Eternal Dawn

by Kerrion, Jade;

  “He’ll do,” Tera said. “Yuri said he was conscious when she checked in on him. He did not seem afraid of her, though everyone else in the house skittered on the verge of panic.”

  Ashra’s gaze shifted to Siri.

  “He’ll be fine,” Siri agreed, although she would have to find a way to ensure that her need for his healing salve remained a secret.

  Ashra nodded. “Very well, then. Siri, invite him to the next council meeting on the night of the full moon. Have you made any progress identifying his attacker?”

  “No, not yet, but I’ve told Yuri to assign a guard to protect him, should his attacker return. When I talk to him, I’ll see what else I can find out.”

  Siri left the tower in broad daylight. Considering the preexisting uproar in the city, she saw no reason to tiptoe around the terror her presence inspired. She did not expect to find Lucas sitting in Rafael’s kitchen, idly leafing through a thick book. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “You did ask Yuri to assign a guard, but until the attacker is identified, the list of vampires she trusts is very short. I got the first shift. Talon will be here in a few hours to relieve me.”

  “Ah.” She glanced toward the bedroom. “How is he?”

  “Unconscious. He’s been out for a while.”

  She walked into the bedroom. Rafael’s tanned face was pale from blood loss. Heavy quilts covered his body. Even so, he shivered, his body no longer able to regulate heat. An untouched bowl of meat broth and a covered flask lay on the bedside table. Siri smiled. Rafael did not have family, but he was not without friends.

  But who attacked you?

  She sat on the bed and tilted his head to the side. Carefully, she removed the bloodstained bandages and stared at the jagged four-inch long wound cutting diagonally across his neck. It seeped blood through the doctor’s precise stitches, but did not seem infected. Rafael would survive, but he would carry the scar forever.

  No doubt, a vampire was responsible for the attack. A more mundane explanation would not do, not when the largest carnivore in the city was a friendly forty-pound mongrel dog belonging to the blacksmith. But why were you attacked out of spite? What did you do to bring this on yourself? And how much do you remember?

  Siri placed a hand against his flat stomach. Her psychic powers leeched out but collided with his will. She recoiled and stared at him in surprise. He denied her access to his mind and his memories. How was it possible? Rafael Varens was a mere human. How could his strength of will equal that of elder vampires?

  There was another way, of course, though her upper lip twisted with distaste at the thought. The kiss of icrathari had spawned the myths of succubae. The icrathari kiss stunned the mind and weakened the soul; it made men pliable. It spawned irrational lust in its victims where natural attraction and genuine love could not otherwise exist.

  She could kiss Rafael and draw his memories from his reeling mind, although the thought made her stomach tighten. How badly did she need the truth from his memories?

  Certainly not badly enough to kiss a human.

  Before she could turn away from him, an image of Tera, wearing a knowing smirk, flashed through her mind. She could almost see Tera’s lips shape the word, “Coward.”

  Siri stiffened. Surely, she did not fear a single kiss.

  Besides, Rafael had prepared the salve for her. For that much, at least, she was grateful.

  She leaned down and breathed a kiss against his lips.

  Nothing happened.

  Of course nothing happened, she chided herself. Even she realized that the kiss she proffered was pathetic. All right, one more try. With feeling.

  Her second kiss united two bodies with a single breath. He relaxed against her; the subtle lines of pain on his face eased. When her psychic powers pushed out once again, his will conceded to hers, but there was a tender sweetness in his surrender, of two longtime lovers finding middle ground.

  Her breath caught. The simplicity and rightness of the moment, of Rafael, jolted through her. Something titanic—something she could not fully describe—shifted at the core of her being. She had never experienced anything like it in the three thousand years of her existence. Surrender without weakness. Love without conditions.

  It held all the promise of the long-forgotten dawn.

  His recent memories, however, offered little information. A swim late in the night, brought on by a desperate desire to outrace his emotional heartache. An attack from behind, the assailant unseen. Cryptic words, in the resonant voice of a vampire, demanding to know what he had given to her.

  He was attacked because of me?

  And then pain—sharp, tearing pain—followed by a desperate scramble for safety, for survival.

  Lucas…

  Siri stiffened. Lucas was the only living soul who knew she had approached Rafael for the salve. The same Lucas who now sat in Rafael’s kitchen, ostensibly protecting him.

  She suppressed the instinct to challenge Lucas directly. She could drag the truth out of a lying vampire, but she owed something to their six-hundred-year-old friendship. Lucas was…steady. There was no other word to describe the vampire who had served the icrathari with such loyalty for so long. He would not have acted out of impulse or even professional jealousy. There had to be an underlying, compelling reason. She would have to find out some other way, as Rafael’s memories held no answers. In the meantime, she was certain Rafael would be safe, especially under Lucas’s care. Lucas was too careful to draw attention to himself.

  There was however a puzzle to be solved—Rafael himself—his strength of will, his absence of fear. So unexpected in a human.

  Siri deepened the kiss, drawing on his older memories, but there was no mystery to him, no ancient soul contained in a human body. Rafael was who he was because of everything he had endured. He had lost everything. He had nothing left to lose, nothing left to fear, and nothing left to live for.

  Yet he went through the motions of life with the hope that someday, those motions would mean something again.

  Siri had thought humans lacked perspective, yet here was a man who made a lie of her beliefs. She pulled back and stared at him. Rafael was ordinary in appearance, but he was fascinating. The icrathari could not have chosen a better representative for the council, although considering his past encounters with the Night Terrors, Siri did not think he would accept the position. What a shame.

  His chest moved as he inhaled deeply.

  Siri frowned and leaned over him. “Rafael?”

  He was unconscious still, but some part of his awareness surfaced. His eyes did not open, but a faint smile flickered across his face. His fingers, clenched in the quilt, loosened. They twitched toward her as his lips shaped a silent word. “Siri.”

  Chapter 5

  A crackle in the fireplace intruded on Rafael’s mind. Light fluttered at the edge of his awareness. He inhaled, drawing the fragrance of lavender deep into his lungs, and forced his eyes open, only to squint against the bright glow of the flames in the hearth.

  He was alive in spite of the chill clawing at the core of his being. He was also exhausted from a bone-deep lethargy no amount of rest or food could repair.

  His only remedy was time.

  He touched the wound on his neck and traced Dr. Spencer’s fine needlework. The injury was still tender. Dried blood crusted on the edges. The resulting scar would certainly be a conversation starter.

  With effort, he pushed himself up on one elbow and reached for the flask on the bedside table. It was too far. Teeth gritted, he dragged himself across the bed. It took tremendous effort to move inches. He reached out again, his fingers brushing against the flask.

  Shadows moved through his bedroom. “Here.” A deep, resonant voice spoke. Thin, pale fingers unscrewed the flask and brought it to his lips. A strong arm supported his back as he sipped the herbal tonic.

  Rafael pulled his lips away from the flask. His voice was hoarse and unsteady, but he whispered, “Thank you,
” as he looked up into the vampire’s face.

  The creature’s neatly trimmed, gray-streaked beard lent him a look of gravitas. The gleam in his eyes, however, hinted at hostility. “I’m Lucas,” the vampire introduced himself.

  “Rafael Varens.” He pulled back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Protecting you, should your unknown attacker come back.”

  “It…was a vampire.”

  “We gathered as much. Did he or she say anything to you?”

  “No.” The lie came easily to protect Siri. The inexplicable impulse to protect an icrathari who clearly did not need his protection startled him moments later, but the lie had already been uttered.

  “What dealings do you have with vampires and icrathari?”

  “None.”

  “Apparently, someone disagrees with you,” Lucas said, sitting down by Rafael’s bed. His eyes were bright blue, and his fingernails bore the same pearlescent sheen as his teeth. “Since Yuri trusts few…none, actually, of the enthusiastic and good-natured newly turned vampires, you’re stuck with the irascible old vampires for bodyguards.”

  Rafael’s voice quavered from the effort of an extended conversation. “But why protect one human life after taking sixty-two two days ago?”

  Lucas’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “Because life is not created equal, after all.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “It would have been a poor trade if the city chose to give up its herbalist for one of those five-year-old children.”

  Rafael shook his head. There was little point in engaging in a philosophical discussion with an immortal. He wanted—needed—to be alone. “How long will you be here?”

  “Until Talon comes to relieve me.”

  Rafael sagged against the soft pillows surrounding his head. He must have dreamed of Siri and of the kiss that enveloped him in tenderness and the certainty of love he had not felt since Ariel passed away. He tried to shake off the lingering impressions of her touch; they had to be delusions of a fevered mind.

  Lucas continued. “I’ve passed the time looking at the herbal recipe book in your kitchen.”

  Rafael’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the vampire. Why was Lucas making small talk as if they were two humans catching up over beer in the city tavern? Rafael’s curiosity overrode his natural revulsion of vampires. He would play along, at least until Lucas’s intentions became clear. “It’s a family heirloom, handed down through several generations.” He took another sip of the tonic. It warmed his throat and chest, keeping the chill at bay.

  “I didn’t see anything in there on love potions.”

  Rafael searched Lucas’s face for the joke, but found none. “If there is one, I haven’t found it yet.”

  “Really?” The vampire bared his teeth in a cold smile. His incisors elongated, sharpened.

  Rafael stared at Lucas’s fangs. What—

  Lucas turned away abruptly. Rafael’s heart pounded, the beat rapid and erratic; he was certain Lucas could hear it. What had he said to provoke the vampire?

  When Lucas finally looked back at him, the vampire’s fangs had receded and his face was once again set in neutral, if not pleasant, lines. He gestured to the book, which lay open on the kitchen table. “Lots of the entries seem new.”

  “I…” Rafael hesitated. He searched the vampire’s face. Whatever Lucas’s game, Rafael could play it too—at least until he figured out what was at stake. He inhaled deeply before responding in the professional tone Lucas had adopted. “I tried to adapt many of the old recipes that no longer work.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have the ingredients for them.”

  “Really?” Lucas frowned. “Why not?”

  Rafael’s shoulders moved in a faint shrug. The motion tugged at the wound in his throat. “Not everything can be found within the dome.”

  “So how many recipes aren’t useable as originally written?”

  “About eighty percent. Maybe more.”

  Lucas’s jaw dropped. “That many?”

  Rafael nodded.

  “Has it always been that way?”

  “If the old family stories are true, yes. We’ve been careful to keep alive what we have; those missing plants have never existed within the dome.”

  “How much more effective of a healing salve could you make if you had the ingredients you needed?”

  “That’s an irrelevant question, isn’t it?” Rafael asked. His gaze traveled to the window and traced the curve of the dome. “There’s nothing left out there. All that exists is what we have in here.”

  Lucas met Rafael’s eyes, and for the first time, the banked hostility vanished from those brilliant blue depths. “Is it?” the vampire wondered aloud.

  Rafael knew enough about human physiology to have realistic expectations on his recovery from blood loss. Within a week, he felt strong enough to get out of bed and stand unassisted without his world pitching and fading to black around him. Strenuous physical activity was out of the question, but he could still mix salves and potions for the people who came to his door. He was easily exhausted and retired early each night, resting in bed even if he could not fall asleep.

  His vampire bodyguards vanished, although he could not tell if they had left him entirely or if they were merely in concealment. Either way, it mattered little. He had his own recovery to focus on. Silence, as much an old friend as a hated enemy, cocooned him until, at times, it seemed as if it was the only thing he could hear, touch, or see.

  A new moon rose in the sky—a sickly sliver of light against the dark spread of the night. He lay in bed, wrapped in layers of heavy quilts in spite of the fire that blazed in the hearth. Comfortable and warm, he dozed, but his mind came fully awake at the sound of wings. Moments later, a familiar face framed by short silver hair looked in through his bedroom window. A hesitant smile curved Siri’s lips. “Rafael.”

  His heartbeat accelerated at the sound of her voice. “Siri.”

  “How are you?”

  “The door is unlocked if you’d like to take a look for yourself.” He realized belatedly how sexually forward his words sounded, but he supposed an icrathari would hardly take it at more than face value.

  Siri’s smile widened. She stepped back from the window and vanished.

  With effort, he pushed to his feet and managed to make it to his bedroom door as the front door of the cottage opened and Siri stepped in.

  She looked him over, her violet eyes intent. “You’re not resting enough,” she said after a moment of scrutiny.

  “I’m fine. If I rested any more, my muscles would atrophy.” He walked to the cabinet, careful not to move too quickly. “I have another jar of salve for you.” He retrieved the jar from the shelf and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed as the container exchanged hands. His shoulders tensed against the unfamiliar tug of desire. What the hell was wrong with him? “Did it do any good?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “The person who used it. Did it help?”

  “A little.” Siri glanced away briefly before meeting his eyes once more. “It was for me.”

  “You?” He leaned against the rough wood wall. “But the icrathari are immortal; their injuries heal immediately.”

  “In theory, yes,” Siri conceded. “And then there always has to be someone to prove theory wrong. In this case, it’s me.”

  “What happened?”

  “When the daevas invaded Aeternae Noctis six months ago, Elsker and Megun attacked me.”

  “Elsker and Megun?”

  “Elsker, the icrathari. Megun was the leader of the daevas.”

  “There was another icrathari?”

  She nodded. “Elsker allied himself with the daevas and helped them enter Aeternae Noctis. He and Megun tried to kill me.”

  “I didn’t realize icrathari could die.”

  “You just need to know how to kill us. Sever the throat, pierce the stomach.” She tugged away the scarf wrapped around her neck.
<
br />   Rafael gasped. The injury leaked pus and golden blood; the jagged line was raw. “My God.” He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, but stopped himself before he touched her. “How are you still alive?”

  “It takes a great deal to kill an icrathari.”

  “And your stomach injury?”

  “Worse, if you can believe it.”

  “But why aren’t those injuries healing on their own?”

  Siri shrugged. “I don’t know. They should. Perhaps Elsker’s blade was poisoned, although I can’t imagine how he could have found anything potent enough to overcome an icrathari’s natural healing capabilities.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Your salve dampens the pain briefly, although it doesn’t close the wounds. Nothing closes them.”

  Rafael’s eyes narrowed. Experience taught him that all poisons had antidotes. “Will you let me take a sample?”

  “Of what?”

  “A sample from your wound. I can test it against various herbs, salves, and potions…see if anything has an effect on it.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’d do this for me?”

  “I’m an herbalist. It’s what I do.” He looked around his kitchen and his collection of plant extracts—a fraction of what he truly needed to do his job well—but it would have to suffice. Surely, somewhere in his collection of herbs, roots, and flowers, he could find something to help her.

  There it was again—that irrational compulsion to do something, anything, for her. Rafael shook his head sharply as if the motion would clear the cobwebs in his mind. What was wrong with him?

  Perhaps, nothing, he realized when their eyes met. The vulnerability in her expression tugged at his heart. He was an herbalist, after all—helping others came with the territory—and Siri needed his help. Rafael’s shoulders sagged on a silent sigh. He was overthinking the situation and he had always found paranoia unattractive, even when it was warranted.

  His touch was gentle as he dabbed at her neck wound with a thin sheet of rice paper to collect samples of pus and blood, and then placed the paper in a clean jar. He shook his head as he took a closer look at the wound. It was even deeper than he had imagined. “I can’t imagine how you handle the pain.”