“Dorian, is that you?” a faint voice gasped.
Gloria?
Alive?
Gloria still lived?
A protective rage welled up from deep inside him, burning the haze and clearing his mind in an instant. Gloria lived, but both she and Elizabeth stood in the path of imminent danger.
He had to rescue them both. Failure wasn’t an option.
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus. Clearly, the warlock held the upper hand in hand-to-hand combat. There had to be another way—
“The doll,” Gloria interrupted his thoughts in a whisper so soft he wasn’t sure he’d truly even heard it. “The doll on the table, Dorian. It’s his ward. Break its neck. ‘Twill free the wolves to aid you.”
His lashes flew open.
Behind him, Jacques and Emilio still fought in the croft, and a quick, furtive glance over his shoulder revealed Lord Rowle had turned to join them.
It was now or never.
Summoning his strength, Dorian slid off the ring and lunged for the table. He saw the doll. A grotesque thing, quite delicate, really, and carved from wood. It wouldn’t take much to snap its neck.
His fingers had scarcely closed around the figurine when he heard the warlock’s shocked hiss from behind.
“Impossible! No one can break a Rowle spell,” the man said, astounded. “No one, and certainly not a mere human!”
The dagger followed next, razor slice after razor slice stabbing Dorian’s flesh. He gripped the doll tighter. Aye, he was losing too much blood. The smell of it sickened him. And yes, he stood only one slash away from death, but he’d see the infernal doll’s neck broken first.
Determined, he ignored the plunging blade and focused only on the doll, bending its head back as Lord Rowle began to shout.
“Aye, take that, ye beslubbering sot of a Rowle,” Dorian gasped, struggling. “I’ll not let ye harm those I cherish!”
Then two things happened.
First, the doll’s neck snapped with a quiet sort of pop.
Second, a burning blaze of pain jolted Dorian’s entire body and, dropping the doll, he gaped down, stunned, to see metal protruding from his stomach.
The warlock had impaled him with a sword—his own.
Aye, ‘twas a deathblow, but oddly, he felt nothing.
“You will pay.” Lord Rowle’s enraged features swam into view. “And everything you cherish will pay as well, fool.”
Dorian couldn’t respond. His knees gave out and he fell across the table.
He could hear the wolves, howling and snarling outside the croft as the warlock ran to the back of the cottage. Bending down, he pulled a rusted ring embedded in the floor, and lifting a trap door, revealed a set of stairs winding into the darkness below. An escape route.
Outside, the wolves howled, striking the croft stones, their assault causing dust to sift down from the rafters above.
“Come, Emilio,” Lord Rowle raised his voice in warning. “The wolves paw at our door.”
“Misfortune clings to you like a shadow, Rowle,” Emilio spat. “Sei davvero stupido! How could you be so foolish to let this happen?”
But the warlock had already gone.
Gritting his teeth, Dorian tried to raise himself from the table, but with little success. The next moment, Jacques sailed over his head to crash against the wall and collapse into an unmoving heap on the floor.
Again, Dorian tried to stand, but his body betrayed him. Ach, he might not be able to move, but he could still speak. As a rush of wind headed towards the trap door, he managed to choke, “I will find you, Sicilian. You will die under my blade. I swear it.”
He thought he was too late. He just stood there, sprawled over the table, his cheek flat against the rough, wooden surface, and the only sound he could hear the snarling of the wolves outside as they tried to break into the croft.
But then, a deep chuckle echoed up from the trap door. The next moment, strong fingers clamped over Dorian’s shoulders to flip him onto his back.
Emilio’s dark features stared down at him. “Ah, you wish to know of your sister?” the vampire hissed, baring two long fangs. “I claimed that treasure for myself whenever I pleased, night after night, and when I grew weary of her naïve charms, I tasted the blue vein of her neck as it throbbed against her bare skin—”
Rage boiled up within Dorian at those words, a rage he channeled into strength. Somehow, almost magically, Elizabeth’s silver dagger appeared in his hand. Gripping the weapon, he heaved himself off the table and drawing upon every last shred of strength he possessed, braced his legs and plunged the silver blade straight into vampire’s heart.
As the flash of silver met and shattered bone, astonishment flashed over Emilio’s face. Throwing his head back, his lips parted in a shrill, keening cry as he stumbled back. The silver dagger sizzled his flesh, opening a gaping wound that grew even as Dorian watched.
Still, it wasn’t enough to mollify the anger in Dorian’s soul. “’Tis only fitting I give ye the brotherly, highland welcome ye deserve, Sicilian,” he spat, slipping into his highland brogue as he grabbed Emilio by the neck and punched his jaw, enjoying the satisfying crunch of bone giving beneath his fist. “Who’s the fool now, aye?”
“By chance a cripple may catch a hare,” Emilio rasped, his eyes burning savagely. “You are dead. Sei morto!” Spreading his lips wide in another bloodcurdling scream, he tugged at the silver dagger scorching his flesh.
A moment later, the silver blade clattered to the floor.
Dorian fell back, astounded.
Emilio rose up to tower over him, death in his eyes.
“Beware, Emilio,” Jacques’ elegant voice sounded from the croft door. “’Tis time to welcome our howling friends, is it not?”
Emilio’s lip twitched as the French vampire unlatched the door. “This is not finished between us, Ramsey,” he whispered the promise.
And then in a blur, he vanished into the shadows down the trap door.
As the wolves bounded inside and rushed past him, Dorian dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. Hot, sticky blood oozed between his fingers. Ach, nothing could staunch the flow of it. He was done for. He knew that well. Aye, each wound throbbed in agony. More than one rib had punctured his lungs. ‘Twas a miracle he hadn’t died already.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes and fell.
He must have blacked out. When he opened his eyes again, the croft seemed brighter. Someone had lit more candles. He felt Bianca’s ebony snout push against his arm.
A shadow fell across Dorian’s face and with the greatest of efforts, he focused his gaze on Jacques’ concerned eyes peering down at him. Aye, the vampire had suffered many grievous injuries, but even as Dorian watched, the cuts and gashes began to heal. Immortal, truly. And clearly impervious to silver, despite what he’d said before in the woods.
Recalling Emilio plucking the silver dagger from his heart, he felt the need to say, “I pierced his heart with silver, but he dinna die as you claimed he would, Frenchman.” He tried to hold up his shaking hand as if it somehow offered proof.
“You must have missed, mon ami,” the vampire replied gently. “But it matters little. Your strength is incredible, my friend. Unbelievable! I know of no other who could break a Rowle spell and then drive a blade anywhere near Emilio’s chest. You have fought so valiantly.”
“Nay,” Dorian disagreed. “I plunged it straight into his heart. He canna be what you think.”
“Ah, then, ‘tis a mystery of the universe,” Jacques replied, his face filling with sorrow.
Dorian knew the cause of that sorrow. He closed his eyes. Aye, he was dying. “Protect them,” he whispered. “Swear you will protect them.”
“Upon my life and for all eternity,” Jacques replied, knowing of whom he spoke.
“Dorian!” Gloria choked. “Is that you? I canna see!”
At the sound of her frightened voice, he managed to turn his head, enough to see she lay close by. The
thought of how she’d suffered made his blood boil, giving him a last inhuman surge of strength to lift his hand enough to touch her fingers with his.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
“They used me for something evil,” she whispered between sobs. “’Tis my fault, Dorian!”
“Nay, lass,” he swore, squeezing her hand as best he could even as he felt his feet turn numb, cold.
She didn’t answer. He tried to move close but weakness prevented him. Squinting, he could see her breath coming in short, rattling gasps.
“’Tis too late, mon ami,” Jacques whispered, running his long, elegant fingers over her brow.
Tears slid down Dorian’s cheeks. He’d failed his sister. And now? Would the wolves find Rowle or would he fail Elizabeth, too? If only he could heal himself like Jacques, if only …
His eyes lit with sudden hope. Grabbing Jacques’ hand, he gasped, “Make me a vampire, Jacques.”
Jacques’ head snapped back. “’Tis Wolf Blood Moon, mon ami. No vampire can be made on such a night.”
“Turn me, too,” Gloria’s lips moved weakly, surprising them both.
The Frenchman’s eyes again filled with sorrow. “Ma belle femme, the both of you are far too weak and on this night of nights, ‘twould be impossible for even the strongest to find his way back, to choose to become a Chosen—”
“He speaks the truth,” Bianca said, suddenly padding up to Dorian’s side. Her eyes mirrored the grief in Jacques’. “A Wolf Blood Moon is the one night when a vampire cannot return to claim their body as a creature of the night. ’Tis the moon of wolves, when their strength waxes and that of a vampire’s wanes. No vampire is strong enough to battle the moon on this night, not one ray of light can penetrate the veils to guide your way back. ‘Tis written in the stars. You will wander in the darkness forever.”
“I’m … a … highlander,” Dorian panted stubbornly. “I‘ve … strength … enough. I’ll battle … through … hades itself.” He frowned at the stiff clumsiness of his lips. He could no longer feel his legs.
Jacques bowed his head. “No one doubts your courage, mon ami.”
“What harm is there in trying?” Dorian gasped weakly.
At his side, Gloria nodded in agreement, too frail to speak, but he saw the tears shimmering in her eye.
“Harm enough,” Jacques’ voice choked with emotion. “Those who fail in finding the way back on a Wolf Blood Moon are doomed to wander the veil between worlds for eternity. I cannot condemn you to such torture. Not so honorable, so courageous a man. Nay, such a thing is impossible.”
At his side, an odd stillness settled over Gloria’s slender, broken body.
The wolves began to howl.
Clenching his jaw, Dorian forced his lips to move for the last time. “Impossible?” His chest felt so tight he couldn’t breathe. “Did not … your leaves say otherwise? I … will … return. I swear it.”
The vampire’s eyes narrowed, and then everything began to fade.
Dorian felt his hands turn cold, then numb.
As his consciousness drifted away, he heard Jacques whisper in his ear, “Vampires, the Chosen Ones, share minds, mon ami. I will feel your pain in the shadow of my own for an eternity. I will feel what you feel. I will suffer as you suffer. The both of you.”
The next moment, he felt the sharp prick of fangs on his neck.
Chapter 7
The Choosing
The Choosing. Aye, choosing to return was easy enough—for him. Ignoring the pull to travel to the unknown would have been nigh impossible if not for Gloria and Elizabeth. Nay, he needed to see them safe. He had to fight for them. They needed his strength. And with that in mind, he fled the call of the unknown.
But after escaping the pull, darkness descended upon him.
The voices came next, voices whispering to each other in an unknown tongue … voices terrible to hear.
He ran past them, calling out for Gloria as loud as he could.
What had he done?
Had he failed his wee sister again? Had he condemned her to an eternity of fear?
Suddenly, her anguished screams echoed in his mind.
“Fight this, Gloria!” Dorian cried back.
“Dorian?” her voice whispered in reply.
He drew strength and took heart. “Aye, wee fool of a lass, hold onto my strength,” he thought at her, sending every ounce of strength he possessed. “Dinna leave me. Not now!”
“Dorian?” she began to sob hysterically. “I’m afraid. I canna see!”
Complete, utter darkness surrounded him from every angle.
“Nor can I,” he admitted. “But that will not stop a highlander, aye? Follow the sound of my voice, lass. I will find our way back.”
Desperately, he searched in all directions, speaking calmly to his sister all the while as he battled his own fear of the utter darkness. He wandered for what seemed an eternity. The voices came and went. Fear rolled in waves. Raw fear. The kind of fear he hadn’t even known existed.
The kind of fear that could wear even the most valiant of men down.
The kind of fear he could lose to … and finally, did.
At last, he fell to his knees, still sending his wee sister a litany of lies in his mind. “Aye, ‘twill not be long now, lass.” “Hold on, you’re a Ramsey.” “I willna fail ye, I swear it!”
But he had.
He’d failed her … and his Elizabeth.
Fighting tears, he let his mind wander over Elizabeth again.
His Elizabeth. Her strength. Her beauty. Her wit.
Aye, a lady to die for.
Slowly, he became aware of a warmth stealing over him.
And then he heard it.
The soft hoot of an owl.
And even though he knew he couldn’t see in the darkness around him, he lifted his lashes, puzzled.
An … owl? Here?
He saw it then. The faintest glimmer of light. Red light, guiding his way. The light of Wolf Blood Moon.
Dorian noticed his skin first. ‘Twas as cold as ice. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He lay on the croft floor, bathed in the dim light of candles and surrounded by a ring of wolves.
Gloria lay by his side, pale and still, but with the bite marks on her neck already closing.
“I stand in awe,” a quiet voice echoed in his mind.
Dorian glanced up to see Jacques standing by the table with a massive wolf on each side, their lips pulled back in wide grins that exposed rows of shiny teeth.
“Never have I seen such a quick choosing and on this night of all nights,” the vampire shook his head in wonder as his voice continued to murmur in Dorian’s mind. “Do not tell the wolves, mon ami, but forever will I name this moon ‘Highlander Blood Moon’.”
Dorian felt his lips twitch in amusement and he sat up, flexing his muscles as the bones in his body straightened, knitting themselves together.
Suddenly, Gloria’s arms enveloped him in a hug. “You didn’t leave me,” she said, squeezing him fiercely. “You led me back.”
“Nay, never will I leave you, lass,” he replied with a chuckle before holding her at arm’s length.
Already, she’d been restored to the full picture of health, but like himself, felt cold to the touch.
Rising to his feet, he spied Elizabeth’s silver dagger on the floor. He bent to retrieve it, but his fingers had scarcely closed over the hilt before a white-hot pain shot through his hand. He dropped the blade with a hiss and looked at his burnt fingers.
“’Tis silver, mon ami,” Jacques’ amused tones filled his mind. “You are vampire, remember?”
Astonished, Dorian watched the burns fade away and in seconds, his skin had healed.
“I will keep it for you,” Bianca offered, padding up to his side.
Elizabeth’s dagger… He felt his heart tear asunder. Elizabeth was lost to him now. She tasted of sunshine, but he now stood as a creature of the night. His Elizabeth … he bowed his head, knowing he could not t
hink of her now.
“Aye, then, Bianca,” he agreed in a hoarse voice. “Take it and guard it well.”
He turned away.
He felt the first pang of hunger then, a raw hunger burning his gut.
The thirst for blood.
He drew his lips back, feeling his fangs extend as a strength stronger than he’d ever felt coursed through him in pounding waves. He flashed to the door and looked down at his sister standing by his side.
“Gloria, we will track him down,” he promised. “We will win.”
A matching fury danced across his sister’s face. “Aye,” was all she said.
Again, a strong pang of hunger ripped through his soul.
He lifted his head and stared into the waning night. "Emilio, I will find you in the long, dark days ahead," he swore.
But first, he must feed.
The End
Dorian’s story continues in the Cassidy Edwards “Monster” series.
About Carmen Caine
Like many of us on this planet, Bestselling and Multiple Award-Winning author Carmen Caine is from another world. She spends every moment she can scribbling stories on sticky notes that her kids find posted all over the car, house, and barn. When she is not working as a software engineer or writing stories, she is busy texting her kids on an insanely small, Keebler-Elf-sized keyboard, raising her new Frenchton puppy while trying to convince her Doberman that jealousy just isn’t worth it (no luck so far), and tending a barn full of animal misfits, including a tiny sheep who likes to sneak inside the house and a miniature rescue llama with an attitude.
www.carmencaine.com
Being Naughty With the Vampire by Marie Mason
Being Naughty With the Vampire by Marie Mason
When her grandmother passed away, Sage Montgomery promised her father she would take care of her estate. Her drive to North Carolina took a horror movie turn when she found herself stranded on the side of a mountain, a storm looming on the horizon. And just like the movies, a tall, dark and mysterious man appeared rescue her. A stranger who instantly set her body on fire.
Taming the Vampire: Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military, Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Demons & More Page 81
