The King's Vampire

by Brenda Stinnett

  “Who do you mean, my Emperor?”

  Charlemagne looked down his hawk-like nose at Darius. “I was first crowned Charles, the Great, King of the Franks. So who do you suppose I’m referring to?”

  “You think that King Charles is truly in danger?”

  “He’s cynical, he trusts no one, and he is without morals. Yes, I think Charles is in desperate danger.”

  “I’m an immortal vampire. What can I do?”

  “You’re no longer a vampire.”

  “I don’t understand, Sire.”

  Charlemagne drew out a sword bedecked with precious stones of emeralds and rubies and possessed of a solid gold hilt. He gently tapped Darius on either shoulder and said, “With the authority vested in me from above, I declare you, Darius Einhard, to be now and forever, Darius, demon slayer. You have the capability of immortality, but you also possess a soul. You have the right of heaven as well as earth. The only creatures with the power to destroy you are the psychic vampire demons. May they all be damned to Hell.”

  Darius dropped to his knees, and when he dared look up again, Charlemagne had vanished. Surely, he’d dreamed the entire scene. But when he looked down, he saw he clutched Charlemagne’s jeweled sword in his hand. The enormity of what had happened left him shaking and weak. He ran his hand along the jewel-encrusted hilt of the sword, making sure it was real before placing it carefully inside the crude sarcophagus he’d just inhabited. There it would remain for safekeeping until he had need of it. Surprised, he found he now had the strength to push the lid of the sarcophagus back into place with little effort.

  He must now seek out his true purpose as a demon slayer. No longer a vampire, he must seek spiritual forgiveness and guidance, but how to achieve this, how to acquire the necessities of a spiritual life? He closed his eyes in prayer. Inside his mind a total revelation struck him, only one alternative, it was his only choice. He had to find the soul translator, the one being that could provide him with the answers to his new quest, and guide him to a new immortal path he was destined to follow. Where would this teacher come from—from the ancient past, or from the present time? Would Darius know him when he found him?

  He struggled to separate his ego from his spirit, releasing his fleshly body so he could enter the kingdom of spirits. The mediator between both worlds would be where he’d find a protector who could guide him on the path he sought. In the spiritual world, he’d gain admission to the knowledge of spirits, then doors would open and truth would prevail. But he knew an earthly mentor could bridge the gap between the two worlds and he then could fulfill his destiny.

  He felt his skin tightening and knitting together, healing itself from the gouges and lashes Julian had inflicted on him in his attempt to force him to persuade the immortal vampires in joining with the vampire demons.

  He shuddered to think what the demon might have done to him next if Charlemagne hadn’t rescued him. His new path might be filled with obstacles, but faith and guidance from above would help overcome the challenges ahead. He knew what to do, and it must be done soon.

  Darius left the abandoned ruins of St. Paul’s and rushed back on foot toward the inn, praying he’d find Elizabeth safely home. The morning light was breaking over the rooftops of London, and at first he cringed, fearful of how the sunlight might affect him. The light started out pale, but soon grew brighter and brighter. Lifting his face upward, feeling the blessed warmth of the sun on his skin made him realize it was true. He was no longer a vampire, but rather a demon slayer.

  He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, but he did neither. Relieved, he found he hadn’t lost his swiftness, because he skimmed across the cobbled streets. Crowds surged into the city, street vendors crying out their wares, donkey carts filled with vegetables or carcasses of meat. A coach rattled by, and shopkeepers opened the shutters of their shops. Light from the sun hit the red bricks of the new buildings, making them gleam ruby-red. He’d once been blind, but now he had been given the gift of sight.

  A rosy-cheeked girl walked the streets crying “Milkmaid,” carrying her heavy yoke across her shoulders.

  With a wave of his hand, Darius stopped her. He handed her a few coins, and she set down her yoke, pouring him some milk into a bowl. He tipped back his head while the warm, fresh milk ran down his throat. Nothing had ever tasted so good. It was sweeter than wine, warmer than the sunshine beating down upon his skin.

  “Thank you, Sire.” The milkmaid curtsied, before slipping the yoke back in place.

  He couldn’t stop smiling. “No. Thank you, my dear.” He slipped several more coins into her palm.

  She stared at him, first glancing at him and then the money in her hand. She gave him a look that suggested he’d gone mad, but he didn’t care. She slipped the coins into her pocket, apparently fearing he might change his mind or come to his senses.

  He gave a laugh that echoed down the street, and then he rushed forward to see Elizabeth. When he entered the inn, he found men sitting at the wooden tables, shoveling in eggs and sausage the cook had prepared faster than the serving girl could bring them out.

  The men paused and stared up when Darius seemed to explode onto the scene. “Well, Your Lordship,” one of the men ventured to say, “We don’t usually see you up and about so early in the day. How are you?”

  “Matthias, I am wonderful. I am excellent. I’ve never felt better in my entire life!”

  “That’s good then, isn’t it?” Matthias said, before refocusing his attention on his sausage.

  Beth, who must have heard his voice from the kitchen, rushed out with furrowed brow. She gazed up and paused at the sight of him. “You’ve been out all night, Your Lordship. We’d begun to worry.” Her voice died out, and she seemed unable to stop staring.

  He scooped her up and swung her around before saying, “I feel wonderful. Is Eliza—I mean Her Ladyship—all right?”

  “She’s good as could be expected, Sire. She’s been worried to a fright about you.”

  “Then I’d better go upstairs and let her know that I’m fine.”

  “Sire,” Beth said with hesitation.

  He paused on the staircase. “Yes, my good Beth?”

  “Beg pardon for my saying so, I don’t mean to be so bold, but Your Lordship seems quite changed in his appearance.”

  “Do I? For the better, I hope.” He kissed her on her plump cheek before ascending the stairs, chuckling aloud.

  He assumed Elizabeth would be sleeping, so he tiptoed into the bedroom, slightly pulling back the drapes that surrounded her, drinking in the sight of her sweet, porcelain face nestled into the pillow. Gently, he stroked the elegant planes of her face with his thumb.

  Her palms faced upward above the covers, her hands in supplication, while her auburn hair, a mass of russet waves, rippled over the pillow. The inky shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks made him long to touch each eye with his lips. She must have felt him staring because she opened her eyes and rose up on one elbow.

  “Darius, thank God you’re safe.” She outstretched her arms to him. He didn’t move and she continued to stare, her eyes widening.

  He took care to keep her curtains drawn tight and the morning light out, before pulling a chair near and sitting down beside her. He grasped her hand in his own. “What’s the matter, darling?”

  She drew her hand away from him, and traced her fingertips along the side of his face. “It’s you. What has happened? You look so different.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers and kissed her knuckles. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “It’s your face. Look at your face.”

  Darius ran a hand against the stubble on his cheeks. “Well, I haven’t had time to shave because I was rather busy escaping from the demon tomb. I’m sorry. I probably also smell like Bedlam.”

  “Look in the mirror,” she whispered.

  After a glance in the gold Venetian mirror hanging on the wall, he stood and moved closer. He turned his face left and right. “O
h, my God,” he breathed.

  While it was true he had dark stubble across his face, that wasn’t what had held Elizabeth’s attention captive. Instead of the alabaster skin he’d had for over eight hundred years, now his complexion was olive, almost swarthy, with a dusky rose tint to his cheeks.

  He walked back over and knelt at her bedside. “That’s what I wanted to tell you, but I’d forgotten what I once looked like. I’m no longer a vampire.”

  “I don’t understand. But how?”

  “I’m not sure what the process was, but remember when I destroyed those demons at the ruins of St. Paul’s using a powerful energy?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I believe Charlemagne was making me a demon slayer then, and now he’s completed the transformation.”

  “You’re no longer a vampire?”

  “No, my darling, I’m not.” He leaned forward to kiss her lips, but she turned her head away. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything is fine. I’m happy for you.” Her voice sounded wooden.

  Darius knew by the look on her face that nothing was right with her at this particular moment. “Elizabeth? Are you angry with me?”

  “No. What kind of horrible creature would I be if I were angry because you’re no longer a vampire?”

  He ran his hands up and down her arms. “You can tell me. What is it?”

  “Please don’t touch me.”

  “Why? What have I done that’s so unforgivable?”

  By this time, her eyes had filled with tears. “Don’t you see? I’m still unclean. I have no soul, so what if I turn you into a vampire again?”

  “Charlemagne told me I was only in danger from the psychic demons.”

  “You can’t be certain. Do you have a soul? Are you still immortal?”

  “When my king asked me to become a demon slayer, I followed him without question the way I always did in battle. He told me I’m immortal, but now I have a soul.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the tears streaming, unheeded, down her cheeks. “Remember, all is not lost. You still have until the end of this year to recapture your soul. Don’t give up hope. I’m always here for you, my darling.”

  She stopped crying. “I’m sorry for being so selfish after all you’ve done for me. I’m glad you’re no longer a vampire. Truly I am.” Her smile was slight. “Did you see the sun?”

  “Yes,” he said. He got up and pulled the curtains shut tight before scooping her up in his arms and whirling her around the room. “It was magnificent. I saw sunlight shining through the leaves of the trees, creating marvelous shadows that danced on the walls. The play of light was golden and made the rooftops gleam, and the warmth of it—my God—the warmth of it felt incredibly soothing. I swear we shall find a way for you to see it all, and feel it all, this I promise.”

  He pressed his lips down on her upturned lips, not giving her a chance to answer. He’d do anything for her, and he prayed she understood how much she meant to him. With her by his side, there would always be hope. He’d never give up helping her in the search for her soul.

  He then feathered kisses on her eyes, her nose, and her cheeks. She remained still, seeming to accept the kisses like gifts she didn’t deserve. An uncontrollable moan escaped his lips when he moved down to her slim, alabaster neck, which smelled of lavender and roses. He felt her tremble and give an answering moan.

  With a surprising strength, she shoved him away. “We will not do this, Darius. Not now—not as long as I’m still one of the unholy ones.”

  His breath quickened, and he looked down into her lovely, pale face, noticing her breathing was nearly as ragged as his own. “You will be mine one day, Elizabeth. By heaven or earth, one day we will be together for eternity.”

  Chapter 7

  The following evening, Elizabeth let her worries slip from her mind and a dreamlike quality swept over her when she entered the queen’s presence chamber. Charles and Catherine sat on a dais of scarlet brocade, canopied with crimson velvet, and hanging with gold fringe. Courtiers and ladies, all dressed in glorious lace, satin, or velvet, surrounded them, laughing and talking with great ease. To meet the king and queen in their own palace, with all the pomp and circumstance, was far more awe-inspiring than when she’d met the king at a private reception at her friends’ house.

  Her friends were announced first. “The Duke of Denham and the Duchess of Denham!” the usher cried out. Next, it was her and Darius’s turn, “Baron Einhard, and the Countess of Kingston-Upon-Hull!” Elizabeth tightened her hand on Darius’s arm to keep from trembling when they stepped forward. His hand covered hers and she appreciated the reassuring squeeze he gave her. She looked at him with a relieved smile.

  At the throne, Elizabeth curtsied, while Darius knelt down. She hoped the king hadn’t noticed the way she’d had trouble coming out of her curtsy. After all, she’d met Charles before, and had even spoken to him at length, but now, he carried the aura and power of a king surrounded by his loyal subjects. When he smiled, his teeth looked startlingly white against the blackness of his mustache. His gaze caught hers and his eyes burned like embers, making it difficult not to respond to his powerful, masculine attraction.

  When Elizabeth curtsied before the queen, the woman twisted her hands in her lap. Elizabeth realized that, in spite of all the royal trappings, Catherine was an insecure woman. The queen looked at her with the most poignant brown eyes, like two dark pools of innocent misery.

  She gave Catherine a sympathetic smile, before thinking of the effrontery of feeling sorry for the queen of England. She quickly moved backward to join the group of men and women who were watching the rest of the presentations.

  Once the ceremony finished, music filled the room and the ball opened with Charles and Catherine leading the dancing, followed by the Duke and Duchess of York, and then the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth. Elizabeth couldn’t take her eyes off the king as he went through the motions of the dance. Incredibly graceful for a large man, she watched him glide forward and back, his regal bearing leaving her speechless. He moved in a way that showed he truly believed he was a ruler chosen by God to serve his country.

  After the first dance, the king requested an allemande where many couples might be included. Darius took Elizabeth’s hand, and facing one another, they joined the other couples. She noticed Darius watching her with a sour expression.

  “Pray what’s troubling you, Your Lordship?” The furious look on his face caused her to push out her lower lip.

  “You appear enchanted with the king.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean. After all, he is the king, and I thought you wanted me to attract his attention.”

  Darius glanced down into the valley of her breasts. “No doubt you will with that dress you’re wearing.”

  She looked down at her purple velvet gown with the silver sequined-spattered petticoat. “Are you suggesting I’m dressed inappropriately?”

  “You look lovely although I’m sure you already know it.”

  He seemed to be aching for a quarrel, so she determined not to give him one. They separated and walked down opposite sides of the room before joining together again. “Darius, I don’t know what you expect. I thought I was doing what you asked by gaining the king’s attention.”

  The dance ended, and he didn’t trouble answering. Charles walked over and offered Elizabeth his arm. “If you will permit me?” he turned toward Darius, who nodded stiffly. Charles led her onto the dance floor.

  Elizabeth could hardly catch her breath enough to speak with the king during the merry folkdance. When the dance ended, he led her off the dance floor. “You impressed my wife by your modesty and grace during the introductions.”

  “I’m surprised, Sire. We’ve just met and she doesn’t know me at all. How could she form an opinion so soon?”

  “Catherine says you have a kind face. She’d love to have you as a lady of her bedchamber. Trust me. She has many she doesn�
�t like half so well.”

  She bowed her head, unable to meet the intensity of the king’s gaze. “Her Majesty honors me too much. I don’t know what to say.”

  Charles took her by the hand and led her to the buffet table laden with ham, duck, strawberries in thick cream, and a jelly torte. They filled their plates, and wandered out to an isolated balcony. “Say yes, Elizabeth. I have apartments waiting for you. Some servants will deliver whatever you might need from your lodgings, although everything necessary to make you comfortable will be here. The apartments are ready for you on the instant. Please say yes.”

  She set her plate on a window ledge and looked into those brilliant, snapping black eyes. “Why do you want me at the palace? Don’t you have enough mistresses living at Whitehall?”

  He tilted his head back and laughed. “I thought you said you had no intention of becoming my mistress?”

  Annoyed by her slip of the tongue, she said quickly, “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant you have a lot of women living here already who love you.”

  Her eyes widened at his hard and bitter expression. “The only one of my mistresses who truly loves me is Nelly. The rest are merely conveniences, but such lovely conveniences.”

  “Nell Gwynn, the actress, is your mistress, too?”

  “Yes, Nelly is a love. Have you ever heard her sing?”

  “No, but I’ve heard of her.”

  “She acts and sings. I’ll have her sing for you. She sounds like an angel. But quite honestly, no matter how many mistresses I have, I’d still like you to come live at the palace.”

  “Why?”

  His gaze went past her, actually more through her, and his liquid brown eyes darkened and turned down at the corners, and the look made her catch her breath. “I would love to have at least one true friend by my side—someone who would speak the truth.”