by Jan McDonald
The scream lodged somewhere between her heart and her throat. She turned to find the young nun at her side. Of Sister Agnes there was no sign.
She tried to calm her jagged nerves long enough to speak to the girl. God, she hoped she hadn’t seen what had happened back there.
“I’m sorry, I … just felt a little faint. I need some air, that’s all, Sister …”
“Sister Maria,” she whispered. “Please take this.” She covered Kat’s hands with her own and pressed something between their palms.
Kat looked down at an exquisitely crafted silver cross with a single ruby where the arms met. She shook her head and pushed it back at her. “No,” she said, “No, really. Thank you but no. I can’t.”
She pushed the cross back at Kat. “Please,” she insisted. ”You must. Take it. Please,” she begged.
“I can’t, it must be very valuable, it looks very old. I can’t take it.” Kat pulled her hand away and made for the door. She was altogether too freaked out to argue with her.
Sister Maria was beside her as she pulled the huge old door open to the sun outside. The young nun had her gaze fixed firmly on the floor once more, but she pressed the crucifix into Kat’s hand and walked quickly back into the dark of the chapel, her habit swishing around her ankles, before Kat could refuse again.
As the air hit her face she exhaled, feeling as though she’d been holding her breath for an eternity. The air was cooler than she’d expected and the sun lower in the sky. How long had she been in there?
She shook herself trying to lose the weird sensations that clung to her like old cobwebs.
She made a decision. Foolish or not, she was leaving for the airport alone. So long, Greg. She doubted he would be sorry.
She refused Sister Angelique’s offer of a bed, figuring that she had enough daylight left to make it back to Parthavos. She’d been given bread, cheese and fruit again and a container of water.
As she left the monastery she sensed that someone was watching her. The sun was behind the white-walled building and her eyes were drawn to a figure in one of the high windows. She raised a hand to shield her eyes against the glare unable to make out who it was that stood there, but knowing instinctively that it was Sister Maria. Her hand had been raised in a gesture of farewell.
Or was it a blessing?
CHAPTER TEN
The only hotel in Parthavos was clean and well cared for although she would have been grateful for anywhere other than the monastery. Kat was shown to a small room on the third floor, which was basic to the extent of containing only a bed and a chair, not unlike the nun’s cell back there, she thought. She wondered about Greg, momentarily felt a little guilty at leaving him, and then dismissed the worries. He would be well cared for and probably more than a little relieved that she had gone. She was emotionally exhausted and decided to go straight to bed. As she undressed she noticed what looked like a tiny cut on her left breast, just above the nipple.
What the hell? Must’ve been when I legged it out of that chapel, caught it on my ring in my hurry to cover up. Oh, well, no serious damage. She lay on top of the bed, and let her thoughts wander.
Sleep came quickly as darkness fell over the village. In Parthavos, darkness always fell. In more picturesque villages, darkness may have draped itself over the tiny houses, but in Parthavos it fell, like a black pall.
Around two-thirty she was woken from the heavy folds of sleep by a rattling sound followed by a knocking. It took her several minutes to realise that the noise came from the wooden shutters at her windows. Someone was standing at her window rattling the shutters, trying to get in.
Icy fear washed over her as she realised that her room was on the third floor. Whoever was outside her window had somehow climbed up to her window.
But I’m on the third floor, she kept reasoning, and there are no balconies. It must be Greg; he’d followed her from the monastery and was looking for a bed. Hadn’t he been on the Ben Nevis expedition last year? He was an excellent climber. The rough walls and bougainvillea growing up to the roof would have provided him with a moderately easy climb. It was Greg. Well, she’d make him wait.
The rattling and knocking continued.
Damn him, she’d have to let him in before he woke the whole hotel.
“Shhh,” she hissed at the window. “Cool it, Greg, I’m coming.”
The knocking stopped.
She opened the curtains and the door and then stopped just before unlocking the shutters.
“Greg?”
He didn’t answer her.
She felt warm and mellow, almost removed from herself, like the one and only time she’d smoked marijuana. Tired, she thought, very tired.
The shutters opened easily although she had no memory of unlocking and opening them.
The man stood right in front of her in the room, before she had seen him move. He was so close she could feel him on her skin. He had long dark hair the colour of anthracite and eyes like lodestones whose magnetism pulled her into him mentally and physically and, when he smiled, her eyes couldn’t pull away from his sensuous mouth. He had a lean, hungry look that excited her. Had she seen him before? No, not like this, and yet there was something akin to a memory seeping through her drowsiness.
“Who are you?”
“Fire,” he answered.
He wore a black roll neck sweater and a black designer suit, incongruous in this tiny peasant village. His voice sent ripples of pleasure through her as it soothed and stroked her mind.
She was in his arms and he smelled of summer, and something else. Earth, she thought, freshly turned earth.
His mouth found hers with a strange familiarity, kissing her with a depth that sent a heat through her that frightened her with its intensity, awaking flames of desire in her that had never surfaced before, that settled deep in her groin. Fire, she thought, as his words echoed in her head.
“I don’t know you. I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“You know me. You know me as surely as you know yourself. You and I are one and the same. I can sense it in you, smell it, feel it. You know it, but you don’t understand it. Not yet. But you will, Katerini.”
His voice made her tingle and his hands were gentle in their art, guiding her towards the rumpled bed, slipping her nightdress from her shoulders.
“How do you know my name?” she asked.
Time slid and he was next to her on the bed, his nakedness natural and somehow once again familiar. He had a strong physique, tanned and healthy, and she wanted him – this stranger who had come to her in the night. She felt a longing like never before and she ached for him to take her. No, she didn’t understand it, but neither did she care.
He was inside her and she was lost in him. He whispered to her of ancient places, past glories, and long dead cultures. Pleasing her and teasing her with accomplished finesse. She no longer felt the bed beneath her back as they floated upwards towards the ceiling, weightless, timeless, in harmony with each other’s movements. She looked down to see for herself. He had defied gravity and was lifting her high above the bed but even that seemed natural and familiar.
Waves of pleasure washed her, rising in a tide of sensation until she felt she would explode with the intensity of his lovemaking. They rocked back and forth, towards and away from the climax that she longed for yet dreaded.
Because she knew that then he would be gone.
She felt the softness of the bed beneath her again and the moist warmth of his mouth on her breast, then her stomach, as he kissed and licked her, tasting her. His lips travelled downwards to her inner thigh, sucking her deeply. When she could hold back no longer she felt her head would burst in a scarlet explosion and then there was a tiny sharp pain as his teeth sought and found her femoral artery where it passed through her groin. A red river filled her head and her consciousness left her. While he sucked at her vein and fed, she dreamed of floating on a thick, warm red sea.
His hunger had dulled but he fed some more
, sucking and drinking and licking her wound unwilling to waste a single drop of her life force that was his nourishment.
He laid beside her, propped on his elbow, his tongue travelling slowly over his teeth, savouring the last drop, relishing the taste of her blood. He looked down at her as she slept, moaning softly at the erotic dreams that he had left her with, and all that she would remember. Except for the haunting whisper of her name, “Katerini.”
He lifted his own wrist to his teeth and pierced his skin and the wall of the vein that stood proud and, as the blood welled from it, he held it over the wound on her thigh and allowed it to drip and mingle with her own. His wrist was over her mouth and a single drop of blood formed over her parted lips ready to swell and fall into her waiting mouth. He frowned and quickly pulled his arm away from her, allowing the single rosy droplet to fall onto the bed cover. He would allow her to evolve slowly. Something in her had touched him and he refused to sacrifice her on the altar of his ego. If she turned, she turned. Her destiny would be of her own choosing.
The curtains flapped in an unnatural breeze, the door banged and the shutters clattered together.
He was gone.
Kat slept, unaware of the changes already taking place inside her as the long-awaited catalyst began to work on her DNA, mutating, changing, and altering.
Turning.
And soon she would discover that she was pregnant.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As the memories and images flooded into Kat’s consciousness, tears ran like a river down her cheeks.
Beckett’s arm was firm around her as he waited for her sobbing to subside. With a sudden movement she was on her feet, hands in her hair.
“No,” she screamed. “God help me, no! I’m going mad.”
He was at her side in an instant, wanting to hold her, knowing better but doing it anyway.
Lane stood up and walked to the window.
“So, now we know,” she said.
“Know what?” Kat shouted, “That eighteen years ago I slept with a total stranger. That Greg, who for all these years I believed was the father of my son, in fact isn’t. Nik was right; I don’t know who his father is. He called me a whore and it seems he’s right about that too.”
Beckett’s arm tightened around her shoulder, his face pale.
“It isn’t like that, Kat. There is nothing you could have done; you weren’t in control of anything that happened to you.”
“Oh, please, Beckett. Not in control? I didn’t see me screaming rape in any of these memories. If that’s what they are.”
Lane returned to her seat opposite Kat and took her hand. “You need to listen very carefully to me, Kat. What I’m going to tell you is going to freak you out.”
Kat was shouting now, “Oh really? You think I’m not freaked out? You talk to me about vampires like we’re discussing the goddamn weather; you try to convince me I’m a bloodsucking monster and I’m actually contemplating the possibility of all this. What the hell else is there to freak me out?”
Lane’s expression didn’t change. “Okay, listen. This is what I believe happened back then. You have always carried the recessive gene of vampirism. Whilst it lay dormant, normal people wouldn’t be able to tell but another vampire would, especially an ancient one. This saint, this Agios Georgios, is such a vampire. It is the only reasonable explanation for the state of non-corruption of his body. The Roman Catholic Church has always identified such phenomenon as sainthood, whereas the Greek Orthodox Church knows better. When you visited his tomb he sensed you. He would have been able to follow you and find you. I believe he is one of the Undead.”
“So, you’re saying I allowed that corpse into my bedroom, let him make love to me, and then leave? Is that what you’re saying? Because I’m here to tell you that this man was no corpse; he was drop dead gorgeous, if you pardon the pun.”
“One of the vampire’s capabilities is to be able to cloak the minds of their prey. He would have been able to make you ‘see’ whatever he wanted you to see. Have you heard the term ‘incubus’?”
Kat thought for a moment, “Yes. Some kind of spirit, isn’t it?”
“Incubus is the name given to a spirit or vampire who visits a woman in the night for the sole purpose of having sex with her,” Lane replied. “It was him, I’m certain.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Lane looked very serious. “You forget, Kat. I am a vampire too. You will learn of these things.”
“Of course. How stupid of me to forget!” She appeared on the verge of hysteria, and then quite suddenly, she composed herself. “I think I’d like you both to leave now,” she said quietly, “I need to be by myself.”
Beckett frowned. “I don’t think you should be alone,” he said.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll bite you? Drain your blood and turn you into some blood-sucking freak?”
“I’ll risk it.” He grinned at her, hoping to lighten her oppressive mood.
She lost it then, beating on his chest and screaming obscenities. He caught her wrists and held them firmly but gently against his chest. “It’s all right. Go ahead, let it out.” He stroked her hair as she sobbed against him, leaving a wet patch on his denim shirt.
When the sobs subsided, she asked him, “Do you understand any of this?”
He nodded at her, his eyes were sad and he would have given anything for this not to be true. She looked vulnerable, which was ironic given the fact that she had the potential to be stronger than him, faster than him and capable of his ultimate destruction.
Like the one before.
Still, he wanted to protect her.
Lane walked over to them. She put her hand on Kat’s arm. “I want you to know that I’m here for you. There is so much for you to learn, so much for you to understand. I can help you, but I can’t make you, or at least I won’t make you. I’ll come back later when you’ve calmed down a bit. Beckett will stay with you for a while.”
Kat nodded.
“There’s something else.”
Kat looked at her questioningly.
“I want you to promise me that you won’t go out. Stay here, try and get your head around this. Promise?”
“I promise.”
She closed her front door behind Lane, and leaned against it.
“Beckett, I don’t want company. I appreciate your help, I really do, and it’s sweet of you to care but I really need some time. I mean it’s not every day a girl gets to know she’s a vampire. I’ll call you tomorrow. I won’t leave, you have my word.”
Beckett looked helplessly at her. He couldn’t insist she let him stay, but he was fearful of her being alone.
“Kat, before I go, I want you to know something. What I said before, about being fond of you, I meant it. I have … a need, to take care of you. If anything should happen to you …”
“Beckett, I’m in my own home and I’m going to bed. Nothing is going to happen to me. Remember, who’s the first one I call when I need someone?” She paused, “And Beckett, about the other thing, well I want you to know that if things had been different – if I wasn’t what I am – what I’m trying to say is that I could care for you too, but if what you say is true then I can’t be with you. I don’t know what I may do. I was already having trouble controlling these needs in me, now I don’t know where it will lead. I don’t know what I’ll become. And I don’t want you tainted or hurt in the process.”
He didn’t speak; he couldn’t. He didn’t trust his voice not to betray him. He simply nodded then bent forwards and kissed the top of her head.
He cleared his throat, “You know where I am if you need me, I’ll ring you in the morning. Call Lane, she really can help you. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
She closed her door and leaned against it. Beckett was still standing at her gate; she knew it. She waited for over an hour until she heard the engine of his car firing into life. Another five minutes in case he changed his mind and she would see if her
car was still in one piece.
She had to find Nik.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She changed her mind about her car, calling a cab instead, asking him to come to the back entrance. The driver knew Danse Macabre and showed no surprise at this pale, thin woman that didn’t dress like the usual type of punter at the club. He noted the ever-darkening rings around her eyes and the gaunt, troubled looks. Drugs, he thought. Shame, she was a beautiful woman.
She paid off the cab and sent the driver away, despite his offer to wait in case she changed her mind.
Luke strode forwards, his face expressionless. He put his hand out to stop her passing through the doorway.
“Members and their guests only, Ma’am.”
“I’m looking for someone. I think he’s here.”
“Sorry.” The hand didn’t move.
“I don’t want to stay, please just let me look inside. I’ll leave straight away if he’s not here.”
“Sorry.”
Andrei Marinescu appeared in the doorway behind Luke. “It’s all right, Luke. The lady is with me.”
He held out a hand to Kat and ushered her through the doorway.
“Thanks,” she said when she was inside. “I’m not staying, I’m looking for someone.”
“We’re all looking for someone. Come. Let’s see if your friend is here. If not, then perhaps you will allow me to buy you a drink.”
“No, really. I just need to find him.”
“I hope he realises how lucky he is, this friend of yours.”
Kat flushed scarlet against her otherwise pale cheeks. “He’s my son,” she said quietly.
“Ah. Then perhaps it is I that am lucky. Come with me, I’ll take you to the viewing balcony and we can have that drink while you look for your errant son.”
He seemed to glide ahead of her and she found herself following him up the plush carpeted stairs to the booming strains of the early Goth band, Bauhaus, informing everyone that Bela Lugosi was dead.
She perched nervously on the edge of an extremely comfortable couch with this striking, sophisticated man. His hair was like the wing of a raven, casting blue-black lights as he moved his head. It draped itself neatly into his neck and her fingers could almost feel the silkiness as she imagined herself running them through it. He was gorgeous.
