Sacrament

by Susan Squires

  The words "only a naive girl" tolled like funeral bells in her mind, until the tears pushed up and overflowed into the wracking sobs she had suppressed ever since Julien disappeared into the prison wagon, vanishing from her life forever. She cried until she was dry inside and exhausted. Sometime in the night, sleep, that great betrayer of intense emotion, overtook her in spite of her commitment to her misery.

  "You haven't drugged him?" Corina almost shouted. It was after midnight and the old stone gaol was quiet. She had thought it would take more to convince Snelling to prosecute Sarah too. He came cheaply. Now she was anxious to see Davinoff, and tell him what she'd done.

  " 'E's locked up tighter 'n a drum," Snelling said. "Jes you don't be goin' near the bars, and you'll be fair and fine." Snelling unlocked the door to the ancient cell block.

  Corina took a deep breath. What could he do, no matter what he was, if he was locked up? She rustled through the door. The lock mechanism clanked behind her as she turned into the dim stone corridor. A shiver of fear went down her spine. Locked up all right and tight, she told herself again and again. She wanted this last bit of victory, but it was bought at a price of fear. She could control that. Her footsteps echoed on the uneven floor.

  She saw him at the end of the corridor, behind the bars of the last cell. His full white linen shirt made him look vulnerable. He seemed almost small, dwarfed by the weight of the stones and the bars. They had taken his cravat so couldn't hang himself. That would be left to the magistrates. "Well, monster," she said as she stopped in front of the cell. "You have been captured by the good people of Bath, and they are like to hang you."

  "You must be relieved." The voice rumbled out to wash over her in the flickering light.

  "Bath is relieved. And scandalized, of course, about you and Sarah Ashton." She was rewarded by a flash in those black eyes, felt more than seen in the dimness.

  "Remember my warning," Davinoff said from between clenched teeth.

  "What good is that warning now?" Corina let her voice drip sweetness. "I have already started upon her, and you can do nothing."

  "What have you done?" His voice was like the thunder of glaciers cracking into the sea.

  "I told everyone at the Cantonfields' rout tonight that she knew you were a murderer. I have hardly begun. There is yet the fact that you were alone together at Clershing."

  "You will not succeed," Davinoff murmured. "Madame Gessande will counter you. Everyone knows you. The more vicious you are, the less you will be believed."

  "I thought of that. I will be desolate at poor Sarah's sad fall from grace. And if you think an old fright like that Gessande woman can influence the younger set where it counts most, you are quite mistaken. I will have Sarah's reputation smirched beyond repair in a week." She watched him clench his teeth, his jaw working. "Your precious Sarah," she crowed. "I wonder if you would be so infatuated if you knew her as I do." The power of revelation rose in her.

  "You have not the soul to truly know Sarah Ashton," Davinoff whispered.

  "I know her better than you do, monster. Why, I wager you think she is a virgin." She saw Davinoff grow wary. "Romping with peasants in Sienna at eighteen. Quite a harlot, our Sarah."

  "You are not fit to brush her boots." He thrust the words through the bars like daggers.

  How could he defend Sarah when he knew the truth? "If you don't believe me, ask her."

  "Only you could imagine it would make a difference."

  "It will make a difference to her," Corina purred.

  "If she would let me kill you," Davinoff muttered, his knuckles white upon the bars.

  Corina laughed her tinkling laugh. "You can do nothing from a cell. You will soon be hanged, and she imprisoned."

  "What do you mean?" he growled. "Snelling will not prosecute her."

  Corina leaned against the stone wall, carefully out of his reach. "He thought it too much effort. Someone had to make it worth his while. I stepped gallantly into the breach."

  He ran his hands through his black curls. "You bribe a corrupt runner to prosecute an innocent woman?" His voice rose. "You are the monster, madam."

  "Innocent?" Corina fairly shouted. "She betrayed me. She took you for herself, instead of to the Continent to die. And I intend to make her pay. You will both pay!"

  Corina expected him to beg for mercy for his light o'love. Instead she heard a low sound that sounded remarkably as if an animal had got into the cell with him. The passage had grown darker. She could not quite see what he was doing. Did his hands pull at the bars? She cringed against the wall and noted dumbly that he was enveloped in darkness. She remembered the time in the cellar, when he had seemed lost in darkness, and she shuddered. His eyes had a reddish cast, burning like coals in the blackness.

  She could not move, could not rip her eyes from the two glowing embers growing brighter in the shadow. Seconds were stretched into minutes by terror. She pressed herself against the wall, panting. The blackness was a moving pool of dark water, swirling with currents. The eyes behind the bars drifted slowly toward her. Then the two glowing coals were not behind the bars. The darkness seeped into the corridor. The red eyes held her motionless. The darkness almost touched her. Her scream was stifled, turned in upon her mind instead of out into the world. Come to me, Snelling. Come, someone, her mind cried. Save me from this evil. The drifting darkness touched her. It was cold like death. It drifted up around her neck, its tendrils caressing her. Her stifled screams ate at her. The darkness grew denser. The flaming coals faded into black eyes. The midnight tendril caressing her neck became a strong white hand. Julien Davinoff stood in the hallway, bending over her, holding her with one hand and the power of those black eyes.

  I should kill you. He did not speak, but she heard his words clearly just the same. His eyes drilled them into her mind. Except I gave my word. But do not think you will escape. He stepped back. "Call to your friend, Snelling," he commanded, his voice physical again.

  Her mind gibbered with a thousand questions, a thousand horrific answers. What was he? No man as she knew men. He could tear her soul from her, kill her body. He could do unimagined things. He was an echo of Hell, a revenge of God upon her excesses, or the Devil come to claim her. Such a being should not exist. He was not real. He was too real. Her mind gasped and trembled before him.

  "Call to your friend." But she could only shiver, wide-eyed, against the wall. He raised his white hand once again to caress her cheek. Call, he echoed in her mind.

  The dam that held back her screams burst and she was screaming, screaming.

  Julien listened for the sound of Ned Snelling running down the corridor behind the shrieks of the Nandalay woman. He hoped the runner came alone. His plan depended upon that. He needed only a moment. After what seemed like an hour, he heard footsteps and the clink of metal as a key jittered in the lock. Snelling heaved the door open, pistol drawn.

  Snelling stopped dead, taking in the situation. Corina was collapsed in a heap upon the floor, sobbing. Julien leaned against the stone wall across the corridor. He could practically hear the tumblers in Snelling's mind turning. The prisoner was outside his cell, the cell door shut, its heavy lock securely fastened. Someone must have let him out, but Snelling had the only key. "A pretty problem," Julien observed.

  " 'ow did you get out?" Snelling squeaked.

  "I am sure Mrs. Nandalay will tell you when she recovers." Snelling glanced at the hysterical woman, and fingered the pistol. "Do not bother with your pistol," Julien drawled. "I require only your keys." He forced Snelling to move along the passageway, his pistol forgotten, holding out his keys. The man's mind was not strong. Feet clattered against the stone as his cronies came down the stairs. They would be here in a moment.

  Julien whirled to unlock the cell. Then he placed the keys back in Snelling's still-outstretched hand. "I believe these are yours," he said politely. "Don't say what you see. Asylums are far worse than prison cells, or so I am told." Julien stepped back and drew the darkness.r />
  Snelling called to the gaolers, galloping up behind him, "Did ye see 'im disappear?"

  In the corner, Corina moaned and then began to laugh. "He disappeared," she choked. "With his two red eyes. Red eyes, he had. Red eyes."

  The field winked out, the giggling still echoing after him. Julien left Snelling to explain whether he was crazy, as Corina no doubt was, or criminally negligent. They deserved what they got, both of them. At least now, neither could harm Sarah. And he had not broken his promise.

  Now he had a far more dangerous mission. He melted into the shadows of his room at the Christopher. He owed Sarah a last visit. He owed her everything, actually. She had not simply freed him from Corina's hateful bondage, but more. He had told her once that vampires were not the undead, but had he not been dead to the world for centuries? She had brought him back to living, to feeling, once again. He loved her. He knew that. He was more sure than he had been in all his long, dreadful life. But it gave him no joy. No, there could be only pain ahead, and all the protection of not caring had been stripped from him. What was next? St. Petersburg? Peiking? A weight descended on him. What matter? Only one place held any interest for him now, and it was the one place he could not stay, for her sake. He could not deny he had hoped for a little more time with her. And only see what his greed for time had wrought.

  He pulled the rolled parchment from one of his boots at the bottom of his trunk. The future chilled him down to the core of whatever soul was left to him. But there was no choice. Making her a vampire was a crime against his kind. His failure with Magda still haunted him. True, Sarah was a good and generous person, without a shred of Magda's cold selfishness. But would the condemn her to the life he had been born to? He could not curse Sarah with his disease. Nor could he ruin her life with constant reminders of her mortality, as she aged and he did not.

  She would forget him soon. Only he would not forget. He should not go to her tonight. But he could not resist one last moment together with the woman who had changed him forever. He gathered the darkness of his Companion and prayed for strength to any god who would listen.

  Sarah was not sure when she wakened. The moon peeked through the heavy draperies. The pain of Julien's loss seemed distant, a compartment closed by the violence of her tears.

  She felt more than saw a stirring in the corner by the wardrobe. All numbness vanished in the certainty that something was in the room with her. She could feel movement, though there was no sound. Someone was being careful not to wake her. She dared not move. She must lie quiet and control her trembling. She must wait until the form moved away from the door. A last, mad, dash was all that was left to her. She clutched the bedclothes, ready to fling them back.

  The strong hand that covered her mouth took her completely by surprise. She gasped in preparation for a scream, but she could get no air. "Sarah, it is I." His sweet scent, male yet not male, told her it was Julien as surely as his dear voice. She went limp with relief.

  He took his hand away. "Julien," she breathed.

  His weight bent the mattress as he sat on the edge of the bed. The pressure of his hip against her thigh made her feel faint. His skin glowed white in the moonlight. His black hair gleamed. "I came to give you a gift and say good-bye." In the darkness she could not read his eyes, but she felt them burning with all the intensity that made him more than man.

  Sarah pushed herself up. He was too close. The moonlight made him too much like a dream. "Are they looking for you? Are you in danger coming here?"

  "It will take them a while to sort out my trail. There is time."

  Time? There was no time. All was lost after tonight. There was only this moment, here where the world was black and white and shadowy. Julien held a rolled paper tied with a ribbon that might be black or might be red or might be royal blue. He saw her glance at it.

  "My excuse for coming." He handed it over almost tentatively.

  She laid it unopened on the night table. Why had he come? Why did he bother with such a naive girl? "You have no need of an excuse." Her nightdress was open at the throat, loose against her breasts. His hip burned her through the quilts. All the feelings suppressed so ruthlessly since Sienna were back, throbbing inside her, fighting to be released. "I can hardly repay you for what you brought into my life," she whispered. She should try to get control, even now, but her nature was betraying her. She didn't want control.

  He seemed to be struggling, too. He shook his head, convulsively. Suddenly, his hand brushed through her hair to cradle her neck, a shock of flesh on flesh. "You have no reason to thank me," he said fiercely, turning her head up toward him. "But my debt will never be repaid."

  In the dim light, she recognized the need in his eyes, echoed by the need she felt in her own body. Her mind raced. Everything was changed and not changed. He wanted her, but that did not mean forever. She was still a naive girl who could not hold the interest of a man like Julien for long. The chasm between mortal and immortal was too wide. Tomorrow he would be gone. In a way, that freed her, demanded that she take what she could tonight. The sunlight of Sienna washed through her in the moonlit room, and she welcomed it. She remembered all the sensations of body on body, and she wanted that with Julien. He wanted it too, if only for tonight. Shout yes to the moment, she told herself. Sienna taught you how.

  Julien pulled himself away and jerked his eyes from hers. She could hear his rasping breath.

  Don't struggle against it, she wanted to tell him. Give yourself up to it, before it's too late. Instead, trembling, she ran her fingers along the line of his jaw as she had in the cellar so many eons ago. She moved her hand round the nape of his neck, under his curls. So soft, so vulnerable were men's napes. His eyes questioned hers as she pulled him toward her. She smiled, and she knew the smile was sure.

  How did vampires make love? Would she need to purchase a scarf in the morning to hide the place where he had quenched his need? It did not matter. She tilted her head and touched his lips with hers, lightly, softly. How long she had wanted to do that! The feel of his lips on hers, tentatively returning her caresses, made her want to scream and cry, even as a tingling jolt of sensation erupted between her legs. His hand tensed on her neck as he gave himself to the kiss and pressed his lips to hers. She opened her mouth. The wondrous intimacy of his moist tongue made her shudder as he gathered her into his arms in a crushing embrace. This was where she belonged, if just for this night. He wrenched his lips away, but he did not let her go. Instead he pressed her head to his shoulder.

  "Damn me for a weakling!" he whispered, stroking her hair. She nestled into his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him. "Weak," he said again, louder this time. He took her shoulders and tried to move her from him.

  She looked up and said softly, "Then let me be strong." She drew his head down out of the moonlight and into the shadows for another kiss. This time it was her tongue that searched his mouth. She pulled the soft linen of his shirt out from his breeches and ran her hands over the bunching muscles of his back as they clenched her to his body. The physical dimension of their bodies required exploration as though it were an undiscovered continent, vast and mysterious, stretching out before them as they stood upon the slender ribbon of the beach. She unbuttoned his shirt, and moved her kisses to his chest, lightly covered with dark curling hair. She could feel his groan of desire in her lips, as well as hear it. Julien pulled her up to kiss her once again, deeply, searching her mouth with his tongue, then lowered her gently to the pillows. Now she would know another thing about vampires. If it was a matter of blood, he might never need to know that she was not as naive as he expected.

  That thought stiffened her. Was it right not to tell him, even if his kind did not make love as she knew it?

  He felt her tense and raised his mouth from hers. "Do you want me to go?"

  "No," she moaned, not knowing how she could possibly say what she must. But she could allow nothing between her and Julien as lowly as a lie, even a lie of omission. She took a breat
h. "I am not what you may think me."

  His face, hanging over her in the night, creased with worry. But an instant later his brow smoothed as he bent to kiss her cheek, his forelock brushing her face, a smile in his eyes. "Such things do not matter in the slightest," he whispered in her ear.

  "No, you do not understand," she whispered, pushing his shoulders away. She screwed her courage to the sticking point. It would be the first time she ever said it and perhaps the last. "I am not a virgin." The words were stiff and cold.

  His lips softened into a ghost of the smile in his eyes. "Neither am I. Should I confess it? Will it make a difference to you?" He bent to kiss her tenderly. Her last remaining reservations melted; she gave herself up to his kisses with the sweet abandonment of desire, untainted by the future or the past. It was she who helped him remove his shirt. It was she who took her gown over her head while he unbuttoned his breeches. They wanted nakedness. She wanted to feel the hair of his chest against her breasts, teasing her nipples into wakefulness. Her hands moved over his body, seeking new silky skin to touch as his hands caressed her breasts, now swollen with longing. His manhood was hard against her thigh. His hands moved to her buttocks and then around to her secret parts. He was no inexperienced boy from Sienna. He had centuries of pleasing women. Her hips circled with the waxing pleasure. About to burst, she gripped his arm. Her breath came in shuddering sobs. Even when she thought she could stand no more, he was merciless, sucking at her nipples, rubbing her. He finally pushed her over some cliff of feeling, and she jerked against his hand as her senses flooded.

  As her senses returned he kissed her more insistently. The glow of man-made warmth met the cold light of the moon slicing across their bed. How did one give a vampire the most pleasure possible? That was what she wanted to give Julien. She moved the hair away from her neck and bared it to him. He leaned down into her. But instead of feeling the two piercing needles of his canines, he only nibbled at her ear.