by Casey Lane
“Where were you, Rowan?”
“I was directing Stefano’s men on the repairs of the house, and before that I was with Lula, bedding her.”
“Where were you that day Rowan, when someone managed to drive a stake through our Master’s heart, even while he slept?”
Eyes wide, he took another step back. “I was asleep sir, the sleep of the dead. You know that I don’t have enough power to wake during the day. You can barely rise before the sun sets yourself.”
I stood, ignoring the pain shooting up my leg and advanced towards him. “He wouldn’t give you Lula. Is that it? He wanted her for himself. So you brought a witch into this home who would raise you during the day?”
He backed towards the wall and hissed at me. “I did no such thing.”
“He had plans for her, didn’t he? He was going to leverage the debt that the mayor owed in order to obtain her. But he wasn’t going to give her to you, he was going to keep her for himself. Is that what Treveti spoke of, before I snapped his neck? What secrets do you keep from me Rowan?”
Rowan’s breath came in short bursts and he held his hands behind his back, pressing against the wall.
I kept at him. “I know the kind of human Agosto likes to keep.”
“No.” His face betrayed his anguish.
“Young and beautiful, with a mind to keep him entertained. Her blood has a depth to it, the kind that he would be content to feed upon for several years. But you had other intentions for her. You wanted to corrupt her with your lust.”
He pushed me back with one hand, while still gripping the wall with the other, and cried out, tears streaming down his face. “We corrupt everything we touch. All innocence is lost the moment it comes in contact with us.”
“And yet we chase after it, longing for the times when we were innocent, do we not? And did you think you could have that from her, then? She would remind you of the days when our evil hadn’t polluted your heart.”
His face was red and sweat drained down the side of his face, mixing with his tears. “She was meant for me. He promised her to me. But when he discovered that not only was she beautiful but that she could help him with his plans, he went back on his word. He was going to use her, and then throw her away. I couldn’t let him do that.”
I leaned forward, so close to him now and I could smell his fear and panic. “What plans Rowan?”
“I told you, he wouldn’t tell me. But it didn't matter, I wouldn’t let him take her from me. She was meant to be with me.” Suddenly he pulled his hand from behind him and hit me in the chest. “I did call the witch Ameena into our home; she gave me the power to rise during the day so that I could take what was mine. Agosto had no right to claim her, to take her from me. And you won’t take her from me either.”
Pain burst through me, shaking me to the core. I looked down to see a dark wooden stake sticking out of my chest. I looked at Rowan in shock, unwilling to believe that he would betray me, his Master. I reached for him, scratching at his chest and fell to the floor. The blood froze through my veins, making my whole body cold. He’d missed the center of my heart by only a narrow bit, but I would need blood immediately to recover.
He fell to his knees, leaning over me, sobbing. “I’m sorry.” He reached towards my dresser and opened the bottom drawer. “I’ve always loved you. You were a good Master.” He raised another stake over me, his face a mixture of grief and anger. “But I can’t let you take her from me.”
Then a piece of wood, sharp and deadly, shot through his chest, right into his heart. He fell on me, revealing Adelade’s determined face behind him.
Rowan turned grey and I embraced him as he fell into my arms, succumbing to the final death.
“No!” I cried out. I loved him. The pain of his death overwhelmed me, because he was mine, and it tore through my body. He began to wane, his face sank in pockets like molten lava and his skin began to flake off.
“I have to get this out of you, so you can heal.” Adelade knelt beside me and ripped my shirt open. Staring up at her was the silver cross my mother gave me as a child, and she stared at me, in shock. “Even after every burden you’ve borne, you still believe?”
I looked at her, releasing the barricade hidden in my eyes, showing the guilt of all the years of death I’d caused. Showing my faith that there still lived and breathed a God who would turn His back on me when I died the final death, because of my sins. Then I slowly nodded.
She took that in and, noting the paleness of my face, she yanked the stake from my chest, tears streaming down her face.
It tore through me and I cried out, the pain from the stake as agonizing as the death of my loyal servant.
He was truly dead now and the dust of his body began to blow around me.
“Adelade,” I cried, holding what remained of Rowan close, as his body transformed into the ashes of destruction, the final stage of death of our kind.
And then she was holding me, his body now bits of sand between my fingers and I clutched at it, sobbing. “He was so good to me.”
“I know, I know.” She held me close and even the smell of her blood couldn’t tempt me now. The coldness in my body began its course to my face, and I sagged in her arms. Adelade pulled me back, and shoving me off her, she pushed her wrist to my mouth.
I pushed her hand away, resisting; I would kill her now.
She took her stake and pierced her wrist, then brought it to my mouth. The call of her blood began to ring in my mind and my strigoi roared like a lion to take her. I knew if I didn’t, I would die. On instinct, my tongue licked her wrist and immediately it took over my body. I leaped forward, pushing her to the floor and, not even using my fangs to make the experience pleasurable, I clamped into her neck.
She cried out against the agony, but held me to her, wishing to heal me.
I desperately sucked in her blood and it roared through my head. The ecstasy was immediate, as energy poured through my body healing my wounds in a matter of seconds. I could feel the sinews of my muscles as they knit together, tying into stronger bonds than ever before. The pain that crippled my body was gone, replaced by an utter feeling of fearlessness and power. My strigoi roared, dominant and controlling.
I gripped her tighter, feeling her body under mine as I continued to feed, the taste of her blood bringing such a euphoria, that I couldn’t release her.
A soft noise from Adelade awoke me to my senses, and a feeling of passion rushed through my body; it was soft and warm, and, for a moment, I remembered what it was like to be human again. I struggled for control over my strigoi, and a battle of wills ensued as my desire to keep her safe struggled with my all consuming lust.
Firm hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me from her. Sophie held me back while Lula, who glanced briefly at the pile of sand on the floor, pulled Adelade’s head in her lap.
I looked down to see that Adelade had lost all consciousness, her face pale and sickly and I knew that I had killed her.
I pushed Sophie away and took Adelade into my arms. “What have I done?” Guilt and torment racked my whole body and I cried out, unable to accept that I had taken another life. Her life. I bent over, the pain stabbing me in my chest, suffocating me.
“Detrand, you must feed her your blood.”
I looked up at Sophie, startled, then back at Adelade. It was so soft, like a whisper, but I could hear her heart beating weakly. A hope that I hadn’t felt in a few hundred years burst through me. Then my mind darkened and I remembered her mother, who had shown love to me in a time when I only saw myself as a monster, and the constant struggle she had to contain my feelings.
“No.” I looked at Sophie. “She wouldn’t want it. To be permanently bonded to me, just like her mother. To feel all my lust, agony, grief and misery. You must do it.”
She shook her head, the agony clear on her face. “My pain is greater than yours, you know how I feel every moment of the day. Would you want her to feel that way her every waking hour?”
I stared down at Adelade, knowing Sophie was right, and heard the faltering of Adelade’s heart. I would have to make the decision swiftly, before it stopped permanently. Could I condemn her to live a life of eternal suffering, just like her mother? To force her to be so in tune to my feelings and emotions that it could overcome her every thought, a never-ending onslaught of my lust and pain. My presence could even weave through her dreams, like a mist coming in from the bay, to possess her wholly and completely.
Sophie gripped my arm. “It is better than turning her into a strigoi and cursing her life forever. You know you would do it if she died in your arms.”
My head jerked up, and I looked into Sophie’s eyes. She was right.
Adelade would probably hate me forever, but I ripped open my skin and put my wrist to her mouth.
When she didn’t move, I grew alarmed. A buzzing rung in my ears and a realization dawned over me so forcefully that I dropped Adelade to the floor and flew backwards. I pressed against the back wall, frightened by the woman before me.
Sophie was urging me now, her face tight, and I recognized the look of passionate affliction on Lula’s face, but the noise of the air rushing through my mind was so loud that I could only press my hands against my ears.
I thought of the first time Adelade smiled at me and how my world turned upside down. The way her sway captivated me as she danced around the room, training to execute my kind. The absolute desire to crush Treveti when he threatened to kill her and the tenderness I felt when I’d known that her hand suffered from staking him.
From the moment I saw her, she’d brought something into my life that I hadn’t allowed any other being to touch me with. Hope.
Could I feel for this woman who gave everything to me?
I’d felt human when I fed from her. That alone, that small piece of humanity that could still exist within the realms of my living hell was enough to convince me that she was an absolute danger to my survival.
There was no room for hope or adoration in my life. I could only take, such was the very necessity of my existence. I must take to survive. And to love, or to be loved, to open myself to that kind of vulnerability, was death.
I closed my eyes, unwilling to allow her to bring me to the light. I was a monster, not a man, and I didn’t deserve to live with hope or happiness. I didn’t deserve to fall in love with her.
And yet.
I’d taken everything from her. Her mother and father, and all their possessions. I took her from her home and demanded that she live as I chose; taking away her choice to live and dress as she wished. And I took her very blood, in my desperation to exist in this world when I didn’t deserve it.
I opened my eyes to look at her. Her face was pale and waxing and wet from Lula’s tears. Sophie was by my side, begging me to save her.
In that moment, I realized that I wanted to.
That I held the power to kill, and yet, I also held the power to revive. Adelade deserved my ability to give.
I drew closer to her and pulled her into my lap. Looking at Sophie, I bit my wrist again and held it over Adelade’s mouth, letting it drip into her mouth. Adelade didn’t move, and I looked up at Sophie, the panic in my eyes. Sophie put her fingers to my wrist, wiping my blood on it and then rubbed it on Adelade’s tongue. It took several tries when suddenly Adelade’s hands clasped on my wrist and she was pulling my blood into her mouth.
In that moment it appeared as if I was saving Adelade, but the truth was, just as her mother, she was saving me from myself.
Afterword
We stared at the ground, and the only sound heard through the cemetery was of the crow’s cry above us. The silence surrounded us, wrapping us in its secrets, living and pulsing inside us.
Agosto deserved better than he had received.
Sophie opened the lid to his newly carved casket and a sob escaped her. She had truly loved him, and he had devoted himself to her. She leaned over and gently placed dried flowers in it, her tears marking them.
Then she moved back and I came forward, placing our favorite bottle of spirits inside. I bit my wrist and allowed the blood to drip into the smooth wood of the casket I’d crafted so carefully. “With my own blood, I have avenged your death.” I paused, feeling the grief and loss of Agosto, my Master and friend, as well as for Rowan, but I pressed on. “I seal this with the promise to protect your name henceforth, and pass it down through the legends of time.”
Adelade and Lula stood to the side, showing their respect for our privacy. Adelade held Lula close, who struggled with her grief at Rowan’s death, but then Adelade stepped forward and held her hand towards me.
In it was Rowan’s stake, the mark of my blood still on the tip.
Slowly, I took it in my hands and gripped it tight. A bitterness rose in my throat. “And a curse upon you, Rowan.” I lay it in the casket, a final tribute to the blood suffered in revenge for Agosto’s death.
I closed the lid and held my hand on it for a moment. Then I looked up at Adelade and in an impromptu moment of madness, I offered her my wrist, which was still bleeding.
Sophie gasped but I ignored her as I studied Adelade, trying to determine what she would do. Would she voluntarily bond herself to me again?
I waited patiently for what seemed like an indeterminate amount of time even though I wished to close my eyes instead. The anticipation of her reaction was too much for me to bear.
She was my redemption and my curse.
Slowly, she took my hand and wiped my wrist with her dress. Disappointment washed over me and I wished to jerk my hand from her grip, but then she brought my wrist to her mouth and, looking deep into my eyes, placed a tender kiss.
Touched, I turned my face. Emotions I had long since silenced threatened to choke me and, unwilling to show Adelade how she affected me, I turned my back on her.
With one last meaningful look at Sophie, I noted with a glance the angry shifter who watched us from the shadows, and then strode into the darkness of the night.
THE END
Thank you for reading Detrand's point of view in A Vampire's Revenge. You can read additional scenes, including Adelade's point of view, in A Vampire's Seduction.
https://booklaunch.io/fleurcamacho/avampireseduction
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About the Author
Fleur Camacho is author of young and new adult paranormal series. She loves to be silly, travel, hike, read, paint, be healthy, and read economic reports. She is happily married and has two beautiful children.
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Upcoming Series:
A Vampire's Seduction
A Vampire's Possession
A Vampire's Legacy
A Vampire's Beauty (a Prequel Novella and Beauty and the Beast retelling)
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Books for the Ignite Series:
The Edge
Broken
Torn
Risen
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Books for The Last Seeker Series:
The Last Seeker
The Secret Heeder
The Prophecy
More to come...
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Graves End
SJ Davis
Graves End
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Text Copyright ©2016
All rights reserved
Chapter One
The Hand That Feeds
London 1840
Mordecai called for an airship, the kind that had been onyx when he’d first come into power.
Unlike its predecessor, this iridescent silver, topped with Prussian blue, was a smoother version. The golden propellers indicated his position of wealth and influence. Slumbering clouds licked and enveloped the air vessel, curling around its windows, and blanketing the buildings of Graves End below.
Mordecai had awakened to receive a summons; the arrival of the newest Perfect Vampire was imminent. He hoped the genetic alterations would not fail this time around, and a vampire would be born with both the physical perfection and the prophetic strengths of his clans.
With high hopes, each mutation had been spliced, then remerged, at great expense to the Society’s genetics laboratory. Unfortunately, a successful birth had eluded them, and their attempts had rendered vampire women infertile.
This child must not be a failure.
Exiting the airship, he walked atop a two-story Gothic church in Northfleet. The twisted faces of ghouls and gargoyles lined the corners of St. Botolph’s Church, a long abandoned Anglican sanctuary. The building looked deserted, though Mordecai knew otherwise. Inside, a human woman lay on a wooden bed, her wrists tied to posts.
She had been chosen as a human breeder for both her strength and sharp mental faculties. Unfortunately, her emotions had begun to interfere with her duties, and Mordecai was eager to be rid of her—after she delivered the Perfect Vampire, of course.
Burgundy velvet curtains draped the lower part of her body and her pale face glowed in the candlelight. Her neck and shoulders were covered with small droplets of perspiration, as her veins pounded and bulged in her neck. Pain squinted her eyes into tiny slits, and she shook her head back and forth.
