Her mother crept in, knelt by her side, and smoothed the curls off her face.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She wept in her mother's arms. "Please tell father, I won't do it again."
"Shh. There, there." Her mother pressed her arms, body, and legs. "He has beaten you, but nothing is broken. Here, take this, it will help." Her mother shook the powdery contents of a glass vial into her mouth, but even swallowing hurt. As her mother stroked her forehead, murmuring words of comfort, she slid into a dreamless sleep.
The following evening, her father came. She shrank back against the wall, flinching with each step he took toward her.
"See, my child, what you have brought on yourself." His anger had cooled and his voice was full of regret. She fell at his feet, ignoring the pain of her injuries, and clutched his ankles. "Father, please, I beg you to forgive me."
"My child." He stroked her bowed head. "I have been too lax with you, given you too much freedom. You will stay here until further notice."
She bowed her head in submission.
Her father carried out his threat and hired a muscled sudra woman to guard the storeroom during the day and sleep on the floor outside the door at night. The woman escorted her to the bathroom, one hard hand on her arm, and stood watching while she did her business. No one, not even her mother, dared to visit. She was a prisoner, isolated in her own home.
Days turned into weeks, and the external signs of her beating faded. Yet she remained incarcerated. Time stretched and became one long day. Her life before dwindled to a dream. She prayed for hours, beseeching Lord Narasimha to allow Vanse to escape the thugs her father surely had hired to kill him. Brhaspati would destroy anyone and anything that might sully her reputation.
One evening, her father visited with a village woman she knew to be a midwife. Her father waited outside, vowing he'd kill her with his own hands if she wasn't pure. She had no choice but to undergo the humiliating examination.
"Good," her father muttered when the woman informed him of her intact virginity.
Another bright morning as she lay dreaming of freedom, watching the slanting sunbeams crawl across the wall, the door opened. Her bodyguard beckoned and escorted her up to the house.
She stared in bewilderment at the garlands decorating the hallways and every room. Her mother came out of the kitchen with tears in her eyes. The sound and smells of food preparation wafted out.
"Mother, what's going on?" After not speaking to anyone since her beating, and with the guard silencing even her attempts to keep her spirits up by singing, her voice croaked.
"We have to get you ready. You must prepare yourself. Your father has arranged your marriage."
If it wasn't for the bodyguard holding her arm, she would have collapsed. The next few hours passed in a daze as servants bathed and perfumed her, decorating her hair with pearls and garlands of jasmine, and applying kohl and rouge. Last of all, they dressed her in a red silk wedding sari so heavily embroidered with gold thread she had difficulty walking.
She let them do whatever they wished, and she kept her questions to herself. Was he a local merchant's son? Had she met him, seen him at the temple or around the town? But she had learned the lesson of total obedience. Who he was had no relevance. Someone who wasn't Vanse would bed her, and she would bear his children. This husband would own her body, but her heart and soul belonged to Vanse. She accepted her fate; she had no choice.
Preceded by musicians playing tablas and singing auspicious songs, the bridal procession, entered the temple, and a numb emptiness filled her heart. Karma had blindsided her, leaving her powerless to change her fate.
Servants guided her to the seat beside the groom. The heavy bridal veil covered her face, making it difficult for her to glimpse him clearly. She noticed he was tall. Like Vanse. She swallowed her tears. The past was a dead branch, its fruit withered, holding nothing of worth. The future awaited; she prayed she'd escape the treatment her father dealt out to her mother.
The ceremony commenced and moved inexorably forward as the ceremonial fire consumed generous quantities of ghee. During the final stage of the marriage rite, as the couple circumambulated the fire with her sari tied to his kurta, she caught a clear view of the groom. She wondered what caste he was and why her father had agreed to marriage with a foreigner: his light skin, and his hair, an unusual red-gold color showed he came from afar. He turned and, gazed at her, as if the veil was invisible. For a second, she froze, stunned by the brilliant blue of his eyes. He moved forward, and she followed, her hand straying to the medallion at her neck. I am your devotee, she pleaded, please protect me.
Her father headed the triumphant return home, although strictly, it was no longer hers. Her home, from now on, was wherever her husband lived. How foolish she'd been to think that her life might ever have been anything other than this.
She kept her eyes down during the feast and sneaked a sideways glance at this man to whom she now belonged. Every time their eyes met, a warning chill shivered over her skin. Her father called him Angelus. She rolled the name around in her head. What would he demand of her?
At the appointed hour, her mother and two maidservants led her away so she might be prepared for her wedding night. They removed the bridal finery and combed out her gleaming reddish-brown curls, dressing her in a robe of white muslin, bare of decoration except for the simple embroidered hem.
"Mother? What happens now?" Tears threatened to fall.
"The same thing that happens to every bride. Your duty is to obey. Whatever happens, don't protest. Be submissive."
She nodded, understanding her mother better. This was how to survive. Left alone to await the groom, she paced the room, her imagination conjuring both wonderful and awful scenarios of what was to come. She spun around at a noise on the balcony.
"Vanse!" She flew across the room into his embrace, and nestled against his chest, unwilling to see his reaction as she told him of her marriage.
"I know. This is my fault. I thought if I dampened your powers, he wouldn't find you."
What was he talking about? She could hear voices and laughter in the corridor coming closer.
"Go. It might be Angelus." She saw disgust flicker across his face at the name.
The voices became louder.
"Kiss me. One last time." Vanse pulled her close, and they kissed.
She breathed in the sandalwood smell of him and calmed. She knew what he would do, and this wasn't the first time because he'd done it before. As the blade sliced into her skin, she felt nothing but peace. Once more, he'd saved her.
Chapter Fourteen: Damage Control
Tatya eased herself into her jeans, hoisting them up around her hips. She shook each leg, balanced on her toes, then jumped up and down a few times. The last time she'd felt this fit and healthy was the day she'd run the marathon at college. After the marathon was over, well, that had been a different story.
She'd awakened that morning swearing she was healed, begging the doctors to take x-rays till she thought she'd explode—but to no avail. Afterward, she called Vanse to glamour them into agreeing to let her go home. He also glamoured away their memories of how recently her injuries had occurred.
The full range of vamp talents was unknown outside their species, and they meant to keep it that way. As far as they were concerned, the human–vampire relationship didn't warrant full disclosure; life as a laboratory subject for scientists engaged in researching the source of their abilities to heal and their longer life spans played no part in the vampire agenda.
The doctors had removed her casts under light anesthetic; now the only thing missing was a signature, and she'd be on her way home. She stretched, enjoying the sense of wholeness, touched her toes, and paced over to the window. The sun shone in a beautiful blue sky, and the air would have that autumn crispness. Maybe she'd go for a run when she got home, a habit she'd lost since her business took up so much of her time.
"How are you?"
Tatya sensed Vanse's p
resence long before he got to her room and wished he would keep walking. She'd seen more than enough of him in the past few days.
"Okay."
Despite rescuing her from several challenging situations, she'd been too suspicious of vampires for too long to change overnight. But she'd try to play nice. She flexed her arm.
"There, all better."
"Oh," he said, "so the plaster covering the whole of your lower half was decoration?"
"Ha ha! Sarcasm in a vampire. What's next? Dramatic irony?" She couldn't help herself. She and Sean had enjoyed this kind of banter before he died and Vanse turned him. To her surprise, he chuckled.
"You always had a sharp tongue, Tatiana."
"Haven't we had this conversation? It's Tatya."
"My apologies."
No glimpse of the twinkle, instead, he wore his solemn vamp businesslike expression.
He sat on the bed. "Please," he gestured she should sit beside him. Choosing instead the visitor's chair, and moving it further away from him, she reminded herself she despised vampires, and this one was no exception. She wasn't sure, though, if the last bit was a hundred percent true anymore. Here and now, sitting so close to him made it impossible to analyze her feelings. But dammit, she did not want to admit she was starting to like him.
"You desire to be at home?"
"Er, duh, yes. Do you even have to ask? I'm hoping I can take Aunt Lil home, too."
"Tatya, it's not safe for you there. You must stay here. I have luxurious quarters below where you and your aunt can stay until this matter is resolved."
"Excuse me? I must stay here. Since when do you, or anyone else, dictate what I can and can't do? I can take care of myself." A shiver of energy pulsed along her arm, and as she thrust her hand outward, a flash of light burst from her fingers hitting the wall opposite. A tremor pulsed around the room. Tatya swallowed. That was a first.
"Your powers are growing, Tatya."
"I said I can protect myself."
"Do you think you can defend yourself against Angelus?"
She swallowed again.
"And his vampires?"
She remembered how they'd poured out from Mrs. Olsen's mobile home.
"Our wards are stronger."
She giggled, but tried to disguise it with a cough.
"Sorry," she mumbled." Hospital... wards... pun...." she trailed off. Oh dear, this was no fun. "Look, I'm aware your intention is to protect me, and I appreciate your efforts. But there's no argument here. I'm going home." She understood he had the power to coerce her to stay, but she was banking on the fact he'd rather avoid taking that action.
"Okay, I'll escort you."
Tatya rolled her eyes. "Yes, dad."
"Oh, Tatya, I was never your father."
She almost blushed. There was no mistaking his meaning.
Dr. Mellior wasn't available till afternoon, so even though Tatya had determined her own course of action, she wasn't willing to risk her aunt's health.
Vanse insisted they travel in his car.
Tatya remembered Sean’s enthusiastic praise, and thought this vehicle was a vampmobile if ever she ever she saw one.
The Cadillac XTS with its leather seats and custom fittings purred as they hit the highway. Vanse drove, no chauffeur, and it was clear this was a favorite toy. The usual convoy, several cars full of mean, sinister-looking vamps, emitting a serious don't-mess-with-me vibe, followed at a circumspect distance.
Vanse told her Sean was working on the gardens, and she pictured the plots tended and tidied up for the winter. He'd be working his way through the greenhouses by now. How was this going to work? Would she and Sean pick up from before he became sick? His name was no longer on the company. He was legally dead but their friendship seemed to be back to something resembling normal since she'd accepted his new identity as a vampire enthralled to a master vampire.
Tatya noted Vanse's enjoyment in driving, though most people sitting in her seat would have had a heart attack. She watched the scenery flow past in a blur and was beginning to relax when images from last night's dream hit her. Vanse, the love of her life, had pulled her close and kissed her. But something was wrong. As she breathed in the smell of him, her fear fled. Her precognition told her what he would do, and this wasn't the first time. As the blade pierced her flesh, she experienced a glorious peace, knowing that once more, he'd saved her. The dream had the veracity of a memory, as if it had really happened. But how was that possible? She had never encountered any such violence in her life.
Vanse braked, tires smoking as they screeched to a stop.
"You killed me. In my dream you killed me." She gazed ahead, not seeing the road, only the dream sequence replaying in her head. Vanse. The sense of stillness. The knife.
He didn't answer.
"It was so real. How can you explain that? Oh, and please, don't say it's complicated." She gave a short laugh. "If it's a memory–and how could it be a memory? But on the bizarre off-chance it is, I'd be interested to know why you're saving me this time?"
They sat in silence. The driver from the car behind opened his door. Vanse raised his hand, the vamp closed it again.
She recalled how he took away the pain before she felt the slice of cold metal. He loved her, and she loved him. She realized he'd had no choice but to kill her. What she didn't understand was why. "I loved you and you killed me?"
"Yes."
"But why in the universe would anybody kill the one they loved? Tell me that."
"Tatya." His voice broke.
Their connection confirmed the depth and truth of his anguish, but Tatya shut him out with a savage slash of the link. She knew she couldn't maintain the separation for long, but she had her own stuff to deal with, and she didn't need his.
"Tatya, please, I will justify my actions, but not here and now. You will find the truth hard to accept."
"That's not what I call an explanation. In this lifetime, believe me; I won't be falling for whatever line you gave me before. That's one mistake I won't make again."
"Tatya."
"Take me home. Now."
He started the engine, then paused as the wail of a police siren came within range. Tatya recognized the plain black sedan that swerved in front of them, slewing to a halt. The doors opened, and Corwin and Bellamy leaped out as if the hounds of hell were after them.
Tatya didn’t need to read Corwin's aura as he approached her side of the car. His face said it all. Bad news. Her power spiked. In a blink, Vanse re-established the link, calming her before anything untoward happened. He tapped the dashboard controls and her window slid down.
"Tat. I'm so sorry. It's your house," Corwin said. "The fire department is on their way."
"The fire department?" She went to open the door.
Vanse laid a hand on her arm, restraining her. "We'll follow you, Sheriff."
Corwin stared at the vampire for a second, then nodded.
"I don't care what your opinion is of me," Vanse said, watching the two officers return to their vehicle. "I'm sure you'd prefer to be with Sheriff Corwin, but he can't protect you from Angelus."
They heard more sirens and waited till three fire trucks hurtled past, their sirens shattering the air. Vanse drove so close behind Corwin that if Corwin had braked they'd have ended up in his back seat. As they tore along the road, ominous, dirty black clouds towered into the sky, visible above the trees.
"Sean," she said. "Sean's there." Her heart dropped. Sean wouldn't have done anything so stupid as rush indoors to put the fire out? Because vamps could burn to death, like every other creature on the planet. "Is Sean all right? You'd know if he was dead, wouldn't you?"
"He lives."
The weight of worry lifted.
As they turned off the main road, Tatya's brain refused to accept the evidence of her eyes. Her heart sank as the reality of the devastation hit her. The roof had collapsed, but flames continued to devour the first floor. She stared in disbelief as gray-black smoke billowed
out of the windows and rolled upward to the sky. The firemen, moving with practiced precision, raised ladders and ran hoses to the well. Within minutes, the three fire engines, one at each side and the other in front, sprayed huge gouts of water over and into the blazing building.
Tatya, Vanse, Corwin, and Bellamy stood in a huddled group, watching the firemen extinguish the blaze.
She knew Aunt Lil had insurance because she had insisted they increase the coverage to include the business. But this was more than a building or a place of business, this was her home.
Aunt Lil had never married. She'd talked once about a youthful love who died before they could marry. When Tatya became an orphan, Aunt Lil welcomed her into her life, shouldering the responsibility of loving and rearing her niece. This was where Tatya had grown up, loved by someone who cared for her above everything else.
A figure walked toward them. Tatya ran and threw herself at Sean, burying her face in his chest to hide the sudden flood of tears.
"Hey, Tat. I'm fine." He hugged her tight.
Tatya watched as half of the top floor caved when the roof fell, turning the place into a smoldering, blackened shell.
Eventually, a fireman informed them the fire was out, but she couldn't enter the building until the fire marshal gave the all-clear. Regrettably, that wouldn't be until they'd conducted an official investigation into the cause of the fire.
"Sorry to have to run, but you know, crime doesn't stop," Corwin said, preparing to leave. "But whatever I can do, you let me know. Okay? You know you're always welcome at our place. Winona would love to have you… just say the word."
Winona, Corwin's wife, had a soft spot for Tatya, and always liked feeding and mothering her. It had gotten worse since their youngest had left for college.
"Thanks, Bill. I'll keep that in mind."
"I'll speak with you later," the sheriff told Vanse.
After the last fire truck departed, they stared at the shell of the old ranch house, wisps of smoke still rising from the ruins.
The Kala Trilogy: An Urban Fantasy Box Set Page 12
