by Kit Tunstall
Emily emerged into the second level and gasped. The room was spinning. She reached out to grasp anything for support, but there was nothing to hold on to. Her head began to spin, and she grew nauseated. Several seconds later, she realized she wasn’t actually moving. The room was round like a barrel, except for the walkway under her feet, which was flat, straight, and stationary. She concentrated on walking the thin strip of wood and ignoring the spinning walls and ceiling as she made her way through the room.
Emily was more cautious when she entered the next room, freezing when she heard a scream in the room in front of her. It sounded like Sara. Ron’s voice followed quickly, but not Troy’s. “Must be scary,” she whispered, preparing herself.
The brightly lit room featured more lurid paintings, similar to those decorating the exterior of the funhouse. Stereotypical vampires drained women in various states of undress, as monsters of all kinds watched or went about their own scary activities. Frankenstein dragged the gnawed-on, severed leg of a villager behind him. She lifted her eyebrows at that, not remembering anything from her literature class about Frankie being a cannibal. Emily forced herself to view the drawings objectively and systematically eliminate any fear they inspired.
She calmed herself and was almost out of the room prior to realizing every vampire in the mural was the same one from the front of the funhouse. He still appeared sinister and full of dark knowledge, but also charismatic. She blinked when she found herself drifting from the doorway to a picture, touching it reverently, as if she weren’t controlling her own hand. The vampire held a willing victim in his arms. She wore a light-brown jacket and jeans. Her brown hair flowed over the white of his shirt, and her blissful expression belied the pain she must feel from the gaping wound on her neck. He held her with tender cruelty, seeming enamored with her upturned face. She had Emily’s features.
She blinked and looked again, frowning. The girl in the vampire’s arms had long black hair and dark green eyes. The victim looked nothing like her. “Losing it.” She shook her head and hurried from the mural room.
Emily took two steps into the next room and paused. There was nothing at all in the room, except a bare bulb hanging from a chain on the ceiling. It wasn’t bright enough to show anything in detail, except the fact that there was nothing to show in detail.
They must have run out of money when they got to this room—either that, or the trick was so terrifying, they didn’t need window-dressing. She shrugged and walked on, waiting for whatever had frightened Sara and Ron into screaming. Emily was determined to be prepared, but still screamed when the floor opened under her when she stepped on a trapdoor.
She went flying down a chute, and it wasn’t until she landed on a soft foam floor that she realized the conveyance was a twisting slide. Her entire body trembled, and she had a hard time gaining her feet. She could hear her heartbeat racing in her ears and clutched her chest, as if trying to keep her heart from escaping.
When her knees were steady, Emily moved across the spongy floor. The owner of the funhouse was in the business of scaring people, but what she had gone through was beyond fun. She should have her father sue the company. It was too bad he was a tax attorney.
She opened a heavy metal door, expecting it to lead her outside the funhouse. Instead, she entered another room. This one had soft carpeting of indeterminate color, dark walls and a metal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. The illumination was dim, with a pinkish cast.
How had they gotten all this into one portable trailer? The better question was, why had they gone to the trouble to add this room? Emily moved slowly, not certain what to expect. It was logical that the climax should have been the unexpected drop and slide. Whatever finished out the experience must be bordering on truly terrifying.
She saw a misshapen bundle ahead and tensed, preparing for whatever the designer of the funhouse had dreamed up to scare her. She kept walking, trying to determine what was on the floor, until she heard a sound behind her. Emily turned, expecting the group who had followed her. Instead, the man who had modeled for all the vampire pictures stood in front of her. His features were just as perfect, but the light lent his skin the illusion of a flush. He wore a white flowing shirt tucked into black trousers. His hair had grown out from the short length in the paintings, but he was obviously the same person. She found her voice trapped in her throat as fear crawled up her esophagus and strangled her from the inside. She took a few steps back.
He followed, walking toward her slowly. “Have you enjoyed my funhouse, Emily?”
She shook her head.
He took another step forward. The carpet muted the click of the low heels on his leather boots. “Why not?”
Emily coughed, clearing her throat. “I don’t like to be scared.” She frowned when she realized he knew her name. “How did—”
He smiled, but the quick slash of his lips appeared to hold little amusement. “You were frightened?”
She nodded. “I was terrified. Especially with the last part.”
He smiled. “The slide. It always increases the adrenaline.”
“Uh-huh.” She scanned the room around her, wondering if the owner interrogated everyone who paid to enter his funhouse. Had he gotten her name from Sara when he cornered them? “I’ve had enough fear today. How do I get out of here?”
He took two more steps forward, until he stood in front of her. “Silly girl.” He reached out to touch her face.
Emily jerked away, taking a step back. She tripped over something on the floor and fell backward. Her eyes widened when she found herself sprawled across Troy. His lifeless eyes stared up at her. His mouth hung open in an aborted scream, and an expression of terror would remain frozen forever on his face.
“Forgive my attendant. He hasn’t disposed of the remains of my most recent meal yet.” The man stepped forward and lifted Emily into his arms.
She struggled to pull away, straining against his hold. “Where’s Sara?”
He licked his lips. “Delicious. The adrenaline always gives the blood such perfect flavor.”
Emily whimpered, even as she redoubled her efforts to escape his hold.
“Look into my eyes, Emily.”
She shook her head, forcing her gaze to remain on Troy’s dead body. She knew she mustn’t look into his eyes. Every instinct in her protested doing so.
“I’ve waited a long time for you,” he whispered, pressing his mouth against her ear, perilously close to her carotid artery. “An eternity, Emily.”
Her eyes widened when the deformed ticket taker shuffled into the room through a door off to the side. His eyes were sad when he met hers.
“Tried to warn me,” she whispered.
The deformed man squealed with pain, and a new sore appeared on his face, weeping clear fluid.
“Yes. He was foolish to risk more of my punishment, having experienced so much in the past.” The man lifted her hand to lick the thin trail of blood from her finger.
Emily reflexively watched the action, grimacing. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes and instantly felt as if she was gazing into the spinning barrel again. Only this time, there was no green to counteract the red. Only the bright crimson of fresh blood, coupled with the dark reddish-brown of dried blood. It was as if his eyes had sucked her into a whirlpool. Her body struggled to move closer to him, and her mind had no control over her actions.
She whimpered when he broke eye contact and lowered his head to her neck. She wanted to push him away, but her arms remained limp at her side. Only her head moved, tilting backward to allow him better access. A protest formed in the back of her throat when his teeth pricked her neck, but she couldn’t voice it. The wounds throbbed with heat, but not pain. Instead, a surge of ecstasy swept over her. Soft sucking sounds broke the silence, and she mentally cringed to know he was drinking her blood, even as her body clamored for more of the sensual sensations his bite evoked.
Her head spun incessantly, and she felt like she had fallen
into a never-ending hole. Her eyes closed, and their conversation seemed to come from a long distance.
“Prepare for travel. We’ll be leaving in a matter of minutes.”
“What of the funhouse, Master Vallsade?”
“Leave it.”
“But—”
“It served its purpose. I’ve found what I sought.”
He caressed her face, and his fingers transmitted slivers of ice through her skin wherever he touched.
“The change has begun. She’ll be ready for travel as soon as she dies.”
Emily struggled to keep her eyes open. Someone shoved something against her mouth, and thick liquid trickled inside. She tried to spit out the coppery solution, but her mouth refused to obey her brain’s command. The viscous substance slid down her throat with no impediment. Even her gag reflex didn’t respond.
“We will be at our destination in a matter of hours. She’ll have time to recover from this experience then. An eternity, in fact.”
His hard laugh accompanied her into a state deeper than unconsciousness.
Chapter Two
Within minutes, she had drifted out of the deep coma-like state. Emily’s senses remained keen, even though she couldn’t open her eyes. She was conscious of a long period of pain. Like acid pumping through her veins, it coursed through every inch of her body, soaking her skin with perspiration, and feeling as though a fire burned inside her. She moaned, but no sound emerged. She still seemed to be caught in that frozen state Vallsade’s will had imposed upon her.
At some point, he carried her outside. A cool breeze whipped across her hot skin, but she couldn’t draw in a deep breath to cleanse her insides. Nor could she open her eyes. She could smell the mingled scent of sandalwood and blood emanating from him, and feel a solid mass beneath her when he laid her down, but didn’t identify it as the backseat of a car until she heard the engine turn over.
Sometime during the ride, the swaying and gentle rocking of the vehicle lulled her back into deep unconsciousness. She fell into a dream, tossing and turning. She whimpered and tried to force herself to awaken, but the dream overpowered her.
England, 1215
Emma opened her eyes at the furtive sounds issuing from the shadows of her room. She sat up in the massive four-poster bed, shivering as the cold air in the bedchamber invaded her warm cocoon. She pulled the fur coverlet up to her neck and scanned the recesses of the room.
She gave up on seeing anything and slid from the bed to light the candle on the table. Her bare feet touched icy stone, reminding her of how cold the room was. She frowned when she realized the fire had gone out. The chambermaid wasn’t tending to her duties, and would face reprimand in the morning.
Emma reached for the candle and gasped when someone arrested her hand in mid-motion. She opened her mouth to scream, and a cool hand clamped across her face. Her deep-green eyes widened when someone turned her around. Shock made her sway when she saw her betrothed standing before her.
“Leave off the light,” he whispered.
As soon as he dropped his hold, she took an involuntary step back. Her feet sank into the thick fur of the wolf hide draped across the floor, given by Nicholas one afternoon long ago. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up as a chill seized her spine. She crossed herself.
Nicholas frowned, taking a step back. “What troubles you, my beloved?”
“You are dead. News was brought by your kin upon his return.” She took another step back. “William told us you were killed in a battle near Jerusalem.” She heard him light the candle and a moment later, he was dimly illuminated.
“Do I look dead, Emma?”
She eyed him in the dark-blue tunic, yellow hosen, and leather boots. He looked much as he had when she last saw him in a hauberk and surcotte, before he left England for the Crusades two years ago. His dark hair was several inches longer now, flowing over one shoulder, and his dark eyes seemed haunted. His skin was also paler than she had ever seen. Nicholas was a man who enjoyed the outdoors—hunting, practicing with his men and riding his stallion at breakneck pace through green pastures. His pallor gave her doubt of his good health.
“Well?”
“I cannot tell, sir.”
He frowned. “How could I be dead and stand before you?”
Emma shrugged and took another step back as he approached. She stopped only when she felt the chill from the stone of the fireplace at her back, shivering when he walked to her, pressing his body against hers. She yelped and tried to push him away. “’Tis indecent.”
Nicholas sighed. “We have wasted much time with being proper. Let me taste you, Emma. Join me.”
Her eyes widened at his seductive drawl, and she groped on the mantle for the cross she kept there. She felt an urgent need to hold it. “I know not if you are a fevered dream or my own heart’s longings, but you must leave, sir.”
“I am here and real.” He touched her bare arm, unprotected by the square-necked, sleeveless sleeping gown fashioned from white cotton. “Feel me.”
She cried out when he pulled her into his arms, pressing her against him. She could feel the coolness of his skin even through the thick tunic. Emma could hear his sluggish heartbeat where her ear pressed against his chest. She lifted her head, trying to keep any trace of fear from her voice. “I pray you will come back tomorrow, good sir. Father will surely wish to speak with you and make arrangements.” She forced a shaky smile, while keeping her eyes averted from his. He mustn’t see how desperate she was to have him gone. “’Tis a miracle you are alive. There is no reason to postpone our union.”
He grinned, displaying flashing white teeth. They seemed sharper than when she saw him last. “My thoughts mirrored, sweet Emma. I thought of naught but you while in distant lands.”
Her heart ached at the words, for she had thought of him every day for the two years he had been gone. Six months ago, when his brother brought news of his demise, she had thought her heart would never mend. Without William’s steadfast support these past few months, she couldn’t have endured the pain. “My heart wept without you.” She relaxed in his embrace, temporarily shoving aside her misgivings. Her body warmed to his touch, aching for something she didn’t know how to articulate.
“Oh, my love,” he whispered in an urgent tone, “I cannot be without you for even another day.”
Even in the swell of passion that threatened to overwhelm her, she stiffened when he pushed aside one of her braids and placed his lips against her neck. He still felt colder than he should have, even for moving about in the middle of the night in midwinter. She renewed her search for the cross. Her fingers brushed against the smooth wood, and she grasped the large symbol in her hand. Nicholas seemed not to notice as he licked her neck, murmuring words she didn’t understand. His hold tightened abruptly, and she whimpered.
Nicholas raised his head. “Do not fear. It shall not pain you for long.”
Emma thrust the cross into his face, causing him to recoil. She stepped around him and away from the fireplace, keeping the cross extended. “I implore you to leave. Now.”
His face reflected pain and fear, and he moved farther away from her and the cross. “Cast aside that cursed thing,” he snarled. “Be not afraid of what I have become, Emma. ‘Tis wondrous in many ways.”
It did not look wondrous. Pain contorted his expression, with his upper lip skinned back to expose elongated fangs. He appeared to be suffering. She wanted no part of it. “Leave now or I shall scream. Father will send you back to the Hell you have come from if he finds you here in this form.”
Nicholas took a single step toward her. “You are my betrothed. My promised one. Do not forsake me, beloved.”
She forced aside her pity, refusing to acknowledge the pain in his eyes or the desperation in his stance. She wouldn’t let his anguished tone or the clamoring of her own body affect her. Her immortal soul was much too precious. She had no name for what her former fiancé had become, but knew it must be evil. God Almi
ghty must surely have turned his back on Nicholas. “Go now. I shall give you a chance to flee before I scream.”
He gave a mocking bow, and all traces of hurting disappeared from his face. His haunted eyes turned cold. “So kind, m’lady. Mayhap we should see how well you scream with your throat torn out.”
She swallowed heavily and opened her mouth to cry for help, but hesitated. Once the words left her, she couldn’t call them back. She closed her mouth with a click, without shouting. “Go now, Nicholas. Do not be foolish. Father will slaughter you.”
His lips twisted. “My existence cannot be undone by one such as your father.”
Emma forced her voice to emerge clearly and confidently, denying what her heart told her. Her soul’s urgings were stronger. “I could not love you as you are now. Leave me to my life with William.”
He froze, as if rendered from stone. Finally, his lips moved, though barely, to ask, “What do you speak of?”
She met his eyes, knowing she could not betray a trace of fear. “William kindly offered to act in your stead. He has been my lord husband for a fortnight, Nicholas. I was reluctant when he first offered, but I love him now.” Never as I loved you, her heart cried out, but she ruthlessly suppressed the betraying words. He would use any weakness against her.
He shook his head, sending long waves of black hair flowing around his sharp, devastated face. “I do not believe you.” His brow furrowed. “’Tis not possible. You would be at Vallsade Manor were it true.”
“William has been dispatched on an errand for King John.” She hugged herself. “Vallsade Manor is too large, and I have not taken command of the household yet. Nor do I wish to without his support. I opted to stay with Father until his return.”
Nicholas seemed to shrink before her eyes. He was normally tall and imposing, but his shoulders slumped forward, and a tear hung motionless from his lashes before falling down his cheek when he bowed his head.
