Serafina found Doctor Wells in the sick bay, writing by the light of an oil lamp. With profound gratitude that no victims of the supposed wasting sickness were present, she explained Rufus’s symptoms and then hurried back to his cabin with the doctor close behind her. If he thought it odd that a young lady should be caring for Rufus, he gave no sign of it.
Rufus lay as before, shivering and racked by bouts of coughing, a sheen of perspiration covering his corpse-pale skin. With an anxious Serafina hovering behind him, the doctor felt Rufus’s pulse and forehead, then opened his brown-leather bag, pulled out a stethoscope and applied it to Rufus’s chest, nodding his head and pursing his lips as he listened to it. Next he took out a thermometer, shook it, and placed it beneath Rufus’s tongue.
“Now, keep that there for a few moments if you can, Mr de Hunte.”
Turning to Serafina, Doctor Wells said, “Can you tell me what has happened to Mr de Hunte, Miss…?”
Ignoring the doctor’s tacit invitation to supply her name, Serafina thought quickly and said, “No, I’m afraid not. I found him lying on the main deck unconscious, and helped him back to his cabin.” Looking straight into the doctor’s eyes and willing him to believe her, she added, “I thought perhaps he had fallen and knocked his head.”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, he has some bruising to the face, so I dare say that may be it.” He removed the thermometer from Rufus’s mouth and held it up, peering at it through his gold-rimmed spectacles in the dim light. “Hmm, yes, I think he may have lain outside in the cold for quite some time before you found him. He has a fever, and his lungs are congested. I’ll give him some laudanum now, to help him sleep, and I’ll have another look at him in the morning. Don’t worry if he’s off his food, but he should have plenty to drink, and keep him warm.” He gave Serafina a conspiratorial smile. “By rights, I should take him to the sick bay, but I don’t think he’s infectious. You appear to be giving him excellent care and I’m sure he’d rather look at your face than mine when he wakes up. Good night to you, Miss…”
* * * *
Doctor Wells arrived early the next morning to find Rufus considerably worse. Keeping his voice brisk and cheerful, however, he said, “Good morning, Mr de Hunte. How are you feeling today?”
Rufus could manage little more than a hoarse whisper in reply. “My head hurts…and my chest…and I can’t…breathe…properly.”
“Still coughing?” asked the doctor. Rufus responded with a paroxysm of coughing. “Are you coughing up phlegm?”
Rufus shook his head, wheezing as he tried to breathe.
After examining him and taking his temperature, Doctor Wells turned to Serafina, a grave expression on his rotund face. “I’m afraid Mr de Hunte has developed pneumonia, undoubtedly from taking a chill while lying out in the cold. There’s not a great deal we can do other than to keep him as comfortable as possible. He should drink plenty of fluids, and I’ll see that some broth is brought to him presently, as well as some breakfast for you. Keep him warm, but bathe his forehead with a cloth rinsed in cool water to help bring down the fever.” He took a small, brown bottle from his bag and offered it to Serafina. “Give him a few drops of this every four hours. It’ll help him to sleep, and sleep is the best thing for him right now. With any luck, the fever will break within the next day or two.”
Serafina forced a smile. “Thank you, Doctor Wells, you’re very kind.”
“Not at all, Miss…I’ll call back later.”
He gave Serafina an encouraging smile and left.
She found it impossible to feel encouraged, however, with Rufus lying before her shivering and coughing, and, by the doctor’s own admission, beyond human help. She wanted to scream from the frustration of being unable to heal him herself, and the guilt of knowing it might have been she who precipitated his condition, albeit unwittingly. But she knew she must present at least the appearance of calm for his sake, so she busied herself pouring water into the enamel washing bowl and finding a clean facecloth. Dipping it into the water, she wrung it out and gently applied it to Rufus’s burning forehead. He moaned as it touched his skin, and Serafina murmured calming sentiments she did not feel.
As the morning wore on, she began to long for the sanctuary of her own cabin where she could sleep until daylight began to ebb, but she dared not leave Rufus unattended, and she did not feel able to beg the services of anyone else. She and Anton had striven to keep themselves, if not completely unnoticed, at least largely unremarked by the other passengers, to avoid the possibility of being recognised by those from whom they must feed. Their vampiric mind control was their main weapon against recognition, but Anton preferred to leave nothing to chance, and Serafina was happy enough to bow to his greater experience. So far, their stratagems had worked. No one had even remembered what had happened to them, let alone who had been responsible, but to approach any of the other passengers now could put both of them in danger of discovery. She could not ask Anton for help. For one thing, he would be deep in vampiric sleep by now, almost literally dead to the world, and for another, he’d be furious if he knew she was helping Rufus. Although he’d been happy enough to indulge her desire to dance with Rufus at the ball, as soon as he had become aware of her feelings for him, he’d been adamant that she must give him up.
Yet how could she, when her desire for him tortured her almost as though the hunger were upon her? It was all very well for Anton to make such decrees. He seemed not to need love at all, yet the pain of losing Francois almost a century ago had lain like ice in her heart down all the long years since – until Rufus had begun to melt it away. The fact that Anton was right about the dangers of loving humans was of no consolation whatsoever. She knew there were small colonies of vampires, usually in relatively out-of-the way places where local superstition was strong, allowing the vampires to play on it to control the human inhabitants. She had even heard of vampires who kept groups of subservient humans to fulfil their needs, much as humans kept cattle, or pets. But what chance had they of meeting such kindred spirits when Anton insisted on living the life of a nomad? Serafina sighed. She was sick to the heart of travelling. Anton was solitary by nature, and had spent most of his adult life, prior to becoming a vampire, as a soldier, so he was used to being posted all over the place. But she was not. She longed to settle down somewhere, to have a place called home. Now she found herself longing to have Rufus there with her, to feel his kisses, his strong arms about her, as she had that night after her quarrel with Anton. She wanted him so badly she thought she could even bear the inevitable loss if only she could have his love for the span of his human life. Now it seemed even this was to be denied her, not by Anton, but by that villain Fox and his friends and, worse still, perhaps by her own attempt to heal him.
Blinking back tears of despair, Serafina bent and kissed Rufus’s burning forehead, his eyelids, his mouth. He moaned faintly in his sleep, and she laid her cheek against his. “Oh, my darling,” she murmured, “how can I lose you so soon?”
As she lay there, feeling his skin burning against the chill of her own, an idea came to her. An idea so audacious it all but stopped her breath. If only she dared carry it out, in one fell swoop she could restore Rufus to health, remove Anton’s objections to her loving him, and have his love forever. But did she dare? Serafina leapt to her feet and began to pace the length of the tiny cabin, fear and excitement bubbling up in her like molten rock in a volcano. Could she do it? At one moment her heart said yes; at another her head said no. What if Rufus didn’t want it? What if he came to curse her for what she had done, as Anton cursed his maker? But then, she reminded herself, Anton was not brought across by one who loved him, but by one whose only desire was to escape discovery, not caring what pain and despair he inflicted in the process. But if Rufus wanted her as much as she wanted him…
She sat by his side again, reaching her mind out to his to discover what was in his thoughts. But his mind was filled with pain and confusion, overlaid by the soporific effects of
laudanum, and she could glean nothing. Yet perhaps he did feel her mind touch his, for he opened his eyes and whispered her name. Serafina brushed away the damp hair from his forehead and touched her lips to it.
“Yes, my darling, I’m here. Would you like some water?” He nodded, and Serafina lifted his head and put the glass to his lips. He took a few sips, and then lay back, exhausted.
“Serafina,” he whispered again, “am I…going to…die?”
Serafina blinked back the cold tears that sprang in her eyes. What should she tell him? Should she lie? Or should she turn the lie into truth?
“Rufus,” she murmured at last, “I love you so much! Do you love me?” Rufus nodded, reaching for her hand and attempting to lift it to his lips. “Doctor Wells says you’re very ill, but if I could find a way to make you better, would you take it?”
“Like the way you healed my wounds?” he whispered. “Can you…do that?”
“Yes. And we could be together, too, for as long as you wish it.”
“Forever!” Rufus declared hoarsely, and then was overcome by a paroxysm of coughing.
Serafina lifted him up, cradling him with one arm as she gave him more water. “Yes, if that’s what you want. But you must really want it – I can’t do it otherwise.”
As he gazed up at Serafina, Rufus’s eyes seemed to burn with some deep hunger. Or was it only fever? She held his gaze with hers, and saw that his hunger was for her – for her love, her heart, her soul – as hers was for him. Yes, she thought, I’ll do it! I must! But caution told her not yet, not just yet. She couldn’t let Rufus endure his first hunger during daylight, when it would be impossible for them to hunt in safety. Besides, she was so weary she felt halfway dead herself.
“We must rest first,” she said. “Just for a while.”
She bent to kiss Rufus’s lips, and then looked deep into his eyes, willing him to sleep. When she was sure he was asleep, Serafina first secured the cabin door, then, not wanting to disturb his slumber, lay down on the floor beside his bed and sank into the heavy sleep she would soon be able to share with him.
* * * *
Soon after sunset, while Serafina was enjoying the vivid, almost surreal dreaming that often marked the period just prior to a vampire’s awakening, a brisk rapping at the cabin door brought her rushing into full consciousness. She scrambled to her feet, quickly smoothing back her hair and straightening her clothes, and opened the door to find Doctor Wells standing there. She had forgotten he was due to call. Giving silent thanks that he had arrived before she was able to carry out her plan, and not while it was in progress, she smiled and ushered him inside.
“How’s our patient this evening?” he asked, with his usual friendly smile.
Serafina judged this to be a rhetorical question, so she said nothing, but stood back to allow him to pass.
Rufus, who had also been woken by the doctor’s arrival, did his best to seem cheerful, but it was as clear to Doctor Wells as it was to Serafina that he was no better. If anything, his breathing was more laboured than it had been that morning, his face pale and haggard, and his eyes sunken and red-rimmed, the surrounding skin seeming almost bruised. As Doctor Wells took Rufus’s temperature and made his examination, Serafina reached her mind out to his. What she found was not comforting. It was clear Rufus was dying, and there was only one way she could be certain of saving him – if the doctor would only finish his business and leave.
When, at long last, her wish was granted, Serafina heaved a great sigh of relief and hurried to lock the door. Then she went to sit beside Rufus on the bed. The sight of him so ravaged by his illness almost broke her heart.
“My poor, brave darling,” she murmured, her lips against his burning forehead. “Now I shall make you well, if you’ll trust me. Do you trust me, my love?”
“Always!” Rufus’s voice was like the rustling of the leaves in the trees before the winter winds take them.
Very gently, Serafina took him up into her arms, turning his head so that he faced her, and drew him into her steady, hypnotic gaze, speaking to him in a voice like warm honey, willing him to be calm and to feel no pain. When his eyelids began to droop, her voice became the murmur of soft music carried from far away, slow and rhythmic, drawing him more and more deeply under her power. She felt the familiar tingling in her gums as her fangs began to emerge, and drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a soft sigh of anticipation as she bent her head towards him.
Despite the spell she had woven around him, Rufus cried out when her fangs pierced his neck, his body writhing in an effort to be free of her embrace, but she clasped him tighter against her. As his blood began to trickle into her mouth, sweet, warm, and metallic, her lips worked against his skin, turning the trickle into a flow. She could taste the faint tang of laudanum, and of his fever too, but Serafina did not care. She was drinking her beloved Rufus into herself! She could feel him flowing over her tongue and down her throat and into her body until she tingled and glowed with his life, so warm and precious. Soon she would give him new life, and they would be free to share their love.
Serafina knew it would be all too easy to lose herself in the ecstasy of feeding, and to drain Rufus completely of life. But she must leave him a little blood or she would lose him. At a little less than two centuries, she was still young as vampires went, but under Anton’s tutelage, she had quickly learned not to take too much from those from whom she fed, leaving them weak and light-headed perhaps, but with no lasting ill effects. Indeed, vampiric mind control was able to impart a sense of well being, a feeling of having just experienced something delightful they could not quite recall. With Rufus it was different. She must take enough of his blood for her own to become dominant when he drank it, yet not enough to kill him outright. It was a fine line to judge, especially since she had never before brought anyone across. Because he had been made against his will, Anton had not wanted to bring her across – or anyone else, for that matter – and had only overcome his horror of it when it became evident that he could not guarantee her safety by any other means. From the start of her life as a vampire, he had insisted she cause as little harm as possible to the humans from whom she must feed, and that on no account was she to introduce any human to the existence he regarded as a curse. Even with Francois, the young French nobleman with whom she had been so enamoured she had helped him to escape France and the guillotine, she had obeyed Anton and resisted the temptation to bring him across. But what had that brought her? She had lost him. Anton had seen to that, dragging her away from England and leaving Francois behind. Years later, she had heard of his marriage to the daughter of an English duke.
But she would not let it happen again. Anton would not stop her this time. She would not lose Rufus!
She raised her head and stared at his bloodless face, then down the length of his emaciated body. He was so still! So pale! But a little blood still trickled from the wound in his neck, and her fingers found the faintest of pulses in his wrist. There was no time to waste. She sat up and practically tore undone the buttons of her left sleeve. She pushed it back from her wrist and bit into a vein there. She lifted Rufus’s limp body, unceremonious in her haste, so that he lay across her lap, supporting him with her right arm as though he had been her baby. She held her wrist close to Rufus’s mouth, but it was closed, and the blood merely trickled over his lips and down his chin. Desperate now, and afraid she might have taken too much of his blood, Serafina grasped his hair and pulled back his head, forcing his mouth open. She practically shoved her wrist into it, reaching around his head with her other hand to squeeze more blood from the vein. She had no clear idea of what she was doing. Anton had described the process to her once, but she’d never seen it done, and Anton had said nothing about how awkward it was.
Then, after what seemed an eternity of willing him to drink, Serafina saw his throat convulse, and knew he was swallowing the life-giving fluid. She expelled a breath she had not realised she was holding, and the release of tension r
elaxed her enough for her blood to flow more freely, and for her vampiric instincts to take over. When she sensed Rufus had ingested enough, she laid him back down on the bed and prepared to keep vigil until he reawakened. She could only hope it would not be too long.
ELEVEN
Rufus opened his eyes to find himself alone in the darkness. How long had he been asleep? he wondered. His last waking memory was of Doctor Wells visiting him. Serafina had been there, too. After that, his recollections were so bizarre they could only have been fever dreams.
He seemed to recall looking down a tunnel, smooth-walled, almost like living tissue and infused with a faint glow, stretching away before him as far as he could see. Then he had been moving inside it, wafted along by some unseen force towards a light just visible at the end of the tunnel, as though a sun were rising there and he was watching its first golden rays. It called to him – not with a voice, but with something that seemed to hum soundlessly inside him. He could not feel his body. Although he had some vague recollection of pain, it seemed to have receded, and he was floating, floating towards the light…
Then someone had snuffed out the sun.
A voice had murmured to him, low and soothing, telling him not to be afraid, and he had felt something in his throat, something warm and thick that trickled across his tongue and down his gullet until he thought it would choke him, but the muscles in his throat had tightened, convulsed, swallowed the salty, metallic liquid until a pool of it lay heavy and viscous – and strangely satisfying – in his stomach. He had become aware of his body only when he had felt it being moved. Then he was lying down, the strange stuff in his stomach spreading out like a pool of treacle. Then, while he was still wondering what on earth was going on, something else had happened.
A Different Hunger Page 9
