He needed to speak to a vampire. He needed the truth.
“I will see to it, my lord,” Bernard said, bowing before he departed the room.
As they waited, he tipped forward, resting his dark head against Laurel's golden one. His hands slipped around to rest on her back, a semi-embrace that spoke on need.
“If it matters, I never thought of you as a monster. You are elegant and confident and powerful,” she said, speaking on his vampirism in a muffled voice.
Sebastian said nothing, but he was listening. He lifted his head so he could see her face as she spoke.
“And it’s good with us,” she continued. “It’s different, but it’s good. You are the same in many ways. You can do so many things. And we have … we have all these memories to keep. We got to walk in the sun … the maze, a kiss … I’m thankful for all of it.”
Her emotions were raw in her eyes; as raw as he felt but did not express. It tightened him painfully inside to see her anguish, to hear her trying to convince him to --
“I want you to see this, look,” she said, drawing him from his thoughts as she reached over to pick the envelope up off the floor where she'd dropped it. “I promised you I’d have them. You made these.” Opening the envelope, she drew out the pictures he had taken of her, handing them to him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as he studied them, a subtle smile on his mouth. Reaching beyond the photos he held, he slid his hand beneath her chin, raising her gaze to him.
“You would have me do this thing?”
She held his eyes for a long, silent moment, and slowly nodded. “I'm selfish where you are concerned, and I’d almost rather die myself than think of you being hurt. But you have a good life here, at least it seemed to me, with a houseful of people who care for you. They love you, and they need you. I need you. Life would not be the same for any of us.”
Sebastian remained intent on her, his eyes glinting with a light that seemed to be dying even as they spoke. With each passing moment, that spark was being leeched from him. It was Laurel’s words and not the hand of death that he took to heart, despite that he could feel himself faltering.
His hand smoothed over her soft hair, his eyes mapping the delicacy of her features like he was memorizing them. Holding her chin, he leaned forward and kissed her lips. For the next handful of hours, he kept her close, always touching while they talked as the day edged into dusk.
A knock at the door announced Bernard. The butler escorted Isabella into the room. Her concern was palpable, though she expressed less outwardly than Laurel. In a black designer cocktail dress and Italian leather heels, she was cool and poised, confident.
“Fratello,” she said. Her gaze fell on Laurel and lingered. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, but she came forward with a stride as smooth as silk and extended her hand. “I am Isabella.”
“Nice to meet you, Isabella. I’m Laurel.” Voice cracking with emotion, she slid her hand into Isabella's and shook.
A look passed between the women then, and Sebastian thought he understood the things they didn’t say. One was mortal, and one vampire, but they were united in their concern for him and their desire for him to live.
When greetings were over, he asked Laurel to give them some time alone, watching as she slipped out the door with a mouthed ‘I love you’. Isabella, he thought, would be more likely to talk freely without another person present.
He turned his gaze on Isabella then, and he found it hard to look away. Not because she was striking (though she was), but because he knew he was staring his future in the face.
Vampire.
Yet she seemed so very graceful, so gentle. She looked at him with a deep affection he could neither deny nor, at present, return.
Over the next couple hours, Sebastian peppered her with questions about vampire life. Isabella was patient and honest with him. She told him about their maker, the becoming, and that among the vampires his efforts on behalf of mortals had been humanitarian. She gave him a brief history of vampires, and told him some of the things he worked to accomplish as Prince.
When they emerged, everyone was gathered in the parlor like a hospital waiting area. Caleb wore an enigmatic expression where he sprawled on an antique settee. Laurel, sweet in a shirt that left her shoulders bare, a shimmering smear of makeup across her eyelids and mouth. Bernard stood to one side, his concern expressed by a small pinch between his brows. He had a glass of scotch at the ready, which Sebastian accepted with a weary smile.
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Sebastian was cordial if distracted while he made proper greetings to Bernard and Caleb both. It struck him as odd that though the latter shook his hand and smiled, the feeling he got from the man chilled him.
Isabella ghosted kisses on both his cheeks, and gathering the rest except Laurel, departed the room to give him the space he needed to make a decision. Thus far, no grand announcement was forthcoming.
Sebastian watched them go and finished the scotch in his glass with a single toss before he turned his attention to Laurel.
“Well, that was illuminating,” he commented with wry humor. The gray in his hair had increased in the passing hours, and his eyes were tired despite his smile.
“You probably know much more than I do,” Laurel commented, brushing a finger thoughtfully across her lower lip. “Do you feel you have enough information, now?” She asked the question quietly, and Sebastian didn’t feel pressured by it.
“I will make a decision. Until that time, I wish not to discuss this,” he said, his voice gentle. “I would like us not to argue with each other anymore.” No matter which path he chose, his time with her was limited. He didn’t want to waste another minute at odds with her.
“Okay. No more arguing,” she agreed, and inclined her head. It was a gesture he did not often see her make, and he knew that it cost her to respect his wishes for the moment. He also knew that it pained her to have his future -- their future -- so uncertain.
“Are you hungry, sweethot?” Sebastian changed the subject, only to bring them to some normal place together for the moment. He needed to distance himself from the immediacy of his decision if only for a little while.
“I’m not really hungry, no, but I realize I should try and get something down.”
As she spoke, Sebastian moved toward her with a hand outstretched in invitation. “What is your favorite food?” When she gave him her hand, he led her toward the sitting area. Bernard had laid a fire in the grate, and it crackled warmly in the hearth, the flames reflected in the gleaming top of the piano Sebastian did not yet know how to play.
He raised her hand so he could brush a kiss across her knuckles as she settled in, looking almost distinguished with the gray in his hair and the lines around his eyes and mouth.
“Biscuits and gravy. Really bad for you, greasy-give-you-a-heart-attack food, but I love it,” she said with a small smile. “Mom used to make them every Sunday before church. I haven’t had them in a long time. What about you? What’s your favorite?” she asked as she curled one leg beneath her.
“Roast lamb is my favorite. But I passed a place on the street yesterday … a pisa place, I believe it was called. The scent was intriguing. I also saw automobiles.” He shared little snippets with her over the next few moments, trying to restore some equilibrium between them. Perched on the arm of the sofa, he was still as broad-shouldered and solid as he had been that morning in the sun, when he’d spoken such impetuous words from his heart.
So human.
After a quiet laugh, she said. “'Pisa' is very good. Perhaps-- well. Give me just a moment, will you?” Standing up, she dusted a kiss against his cheek and passed him for the door.
With a quizzical expression, he watched her go, curious over her agenda. In a few short minutes she returned and went to the side table. Pouring them both a glass of wine, she extended one to him.
“What are you about, sweethot?” he asked, accepting the drink.
“Jus
t a little something I'd like to do with you,” she said with a disarming grin, and held her glass up in silent toast.
Holding her eyes, he clinked his to hers and sipped when she did. The adoring look on her face, her desire to do something to please him, and her sweetness made him ache a little. He knew he resembled a middle aged man, at the very least, but it didn't seem to matter to her. She regarded him with the same deep affection he'd come to know over the last two days.
Driven by impulse, he took her glass and set both of them down before claiming her for a slow, intimate dance. Holding her snug against his body, he basked in her scent and memorized how she felt against him. Her soft breaths on the skin of his throat threatened to set his passion aflame, though he knew it wasn't her intent. She seemed to be enjoying these stolen, quiet minutes alone with him as much as he enjoyed them with her.
And he understood, in that moment, that his decision about whether to return had already been made. No matter what he had to endure, they would be together again in the future. Monster or man, he wanted her.
Shortly, Bernard summoned them. Reluctant to break the warm closeness with her, he did so by degrees, leaning back to make eye contact. She looked calmer now, more relaxed. He stole a brief kiss and led her by the hand, following Bernard's voice, into the dining room. A smaller table had been brought in and dressed in linens and candlelight. A table for two, Sebastian noticed, with platters of food spread out in the middle.
He glanced at Laurel and saw the pleased, intent look on her face.
“You arranged all this?” he asked.
“Yes. I wanted you to try 'pisa' and biscuits and gravy.” A dimple speared her cheek when she smiled.
He laughed and kissed her before showing her into a seat. Among the various cuts of meat, he noticed a few strips of roast lamb as he sat across from her. The staff, at her request, had pulled out all the stops. Somehow, some way, they had come up with everything she must have requested. Fruit trays, mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables-- it was all there. Including a plate of pizza.
The intimate atmosphere lingered between them while they ate, voices low, the eye contact poignant enough to heat his blood. Although he hadn't announced his decision yet, there was an understanding between them that this was their last meal before he went back. He allowed himself to simply enjoy her and the food, refusing to think about the future.
Finally, after testing at least a little of everything, he sat back and regarded her across the table. Her cheeks were flushed from recent laughter at their banter and though her eyes wore a layer of pain, they sparkled when she looked at him.
“I am going to announce to the others that I will be returning tonight,” he said.
Laurel drew a leg up into the chair with her, foot hooked on the edge, knee against her chest. A flicker of both agony and relief swept over her features. She nodded. “I want to go with you.”
“I do not think you should, Laurel. What if something happened and you could not get back? The court is volatile right now, as well. It would be very risky,” he said, pointing out all the things he knew she had already thought of.
“I know. But I need to be there, Sebastian. I need to make sure everything goes as it should.”
He stood up and paced back and forth behind his chair, watching her. “Even if I do not remember again when I return, my future will still go forward as it would have otherwise.”
“Perhaps,” she said with clear hesitation. “But what if something does go wrong and I can help? I admit that two days ago, the thought of returning scared me half to death. But now, if I don't go, I'll be beside myself with worry. I messed this up, Sebastian, and I won't rest until I've helped fix it. And--”
“And?” he asked when she paused, tilting his head with curious expectation.
“...and I want to be there until they come for you. It might be several days in Tudor before you're taken, and I'd like to spend them together.”
Sebastian read her desire to be by his side during the last days of his mortal life, to bring what comfort she could. Even though she would pay a heavy price emotionally, it seemed to be worth it to her to have whatever time was left. As protective as he was, he couldn't fault her determination. Besides that, he wanted her to remember him young and virile again instead of a man in the twilight of his life. He could feel the creeping ache of age through his muscles and encroaching fragility in his bones.
Stepping around the table, he took her hand and drew her up from the chair. “Then let us make our plans, my lady. I believe it is time we went back to the past.”
When he smiled, he felt a few new wrinkles around his mouth and his eyes.
Raising a hand, she cupped his jaw and got on her tiptoes to kiss his mouth. A brush of lips and warm breath. “I'll go change and meet you in the sanctuary in a few minutes.”
Squeezing her hip, he watched her retreat from the room. Following after popping a chunk of pineapple in his mouth, he diverted and went the other way, seeking Bernard and Isabella. He found them in the formal parlor and explained that they would be leaving within the hour. Their relief was coupled with their concern. Bernard looked suspiciously misty eyed when Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder and Isabella kissed both his cheeks, as was her wont, when they said their goodbyes. Sebastian left them there and found his way down to the sanctuary, pausing a moment in the corridor when his heart fluttered in his chest.
Entering the sanctuary when the strange fit passed, he gave the room a once over caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above his dresser.
The changes just over dinner and dancing with Laurel were shocking. His hair was salt and peppered throughout, instead of just at the temples, and his eyes looked somewhat sunken. The lines across his forehead were deeper, the skin not quite as firm as it had once been. He was not doddering quite yet, but he turned away from his reflection, disturbed by the swift advance of time.
Laurel entered a moment later, distracting him with her freshly washed hair, blue-jeans and simple yellow shirt. She looked young and vibrant and healthy. The amulet rested against her chest, gleaming gold in the low light.
When she caught sight of him, he detected no recoil or reluctance to come straight over and hug him. He held her tight, burying his nose in her neck. Leaning back, he gazed down over her and cradled her cheek in his palm.
“Are you ready, sweethot?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “Let’s get this over with. I have a desire to see you in your chain mail and leather again.”
Amused, he said, “Shall we, my lady?”
Unsure what to expect on the other side, distrustful of the magic, he steeled himself while she marked the door. The last thing he heard before they stepped through made his heart stutter painfully.
I love you, Sebastian Thorn.
Chapter Eighteen
Images, people, places, voices swirled around him in a disorienting whirlwind as they passed together through the magical door. Dizzy and disoriented he closed his eyes against the sensation until the world righted itself again. When it had, he opened his eyes, blinking away the confusion until a slow, sensual smile spread across his mouth.
Sebastian stood there a moment, taking stock, running a hand over the heavy muscles of his arms, his stomach. He snapped a glance to his chamber door, noting the way his boy came to attention in case his master needed something.
“Boy, my sword,” he commanded, his voice once again strong and deep. The boy, dressed in Darkthorne colors, vaulted into movement with a squeaked ‘yes, my lord!’ that made Sebastian smile inwardly.
As he waited, Sebastian stepped toward his writing desk and dipped a quill into ink before scribbling something across a piece of parchment. Tearing the piece free, he folded it small and, when the boy approached with the sword, he took it and turned aside. Running his finger along the hilt, he found the hidden clasp and pressed it, until the tiny secret door swung open. Shoving the paper inside, he secured it again before stra
pping the sword on his hip.
Hale and hearty once again, Sebastian stalked toward the door. When the boy pulled it open, he passed into the corridor, magnificent in his leather and chain, rain-damp and mud caked with the flaked remnants of a morning of training. With a predatory grin, he hunted for her.
Laurel.
Sebastian moved through the palace with dark urgency. He inclined his head to those noblemen high enough in station to deserve his notice, and otherwise people bowed and scraped from the path of the Duke of Darkthorne. Given how recently he had begun aging and approaching a feeble state, Sebastian thrilled to the return of his vigor in a virile and altogether masculine way.
He passed clusters of people talking in whispers as he searched, and more than once he heard Mark Smeaton’s name. By now the man had been arrested and charged with treason, which meant that Sebastian’s time was coming soon. He didn’t pause to worry about it now.
At a wide intersection of corridors, he spotted the snatch of a blue dress down the way and came up short. Laurel stood talking to Katherine and he could hear her urgent tone even from here. Searching for him. A devastating, hungry grin cut across his mouth. He masked it for the moment and, crossing his arms over his chest, leaned at the corner and watched her, awaiting the moment when she would break away from Katherine and come to him. His heart beat rhythmic and quick in his chest while he watched her, as though it had been months and not moments since he’d seen her.
He had been snatched back from the jaws of death -- at least in this moment -- and renewed life poured strong and hot through his veins. Sebastian didn’t want to waste a moment. Growing impatient, he departed the corner, stalking down the hall toward her.
Laurel was mid-sentence when his hand slithered around her upper arm like a steel band.
“Katherine, I must find the Duke of Dark---”
“Pray excuse us, my lady,” he said abruptly to Katherine, and he could tell by her expression that his behavior shocked her. He hadn’t a care. Dazzled by the sudden smile Laurel wore, he offered his elbow to escort her along the corridor.
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