“Go,” she murmured. “Don’t ever come back. You are monster; you are as dead to me as our children in that cart.”
“Mary… .” I stepped forward, holding out my hand. Words failed me, but a single tear fell from mine eye. The despondency I saw in her eyes mimicked my own.
In my own way, I thanked the Lord that she would not have to live an eternity, tormented by such tragic grief as I would have to. Long after her natural death, I would still close my eyes and see the beautiful, but lifeless faces of my children; stripped from their mother’s bosom. I would still see that graceful, exquisite face of my only love, shedding tears for a husband who – though, not dead – lost his humanity and left her to defend herself in a world crueller than one could imagine.
When the love of my life told me to go once more, I turned and I fled, one more meaningless, “I’m sorry,” dying on my lips.
Chapter 15
By the time the sun peaked, I found myself back outside George’s home. With nowhere else to go, and no-one safe around me, it seemed the most logical choice.
With my heart ripped to pieces, I wanted answers. I wanted to know more about being this… vampire. I wanted to know more about the reasons behind why my children now lay dead, why I could not console a wife who now hated me. Guilt chewed on my existence like a dog on a bone, and I needed something to justify the excruciating heartache scouring through me with relentless abhorrence.
Armed with whatever knowledge I could get, I would leave this place for good. I could not – would not – stand by and watch my beloved suffer the losses I so obviously caused. She did not deserve this eternal affliction, and seeing me would only serve to cause her further misery. And I could not watch her in the arms of another – free to find love again. It would be my undoing. It would crush me to dust.
And though the decision battered me senseless, I knew it to be – deep in what remained of my heart – the only right decision I could make in a history of recent wrong ones.
When the first rays of the burning sun seared my skin, Elisabet opened the door and allowed me inside.
“I need to know more.” I told her, giving her no time to question what happened in the night. I would spend an eternity of heartbreak dwelling on it – I did not need to recount my tales of sorrow to this harlot before me. ‘Twas not her business.
“Sit,” she instructed, “I will tell thee all I know.”
As I sat, Elisabet lit candle after candle, before she pulled down heavy blinds over the windows, blocking out the natural light of the beating sun.
Taking a seat on the chaise, she asked me, “What do ye want to know?”
“You are the same as I, yay or nay?”
“I am.”
“Then, prey, tell me, how doth ye live with such a nightmare?”
With a wide grin, she told me, “Not a nightmare, Goodman Drake; but a dream come true… to live forever.”
“How can you call this a dream?” I rose from seat, anger compelling me. “I was turned against my will and now my children are dead because I could no longer protect them. I have to live this forever with their innocent faces seared into my brain. My own wife despises me; she blames me and I cannot fault her for it. How be this a dream, when I may never love another again for fear of the suffering I will surely cause?” Realizing I had been pacing the room, I sat back down, my breathing heavy.
“You will come to forget certain emotions, Lucas, eventually. Eternity is a very long time, and the world around us changes with each passing moment. Do not be so remiss as to cast the future aside with assumptions.” She leaned forward, grasping her knees with both hands. “I hath bore witness to many seasons, and many, many changes. I hath loved and I hath lost more than once, and yet here I am still, free to continue my path.”
Somehow, I almost doubted her words. After her speech to me regarding loss, I found it difficult to believe this woman had let go of everything once plaguing her. “Do not dare to assume that you and I are the same. I saw the pain in your eyes upstairs when you talked about love and loss, so do not preach to me your lies, making them out to be righteous, when they are so far from it.”
Taken aback, Elisabet swallowed past the obvious lump in her throat, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Who are thee?” I did not much care for her answer; not really, but I wanted her to tell me of a life she led by which she had managed to drag herself from such a punishment that I could not. “Who be Master Langley. What art thee doing here, bringing with you such evil devastation that would tear a man from a family he loves.”
Taking a deep breath, she answered, “My past is of little concern to you. George is my lover; we are here because we want to be, but you are here because you wanted answers. Surely a recollection of a life I once had will have no bearing on how ye are feeling now, nor will it provide thee with the answers you seek.”
My jaw tensed and I released a heavy breath through my nose. “Because of you and your lover, I will never again know true love. I doth not ever want to feel this kind of heartbreak again. You are to blame for that, so I shall ask whatever questions I see fit.”
“And I,” Elisabet started, standing rather quickly, “shall answer as I see fit. And if you call me a harlot once more, I shall tear thine eyes out with my bare hands.” She stalked close enough to me that I could almost smell her breath.
“Wha… I did not… .” Stunned, I leaned back in my seat. “Ye read my thoughts?”
“Yes.” She nodded, sitting back down, wiping away tears that never fell with a swipe of her forefinger. “’Tis a gift some acquire; it comes with time and practice.”
“Do tell me, what other gifts hath I been graced with? What manner of gifts are there for a night-stalking beast who must drink the blood of vampires. humans and animals alike, who must relinquish a life in the sun for fear his flesh would be stripped from his bones?”
Elisabet remained silent for several moments. “You uneducated fool,” she finally said. “We dost not drink from our own kind, save in the first moments of the change. And we—”
“Then why doth Master Langley feed from thee?”
She smiled, sly and smug. “Foreplay, Goodman Drake.”
I shivered without meaning to. “And what of me? Am I to be… your next lover? You fed me thine own blood.”
“As I already told thee, it is necessary during the transformation.” Her jaw pulsed. “And we do not feed from animals. They are full of disease and art no good for us. Ye shall drink only from humans,”
“Then what of the dead animals in the barn? ‘Twas no wolf that caused those wounds.”
A rush of alarm crossed her features, before she told me, “Those like you… newly turned, they escaped and killed the animals for a misguided notion of survival. They will suffer in due course.”
“And if I hath already tasted animal blood?”
Her face paled. “Be that the truth?”
“Would it matter? If it is to kill me, then so be it. If it is a means to kill me, then I shall drain every living creature out in that barn.” I pointed in the direction of outside. “I will gladly suffer once more, gladly take one more foul disease into my blood, if it would rid me of this curse and reunite me with my children.”
“Do not be so theatrical, you idiot.” Elisabet stood, turning her face away from me. “It will not kill you, but it will render you simple, dumb, so much so that you will wish for death.” She turned back to me. “Hath ye tasted the blood of animals?”
“Aye.”
Nostrils flaring, Elisabet stormed passed me, through to the kitchens, from which she returned moments later with a glass of crimson fluid. “Drink this,” she instructed, angered frustration marring her pretty, porcelain face.
Taking it from her, I nursed the glass between my palms, intent on asking more questions, but losing myself within the circling motions of the dark, hypnotic nectar before me.
“I will entertain thee no further, this morn.” Elisabet inf
ormed me. “I must retire to my bedchambers. I suggest ye do the same.” A chord struck, she huffed, turned her nose to the air, then walked out of the parlour.
For hours, I sat, staring into my beaker, picturing that which I would picture for many more hours to come.
My tears fell free, causing ripples in the scarlet liquid. For each one I shed, a memory played out – my wife baking, mending, sewing, my children playing, laughing, fighting… and then the crying; so much crying and hurt. So much anguish over a few days, tarnishing a lifetime of joyous memories.
My gripped tightened around the tumbler until my thoughts became too much for me to bear.
With a loud roar, I threw the glass into the unlit fireplace, where it shattered in a million pieces, spraying blood across the stones.
Every piece of broken glass I counted signified a moment of my life I would never get back.
Chapter 16
Nightmares plagued me. I tossed and turned, desperate to rid myself of the images of my children’s skeletal faces, their sickly skin and bony limbs.
Vampires may not sleep like humans, but they could be haunted by the memories of a life once lived. I wondered how many lives would give me cause to want to gouge out my eyes and sear my brain with a red-hot poker, in the hopes I would forget. How many centuries would I exist, how many more would I kill? How many more would I love and nurture, only to end up persecuting myself through the bitter knowledge that their deaths would be unavoidable? How could I watch that suffering over and over again?
Eyes now open, I lay awake for long hours, watching the light seeping through my curtains fade into the blackest of nights, fearful to close my eyes and remember.
Before long, mirth and revelry filled the house once more. But this time, Elisabet did not come into my room. Instead, I dressed in fine, fresh clothes left out for me, and made my own way downstairs.
Ladies in revealing attire socialized with one another in the parlour, drank wines and ales from crystal glasses, staring at me with lust in their painted eyes as I walked among them.
Sweet smelling perfumes lingered in the air, but it did nothing to mask the succulent scent of the blood flowing through their slender bodies. It sang to me like a lark on an early spring morning.
“Master Drake, how good of you to join us.” George appeared from the other end of the room, his arm linked with Elisabet’s. “Tell me, have ye rested?”
Nodding, I continued to survey the room.
“Splendid,” he remarked. “Now, will you not join us this eve; enlighten me if someone catches thine eye, won’t you?” His sly smile unnerved me.
Would I be expected to choose some unfortunate damsel to drain her dry as I had seen him do, before he subjected me to a life like his?
“Good evening, sir.” A fair-haired lady with sea-blue eyes traced a soft caress down my arm. “What be thy name?”
“Lucas,” I told the brazen woman, without emotion.
“Master Lucas, might I dissemble for thy honour?”
With creased brow, I looked back at George.
Chuckling, he whispered in my ear, “She would like to keep you entertained for course of the eve.”
Entertained?
Before I could contemplate further, the wench took my hand and led me back upstairs.
“Be this thy bedchamber, sir?” she asked me, standing outside my open door.
She did not wait for my answer before she pulled me inside, closing the door behind us.
Sitting me on the bed, she took a step back, giggling through her inebriation as she began to unlace the back or her corset, unsteady on her feet. “Would sir wish to help a lady?” Turning, she backed up toward me, sitting on my lap, all the while still chuckling to herself.
Past the smell of honeysuckle and lilac, her pure blood called to me. I moved her golden locks away from her neck, smelling the potent, provocative aroma, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, eager to taste.
She gasped, tilting her head further aside, stroking my hand with one of hers, the other tracing a path up and down my leg.
I could smell her excitement, but it did nothing for me.
With my free hand, I skimmed her bodice-clad figure, up her stomach, across her ample bosom to the base of her neck, digging my fingers softly into her supple flesh.
She groaned again, whispering shameless commands of promiscuity.
My gums ached before a piercing sensation pinched them. Using my tongue, I felt my way across one of the sharp fangs, closing my eyes before I punctured the smooth skin of her neck.
Crying out, she struggled in my grasp, but her efforts were futile.
Increasing my hold on her with one arm, I slid the other up her throat, to her mouth, muffling the desperate cries escaping her lips. As she writhed in my arms, I sang my teeth deeper into her flesh, drinking, lapping, gulping at the sweet ambrosia that flowed fast and plentiful.
She went limp in my arms, the beating of her heart slowly dramatically, until it stopped altogether.
Dropping her to the floor, I stood, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Dost thou feel better?
“Yes.” My head swam, a mellowed feeling that I smiled in favour of.
Remember, not too much, greedy Lucas Drake.
Senses returning, I stood tall, straight, recalling the moment in the town’s square – the bloodied bodies, the torn throats, the feeling of losing myself behind a haze of ruby red.
“I cannot do this,” I uttered, more to myself than anyone who might be listening. “I cannot.”
Once more I ran from the house, away from the den of immoral self-indulgence, away from a life I did not want, not in however many life times I would survive.
“He will be back,” I heard Elisabet tease. “He always comes back.”
A creature of habit.
And just like a creature of habit, I found myself back outside my home, the bodies gone, the horse cart having rode away, taking my children, taking them to be burned into nothing but ash. Nothing left of them but a memory; a memory that would never fade.
But even though they were gone, the same unsettling atmosphere still lingered in the chill night air; the same foreboding mixture of loss and deprivation.
The door to the house stood ajar. I pushed it further open, stepping inside.
Time itself slowed down, the sound of my footsteps thudded against the stone floor, close, yet far away, muffled by the pressure pounding through my head. Black spots burned behind mine eyes and I could feel the bitter bite of my tears.
My tender stomach flipped, my breathing quickened and my nerves shattered through dread. I could sense what lay beyond me, around the corner, hidden thus far by the wall in front of me. I knew she lay waiting for me, even before I saw her.
Hanging from the rafters… my wife, cold and lifeless.
The thick rope around her neck dug into her flesh, leaving angry red welts. Her lips were blue, her face almost so, with charcoal smudges under red, glassy eyes, open and vacant, staring at me – condemning me with one final glare of saddened hate.
I fell.
I fell further than the ground beneath me, it seemed. Into a hell I feared I would never escape – an eternal torture that would burn every layer of flesh and still continue.
When I looked at her dead face once more, the last of my soul died alongside her.
Chapter 17
The scorching of my flesh roused me.
In the middle of the floor I lay, in the same room as my wife’s body, with the rising sun scalding my exposed skin through the uncovered window.
I moved, though with little haste or care, trying not to look at Mary’s body, lest I commit myself to the sun’s rays and die, broken and alone.
I would freely admit, the thought tempted me.
But I will not allow it.
I dared not argue – I did not care enough to.
Instead, I retreated to the bedroom I once shared with my love. In a corner I s
at, knees to my chest, staring at nothing in particular as the day wore on.
And there I remained, until night fell once more.
Without a complete state of awareness, I spent the dark hours burying my wife in our fields. Standing over her grave, I said no words of goodbye, nothing of the love I still held for her. Instead, I cried. And through those tears I promised her that I would never be with another woman, the way I had been with her. I did not deserve it, nor did any woman deserve to be put through the pain I would surely deliver.
∽∽∽
Into the dark embrace of the night I vanished, running away until my chest burned and my legs ached. And on I continued, hiding away in buildings when dawn broke, slaughtering the humans inside and drinking them dry to survive.
I let the voice inside of my head guide me, listening to it as it told me that I needed to kill, heeding its commands as it dragged me from town to town, leaving bloody destruction in my wake.
I evaded capture for many moons, finally crossing into the Scottish borders.
Uproar ran rife, as the townsfolk rebelled against the capture and imprisonment of Mary Queen of Scots. It provided me with the perfect cover; to kill as many as I needed while no-one would think twice about a blood-thirsting vampire infesting their towns.
I found myself a small cottage on the village borders, overlooking a stream and rolling hills carpeted with lavender.
A family lived there – a man and wife with their three young children.
I watched them with jealous contempt, hidden away in a broken down shelter in the hills. I could not drink them all – I would find myself drunk on their essence. Nor did I wish to waste good blood by dumping their corpses in the river after slaughtering them in their sleep.
I would take them captive – mayhaps kill the man first; the women and children would be easier to keep quiet, and would likely pose less of threat if they were to struggle against me.
When dusk approached, I moved from my concealed hideaway, stalking the shadows and hiding behind trees to keep from being seen.
Spying the husband outside, I neared the cottage. Gathering logs, he did not hear me approach from behind. I grabbed his head and twisted, the snap ringing out loud. Louder still, were the logs he dropped to the ground when his body went limp, following.
Lucas - A Faction Series Prequel Book 1 Page 6
