environment relaxed her. Did her vampire nature find comfort in such surroundings? Hope flickered in her chest. Perhaps she could call this place home after all. A dark, romantic appeal consumed the room. Its whispers of secret seduction filled her mind with scenes of her and Ian. Forbidden images of them against the dresser, her legs securing his waist as his every thrust smacked her spine into the vintage stained glass. Or of them entangled in the black sheets on the bed, with Ian using the chiffon material of the canopy to bind her arms and legs whilst nipping at her flesh. She shivered and broke out of the daze. That would never happen. Ian couldn’t stand her. Besides, he deserved to be happy with his true mate. As for herself, she ought to rectify the past. Letting Ian go was the first step. But there was another issue to deal with; the vampire who turned her. She stopped from biting her nails.

  “Rachel?” Brianna stood in front of her, brow raised.

  “I asked if you were all right. You spaced-out for a minute there.”

  “I’m fine.” Her lips quivered as she forced a smile.

  Her sister bit her bottom lip. “You’re okay with the room? We’ve ordered a television. It should be here by lunchtime.”

  “Lunchtime?”

  “Yes, it’s early morning here.”

  Rachel spotted a clock on the wall. It was six. “Where are we exactly?”

  “Désuet is located in the south-west countryside of France, in the town of Dordogne.” Tristan had the same mannerism as his leader, their tones almost archaic.

  “Oh, sounds lovely. Um…as for the television, please don’t trouble yourself because of me.”

  Brianna beamed. “It’s no trouble at all. I thought we could park our butts on the sofa like old times and watch movies. You, me and Amber used to argue over what to watch. I like anything to do with comedy, but you would demand we saw the latest horror flick. Amber won every time, so we were always stuck with the latest romance film, which you despised.”

  Rachel grinned at the excitement in her sister’s eyes. “Horror? No way.”

  Brianna chuckled. “Yes way. You never really laughed at the comedies, and for some reason sappy romance flicks put you in a bad mood. You’d storm out of the room after every happy ending.”

  That made sense. After her own experience with love, it’d probably irritated her to see love prevail and on-screen couples sail off into the sunset. Did Brianna know about her past or had Rachel kept that a secret? Rachel could picture it so clearly, cuddled on the sofa with her sister. Brianna eating popcorn. Both of them laughing, screaming and crying at the television. The idea of sisterly activities warmed Rachel inside. Brianna made her comfortable. The memory from their childhood had a lot to do with it. Rachel could sense a strong bond between them and knew Brianna could be trusted. She hoped her sister would understand what she had to do next.

  Tristan came behind Brianna and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll have many nights to enjoy with your sister. As for now, let her freshen up and rest.” Tristan pointed in the direction behind Rachel. “There’s an en-suite through that door, and the wardrobe has many dress selections.”

  “I want to see him.”

  Brianna frowned, her smile fading. “Who?”

  “Maurice.”

  Tristan and Brianna’s eyes widened in unison. Her sister gasped. “But why?”

  “Because I need to. I’ve been thinking about this since you first asked me to come here.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” her sister rushed out and dismissed the request with a harsh wave.

  “Rachel.” Tristan stepped forward. “My brother isn’t…stable.”

  “I said I want to see him.”

  Tristan’s eyes flickered with recognition. Perhaps she and Brianna shared the same insistent trait, and he knew he lost this argument. He twisted to his moitié and cupped her elbow. “Let me speak with you a moment. We’ll be outside your door,” he called, directing a huffing Brianna to the exit.

  For the sake of their privacy, she didn’t eavesdrop. Rather, she took her time observing the room, the small details in the swirl design of the furniture. When she approached the dresser, she brushed the shiny wood with a fingertip, not collecting any dust. Rachel met her reflection in the old stained mirror.

  What exactly would she say or do when faced with Maurice? A storm of emotions brewed within, confused her motives. Was it hypocritical to seek revenge? She had played with fire the night she met him. No, she wasn’t a saint. She’d done horrible things in her own past. Lied and connived for her own personal gain, careless of those she hurt to get what she wanted. A glistening tear hovered at her chin and she swiped it away. She was no better than the monster who killed her.

  The exit door creaked and broke her out of her thoughts. She swung around. Tristan and Brianna entered. Her sister hugged herself, jaw firm, eyes watery. As for Tristan, he gave a soft nod.

  “I know he won’t be able to hurt you again,” Brianna whispered, her words a breathy tremble. “But I’m afraid how you might react when seeing him.”

  Ah, it now made sense. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

  Brianna shed a sad grin and tucked a blonde strand behind her ear. “The last time we spoke, we had an argument. You�
�d said I should stop hassling you, that I wasn’t your real sister.” Brianna’s chin trembled with the words. “That was so hard to hear.”

  Rachel cringed inside. She did not remember the conversation, and frankly didn’t want to recall something so mean and offensive. What a cruel, inconsiderate person I had been. Heart in her throat, Rachel embraced Brianna and held her tight. “I’m so sorry. I may not remember anything, but I can guarantee I didn’t mean a word of it.” She leaned back to stare into her sister’s gray eyes. “From the moment I awoke, all I cared about was finding my family. Finding you. Please believe me.”

  After a visible swallow, Brianna nodded.

  They faced a jubilant Tristan, obviously pleased with their sisterly moment. Rachel had to give it to Brianna, she had a good man in her life. Her sister was one of the lucky ones.

  “Are we ready?” Tristan held out his palms.

  They both placed their hands in his. Just as before, their surroundings faded into darkness. The first spot of light grew larger and revealed an old weathered door with rusty hinges. Two lit torches projected beside the entrance, and above the shut doors sat a surveillance camera. Rachel frowned at the modernised gadget in this ancient domain.

  Tristan swung the doors open. Traditional wax-covered iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, aligning the hallway toward glass panel double doors. This facility had to have undergone upgrades over the centuries, and yet like the rest of Désuet, they’d kept most of the old fixtures. As though the vampires liked the look and did not want to part with their own personal history of the place.

  The security camera zoomed in on them with a soft mechanical hum. A red button on the glass door flickered green, followed by a loud buzz as the doors slid open. She clutched her sister’s shaky hand and traipsed behind Tristan. Brianna wrung her hands and bit into her lower lip. Rachel gave Brianna’s hand a small squeeze. Focussing on her sister helped Rachel with the butterflies in her stomach.

  Several men in black uniforms stood behind a long desk with monitors, guarding a circular steel door at their backs which looked more like a high-tech vault from a bank. Whatever they kept inside was not coming out.

  “Councillor Delacroix,” one of the guards greeted with a nod.

  “We wish a visit with my brother. Patient two-nine-zero-three-four.”

  “Very well, Councillor.”

  The man typed in several keys. With a loud machinelike rotation, the door behind them rolled back. Disinfectant or some sort of hospital grade solution perfumed the air. The place resembled a psychiatric ward. As they strode down the path, they passed heavy cell doors. Muffled laughter echoed from behind one, the sound maniacal. Screams reverberated from another.

  A man crashed against a door, hissed and bared his fangs through the square window. Brianna jumped, a squeak erupted from her throat. Rachel obeyed her first instinct and squeezed her sister closer as they hurried along.

  Tristan stopped at the door on his right. This was it. Rachel patted her sister’s hand before dropping it. Knots twisted in her stomach, but she ignored the sensation. If she didn’t do this now, she would never do it. “I go alone.” No distractions, no interruptions. No one but her and her killer.

  Tristan placed an arm around Brianna as Rachel entered a room with a barricaded glass door. Behind the glass, florescent bar lights bordered the square block ceiling and illuminated the white padded walls. A hole in the corner pumped white gas every few seconds. Her muscles tensed. What a dreary environment. Her gaze zeroed on a man in the corner, face so close to the padded wall, his nose touched the material. From this side view, his appearance in comparison to Tristan was uncanny. Maurice.

  Her heart escalated to her throat. No need to be afraid, he was secure in his prison, but the sight of him elicited memories from that night; clutching him in silent plea as a scream lodged in her throat, the ruthless headiness as life dwindled from her body. As if a ghostly cold finger slithered down her spine, she shivered. Rachel clenched her fists by her sides, her face and neck hot.

  He hadn’t even spun in her direction to see who visited, and yet a small grin stretched his mouth.

  “I wondered when you’d come back, Cynthia. And to think you threatened you’d never see me again…”

  What? Who was Cynthia?

  He turned and lost his smile quicker than she caught her next breath. “You.” His bright green eyes dilated. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. In a strange way, he did.

  Confront him, scream at him, torment him. Exact revenge. Rachel swallowed, stared at Maurice, and ignored the voice in her head. Something about his vacant gaze tugged at her heartstrings. Loneliness.

  Rachel relaxed her hands as she recalled the deep regret she’d sensed in Lord Sylvestre. The words of regret snapped inside her. She followed in the same route as the vampire leader, letting the hurt, fear and anger fester. Such negativity was like a sick branch in need of pruning before the entire tree grew infected. The realization hit her with sudden clarity. As instantaneous was an overwhelming sense of…compassion? It was unjustifiable. Maurice didn’t deserve her clemency, did nothing to gain her sympathy, but similar to a lion freed from its cage, the sensation thundered through her.

  Perhaps the pitiful sight of Maurice trapped in the padded cell, or the realization his addiction kept him more prisoner than these four walls encouraged her sudden change of heart. What a shame there was no cure. The man before her might have lived a different life.

  “Impossible,” he sputtered. Trembling hands sank into the white cushioned floor as he crept on his hands and knees. “How are you alive?” He shook his head. “Or are you a soul, here to haunt me?”

  “The theory is I’m now an Impure.”

  Maurice shook his head. “Impossible,” he said again.

  “Is it?”

  His shoulders sagged, jaw tightened. Before she could blink, he rushed toward her, eyes narrowed, face so close, their noses would have touched if the glass weren’t between them.

  “What do you want?” He growled out the words.

  She kept her gaze level with his. Why didn’t her heart thunder, or her palms sweat? Instead, a sense of calm enwrapped her like a blanket. “I want to do what none of your victims ever had the chance to do.”

  Arms folded, his expression turned solemn. But she wasn’t fooled. Trepidation flashed in his beautiful eyes. He stilled as though bracing himself.

  “I forgive you,” she breathed the words, drowned in the blissful freedom that followed the exoneration.

  Mouth parted, he grew pale. “You forgive me?” He repeated, as if she spoke in a foreign language. She doubted he’d ever had someone show mercy before, unlike how he’d done to those he murdered. His gaze lowered, and he looked at the floor as though he’d lost a precious item. “Leave,” his voice trembled. “Get out of here.”

  The door behind her cranked open.

  Tristan stepped forward. Maurice frowned. For sure he’d eavesdropped this entire time, but she understood he’d have done so for her own protection, or perhaps Brianna would have his head if he hadn’t.

  Tristan approached the window. “Brother?”

  Maurice’s eyes narrowed a second time. “What do you want?”

  “What I’ve always wanted…to see you well.”

  “Well behind this cage, don’t you mean?”

  Tristan grit his teeth. “Don’t you want to be healthy again, to live each day with your moitié?”

  “Ha!” He threw his head back and laughed at the padded ceiling. “Oh brother, you and your fairytale notions. I don’t need my health, and I sure as hell don’t need a life with Cynthia. She’s been a thorn in my side since childhood.”

  Ah, so Cynthia was his moitié. Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. “Sounds to me like that thorn doesn’t care to stick around. You assumed I was her.”

  Maurice rolled his eyes. “For the last two hundred years, Cynthia has been the only vampire to visit me in this forsaken place. Of course I confused
you with her when I sensed a female presence in the room.” He observed his fingernails as though he’d grown bored with both of them. “You were more tolerable when you were drunk…and dead.”

  Rachel clicked her jaw, determined not to let his words sting. “But this woman doesn’t visit you any more, does she?”

  His jaw clenched, and he dropped his hand. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

  “It’s true,” Tristan answered for his brother. “Ever since you were recaptured, Cynthia has been a sobbing mess, she hardly leaves her quarters let alone come this way.” Tristan turned to her. “Cynthia blames herself for your death. She freed Maurice the night you died. Maurice tricked Cynthia, had her believe he was cured and eager to start a life with her. But it was all lies.” He faced his brother once again.

  The poor woman…betrayed by her moitié. Rachel swallowed. She had tricked Ian at one stage. If she could go back, she’d change everything. Lies and deception were a sickness, a demon that caused destruction.

  A square panel in the wall opened with an automatic motion. Out sprouted a tray with a vial.

  “Ah, speak of the devil,” Maurice said, then approached the tray. “This is the only part of Cynthia I wish to see.” He tilted the vile in a salute and shot back the…blood.

  Rachel’s gaze whipped to Tristan. “What? He receives…her blood?”

  “It is fine,” he reassured, head inclined toward his twin. “They have their bloods exchanged. Since moitiés need each other to survive, this is the safest way to make sure both are fed on a regular basis.”

  Oh, thank God. For a minute she believed the woman died, and this sicko wanted what was left of his moitié. “So, that means you and my sister share each other’s blood.”

  Tristan’s cheeks grew red. “Yes, we do. Even though your sister is not a vampire, she will remain immortal because of my blood.”