He released her, throwing her from the chair to the floor as he pushed her away. The change faded, and he looked mortal again. “I already do.” McGill waved at the captain. “Send them in, and leave us alone."
As she regained her chair, the soldier bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He opened the door and motioned to someone outside.
Duncan strode into the hall, his head high and shoulders square. Behind him came the scarecrow man she'd seen on her first day in the keep, his shoulders bent and hunched in on himself. In the rear was a dumpy little fat man in the robes of a priest, his beady eyes scanning the room for either danger or escape.
The captain closed the huge door as he left.
McGill lounged in his chair like some great cat, relaxed and sure of himself. The evil grin was gone, replaced by a practiced suavity that her dreams told her would form the stereotypical vampire in the future at someplace called Hollywood.
When he spoke, McGill didn't use the Scottish accent he so carefully cultivated. “So, you are Campbell.” He nodded to the scarecrow. “And it is good to see you again so soon, McBarens.” His easy smile faded a bit. “Tell me, Campbell, who is your fat pious friend?"
Duncan didn't bow or make any effort at undue respect, nor was he rude. “Yes, I'm Duncan Campbell, and I ken my friend Gilroy has met you already. This is Brother Bryce."
"Brother Bryce. It is so good to meet a God fearing man among these barbarians."
The scarecrow called Gilroy took half a step forward. “And so ‘tis true, then. Ye both are sooder folley."
"What if we are? What can you three do about it?"
The priest spoke up, crossing himself quickly. “Ye are the devil's spawn, and the Lord will strike ye down!"
McGill laughed. “Please, control yourself, Brother. There is no need for you to worry yourself.” He stood and took the two short steps from the dais to the stone floor. “Why cannot people just get along?"
Duncan stood tall, and his gaze flickered to Melissa. A small smile played over his face before he looked intently at McGill. “My friends think ye are sooder folley. As for me, I dinna know. Nor do I care. I wonder what hold ye have over the lass, though."
McGill chuckled, and she thought she heard a deep rumbling far down in his body hinting at the ferocious beast within. “Campbell, let us deal with first things first. You are here for two reasons. First, you owe me back taxes. I do not take well to people who fail to render unto me what is mine.” He smiled. “Sorry, just a little quote that has not been written yet."
"I dinna care about that. Take your money."
"I plan to.” The smile quivered a bit. “The other thing is that you need to stay away from my wife."
Duncan towered over McGill, standing at least a head taller and half again as broad. Melissa knew that didn't matter if McGill decided it didn't matter. Duncan glanced at her again. “I think that's for the lass to decide, not ye."
She wondered when the carnage would start. No one ever accused McGill of being patient, but trifling with Duncan and the others seemed to please him for now. “You have no idea, Campbell.” He stepped to stand before Gilroy. “And so, McBarens, you still think I am sooder folley?"
"I do."
McGill nodded sadly. “What of you, holy man?"
"I believe there is a devilish evil here."
"The devil and your god have nothing to do with the matter."
"'Tis blasphemy ye speak!"
"Only if you believe in all of that nonsense."
The priest crossed himself again, and Gilroy hugged himself as he shivered.
"Leave them alone, McGill.” Duncan cleared his throat. “This is between ye and me."
"Tell me, Campbell, do you believe this sooder folley business?” McGill nodded toward her. “And what of my lovely bride? Is she too sooder folley?"
"I care not."
McGill's eyes narrowed to slits, and his face wrinkled in a deep frown. “You do not care that you have lain with a vampire?"
She didn't see Duncan react in any way, and he held his tongue.
"So, no comments, my common friends?” McGill walked to the long table and sat on the edge. “Let me tell you a little secret. Melissa and I are both sooder folley.” The evil grin returned. “Feel better now?"
Duncan smiled back into the grin. “Then prove it."
Her heart thudded in her chest. She'd known McGill more than long enough to know he wouldn't back down from such a challenge, no matter how much fun he was having with the three men.
As she watched, McGill changed, slowly since he was in no danger. The teeth lengthened and sharpened as they grew to part his lips. The steel grey eyes set in brilliant white shifted and flowed to black with round red iris and green slit pupils. His fingers hooked into claws tipped not with human nails, but with talons better fitting some terrifying bird of prey. The skin of his face and arms mottled and wrinkled into something closer to leather armor than living skin.
When he spoke, the low growling sound flowed from somewhere deep inside the small man. “How is this?"
The priest fell to his knees, crossing himself over and over again as he mumbled in Latin. The little fat man prepared to meet his fate. Melissa knew he should also prepare to meet his maker.
Gilroy only shivered. She could smell his fear, thick and palpable in the air. He, too, foresaw his death.
Duncan's only reaction was to look away from McGill and stare at her. His face looked sad, and the remarkable hazel eyes held a hint of pain.
He opened his mouth once, and then shut it again before he was able to speak. “Melissa, is it true?"
She couldn't look away from him, even though she wanted to. She considered bringing on the change to show him, but she remained in the human form. “Yes. I'm sorry."
"Nay, dinna be sorry, wee lass.” Duncan smiled. “Ye may be sooder folley, but ye are a woman, too."
She couldn't believe the words he had just spoken, or more correctly, the meaning of them. He didn't care that she was a vampire. Somehow, he could overlook that detail.
McGill stood from the table and walked slowly toward Duncan. “This is all very touching, but the fact remains that you know who, or more correctly, what I am, and there is the small detail of your dalliance with my wife."
He grabbed Duncan's throat and lifted the larger man from the floor. Duncan flailed against him, but McGill held fast and laughed.
The scarecrow sprang to life. He grabbed a torch from the wall next to him and, screaming incoherently, charged at McGill. The flame smashed against McGill's head, and he dropped Duncan to the floor, where he lay gasping for breath and clutching his throat.
McGill whirled, snatching the torch from Gilroy's hands. Flames licked the side of his head where his hair burned. “You fool!"
He struck out with the torch at the same time as he grabbed Gilroy's arm and pulled fiercely. The flaming tip of the torch hit Gilroy's chest. Gilroy didn't scream when the torch shattered through his ribs, but he grunted like hit by a heavy blow. The flame had gone out, extinguished by the blood when the torch punched through the scarecrow's spine. No more sounds came from the man after the cracking noise of bones settled from the air.
McGill flung the lifeless man across the room where the body slammed against the wall and fell to the floor in a bloody pile. Duncan crawled weakly away from McGill as the priest looked on with his eyes wide and his mouth agape in shock at the scene unfolding before him.
Duncan had crawled a short distance from where he fell, and McGill walked toward him. “Now, where were we?” He patted at his hair to put out the fire.
The priest seemed to jolt out of his shock, and he moved quickly for such an overweight, half drunk man. Brother Bryce stood and pulled a large silver crucifix from inside his robe. He darted between McGill and Duncan, holding the cross in front of McGill's face.
"By the power of God, get thee gone, demon!"
McGill threw his hands up between his eyes and the crucifix, hissing like some
insane serpent. He screamed in pain as he staggered back a few steps.
The priest took a step forward, seeming to draw strength from his god. “Be gone, devil's spawn!"
McGill chuckled, low and threatening. He dropped his hands and grinned, the fangs glittering in the firelight. “Pretty convincing act, right?"
The priest seemed to turn to a wet cloth. His arms dropped to his sides, and his mouth fell open. “What?"
McGill laughed again and reached to take the crucifix from Bryce's hand. “Do not put your trust in such trinkets, Brother. They will get you into deep shit every time.” He tossed the cross, and it clattered loudly on the floor.
"What?"
"Oh, never mind.” McGill turned away a little, and then spun back suddenly, his claws streaking across the fat stomach of the priest.
Eviscerated, Brother Bryce wrapped his arms around his belly, trying to keep his insides inside. “What?” He collapsed to the floor, blood spilling to cover the stones.
Duncan had gained some purchase and leaned on his hands and knees, coughing up blood, which splashed in bright red splatters on the floor.
McGill walked close to him, and then stopped. He looked up to where Melissa sat motionless, frozen by fear and terror, in her chair. “You see, my love? I told you this would happen. Are you happy now?” He waved his hand at the still gurgling body of the priest, and then to where the crumpled and broken corpse of Gilroy had landed against the wall. “These men did not have to die."
"You would have killed regardless.” Tears streamed from her eyes, burning hot against her skin as they tracked down to her lips where their salty tang filled her mouth.
He sighed. “Yes, I would have, and so would you. We are what we are, and we must kill to eat, to live.” He nodded at Duncan. “You know how I feel, but we could have saved this one, as a toy for you, or perhaps a pet. You'll always be mine, but I understand your needs and wants. But now...” His words trailed off, and he shrugged.
She took a deep breath. She hadn't the power to stop McGill. He would simply rip her limbs from her body and make her watch anyway. “At least don't let him suffer."
He nodded. “I can do that.” He stepped closer to Duncan.
Duncan looked up at McGill as his hand sought the cross the priest had carried. He clutched it to his chest as McGill grabbed his head in both hands.
Lifting Duncan from the floor by his head, McGill squeezed. From where she sat, Melissa could see the pressure distorting the bones of Duncan's skull and the blood oozing from his eyes, ears, and nose.
McGill didn't smile now. Between the effort of crushing Duncan's head and lengthening of his fangs, his mouth was partly open, and she could hear his breathing raspy with the fight.
Duncan suddenly moved, his hands snapping up and out, the cross held like a dagger. He swung down, his big muscles flexing with the effort, and plunged the long end of the crucifix deep into McGill's face, hitting in his nose. The cross buried itself to the bar before stopping.
McGill's reaction was both sudden and unexpected. He screamed, clawing at his face and the silver cross sticking out from his nose. He whirled wildly, legs flailing, as he staggered around the room. “You fool! What have you done to me?"
But Duncan didn't answer. He fell to the floor, blood streaming from every opening of his head.
Melissa stared as McGill wailed. He managed to grip the cross and pull it from his face, and it again clattered on the stones of the floor. He stopped his mad dance near the window. He glared at her, a great hole in the center of his face and blood covering him.
"You have destroyed us both, my love.” His voice held an unnatural calm. “I am killed."
She couldn't stop the small smile from coming to her lips. “For that, I'm happy."
"Fuck you.” McGill altered his form to that of a bird, and flew out of the window.
Melissa had never mastered that skill.
As if some invisible bond had been cut, she dashed to Duncan's side. Blood covered his face, and his head had an odd shape from McGill's assault.
She kneeled beside him and cradled his head in her arms. He still breathed, rapid and ragged, and his heart beat quickly in his chest.
Melissa brushed the sandy red hair from his face. “Rest, Duncan."
His eyes flickered a few times, and then opened. “Ye're still here."
"Yes.” She smiled down into his face. “And McGill is gone."
"Aye.” He coughed, and blood foamed in his mouth. “And what do we do now?"
She knew the answer, but that didn't mean she liked it. “I can't stay here."
"I ken that, and you know I canna leave.” He coughed again, wincing with the pain. “If I even live."
"You'll live, my precious.” She sighed. “I know."
"So?"
"I'll get you home, and then I'll leave."
"Melissa.” He paused for a moment, the remarkable hazel eyes smiling at her despite the blood stains tinting the whites. “Melissa, no matter what ye may or may not be, I love ye."
"I'll never forget you, Duncan."
He chuckled softly. “Never is a long time."
"I've got a long time."
* * * *
Scotland, Present Day
She stood on the highest remaining point of the castle and looked out over the countryside. Her gaze came to rest on the small town that now occupied the site of the village. She traced the remains of the old Roman road that led to the castle past the spot where a farmer called Duncan Campbell once tended his grain.
She wanted to find his grave, but none of the sites in the old churchyard were marked. Elektra longed to cry over his bones.
Instead, she stood there crying over the entire scene. The passion, the death, and the lost love all made her cry.
She hadn't seen McGill since she had learned to escape her body and live inside others. She wondered where he might be now. In spite of the theories, the silver hadn't killed him. Maybe he hadn't gotten enough of it, or maybe it just hadn't worked.
A shame, that.
Elektra could still see Duncan's eyes in her mind. He hadn't cared what she was. He had loved her just the same.
When she peeked out through the other's eyes and saw this man, this Roland, that she had married, she saw the same look in his eyes. This man, despite his faults and deficiencies, loved Valerie and would die for her, just as Duncan had been willing to die seven hundred years ago for her.
Yes, she thought, Valerie has chosen well. Roland wouldn't care, either.
* * * *
Valerie stood staring out over the landscape from the castle. Roland didn't want to startle her. They were far up on the old walls, and there was no railing.
"Hi, baby."
She turned and smiled. “Hi, yourself."
As he neared, he noticed her eyes were red and puffy. “Have you been crying?"
She frowned and wiped at her eyes. “It looks that way, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. Everything OK?"
"Just fine. I didn't know I was crying.” She laughed and flipped her shimmering blonde hair over her shoulder. The motion always grabbed his total attention.
"Just as long as you're all right.” He looked out over the walls to the town in the valley. “This is one pretty place."
"Yes, it is.” She snuggled up to his side and he put his arm around her shoulders. “Maybe we should move here."
"Yeah, right! You think we have a long commute now."
"That's true."
They stood watching the fluffy clouds drift across the sky. Now that the rains had passed for the day, only a few clumps of cottony white drifted in the blue sky, and Roland remembered all the times he and Valerie had made love on the mountaintop back home. There the clouds were tainted by the smog of L.A. only forty miles distant, but here in the clean highlands of Scotland, the clouds held the bright white of something pure and virginal. A noise behind him made Roland turn. Stanley Markinson stood watching them.
He smiled. �
�Pardon the intrusion. It is nice to see two people so very different and yet so very much in love."
Maybe it was that Stanley never used contractions that made him seem odd. Roland laughed a little. “I guess we are pretty different."
Valerie stared intently at the author.
Stanley's smile faded a little. “Yes. Maybe even more than you know."
The End
About the Author
Melodee Aaron was born and raised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri where she spent many long hours on the front porch of her great-grandmother's house as the old woman practiced the ancient art of storytelling. Her life having spanned the time from before cars and airplanes all the way through seeing men walking on the moon, “Grammy” had a unique perspective. Her stories blended old-time values with modern life in a way that made the stories and the characters come to life.
Melodee knew, even as a child, that she too wanted to tell stories.
* * *
Visit www.amirapress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
Ruins of a Past Day: Bloodlust 1 Page 6
