by Колин Глисон
Dimitri moved sharply and had Lerina in his hands, a stake poised over her generous bosom before she could finish. “Where is Maia?”
Her eyes widened in blatant admiration and she arched a bit toward him, her hips bumping his. “Luce’s cock, you can still set my heart fluttering, Dimitri. All that power and rage rumbling beneath.” She shrugged in his arms, her breasts pressing beneath them as she tipped her head back as if to give him a better target. “Go ahead, do what you will. But if you kill me, you won’t know where to find Miss Woodmore. And time is running thin.”
Frustrated, fighting rising alarm, he released her, trying to keep his thoughts from scattering into wildness. “Tell me where she is.” He glanced at Bradington, who’d taken a step back and looked a bit less confident than he had a moment ago.
“Ah, feel free, Dimitri. I’d love to watch you, and he was merely a tool to get to…here. Right here, right where I wanted you.”
“And so I’m here.” He glanced behind her when another blast of smoke reached his nostrils and noticed a low glow in the distance. All at once, his senses went dead. The house, the very house in which they’d been imprisoned, was in flames.
“Yes, Dimitri. She’s in there,” Lerina said.
But he was already pushing past her, flying toward the house. His heart in his throat, he tore through the night, knowing there had to be some sort of trick…some sort of surprise waiting for him.
She could be dead. She could be made. She might not even be in there, it might be some sort of ruse… Even Cezar could be waiting inside.
Tongues of flame snarled through the windows, smoke poured from the roof. The house was wholly ablaze. If she was inside, how could she be alive?
For a moment, Dimitri was propelled back in time to the Great Fire, and he slowed for a moment. A mere moment, and then he went on, as strong and fast as before.
For this was different. This was Maia, this was now, and he was a Dracule. Fire didn’t harm him; it merely lashed around in a reminder of what hell would be like. Hot, searing, but without actually eating into him. If he could find Maia, he would be fast enough to pull her out, to cover her and streak safely through the flames with her.
If he could find her. If she was still alive.
His mind was three steps ahead of his feet, and he tore off his shirt, plunging it into a rain barrel. Wet and damp, it would help to protect Maia if—when—he found her and brought her out.
This time, as he approached the building, he didn’t have to find an opening that wasn’t burning. He crashed through a flaming door and found himself in a dark, hot place, filled with smoke that blinded him though he could normally see through the dark.
“Maia!” he bellowed, inhaling a lungful of the hot smoke and ash as he tore through the lower level, looking for a place that wasn’t aflame. He tried to smell her, to find her scent amid the soot and burning wood, and he caught it at last as he came to the stairs.
She was here. She was here.
Or she had been here.
“Maia!” he shouted again, ducking as a flaming beam tumbled from the ceiling. The entire place was in shambles, the sheets that had covered furnishings gone up in flames.
Fire snarled through spots in the walls, and the roar like a powerful windstorm filled his ears.
He called her name over and over as he dashed up crumbling stairs, down the hall to where they’d been imprisoned—he could tell by scent more than sight—and back.
There was no one there.
Tears stung his eyes, and they burned with the grit from hot ash and the heat. He used the dripping shirt to wipe it away. She had to be here. She must—
And then he heard something. Faintly.
“Maia!” he shouted, stumbling over a half wall as he turned toward the sound. He wasn’t certain where he was any longer in this building, he just listened, smelled, and then…
No.
He realized the trap before he even got there, for the weakness took hold.
He found her, coming into the very deepest part of the house, and stumbled into the chamber.
There she was, sitting in the center of the room with flames licking the edges, smoke swirling above. Maia was slumped in the chair to which she was tied.
Bound by ropes and ropes of rubies.
20
Hell
A great roar started deep inside and Dimitri fought it back. He would do it. He had to do it.
Dimitri started toward her, panting, sweaty and hot, but his limbs wouldn’t work. They weakened, slogging him to a slow halt as if he were fighting to run upstream a violent river. He released the shirt clutched in his fingers and grasped at the ground, trying to pull himself along using his fingers between old rotting floorboards. But they were weak. He was weak. His lungs tight, his limbs like lead.
Maia. Please.
He couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t get to her.
“Maia,” he managed to groan. Was she even alive?
He could see little in the dark room, but when she shifted, lifting her head, hope rose in him. She was alive.
“Maia,” he called again, coughing a bit and when she tried to respond, nothing came from her mouth but a choking cough. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m coming for you.”
The flames roared closer, and a large beam tumbled from the ceiling, clattering to the floor next to him. It appeared that the fire had started from the perimeter of the building and was working its way in and up, crawling along the walls and across the roof. He knew Maia couldn’t last much longer with the thick, clogging smoke. While he…he could stay forever in this hell on earth.
Dimitri took another step and his knees wavered, then gave out. He tumbled to the floor and felt a wave of paralysis roll through him, constricting his lungs, leadening his muscles. No. He’d fight through it.
He had to get to her. He couldn’t—
There was a movement behind him, and he twisted his head to look up and behind. Lerina stood there, as unaffected by the fire as he was.
“I see you’ve found her,” she said over the roar.
Rage sliced through him and he tried to lunge to his feet, but the rubies did their work and made him clumsy and slow.
“Why,” he managed to gasp, curling his slow, fat fingers into the hem of her gown and dragging her down as he tried to pull himself up. But the rubies…they weighted him down.
Lerina pulled away and he tumbled to the floor, his hand landing on a piece of loose wood. “Because,” she said, pitching her voice to be heard over the roar in his ears, “I wanted you to watch her die. I wanted you to see what it’s like to lose what you love. And to live with that image for eternity.”
He closed his fingers around the wood, feeling its slender length, and felt the rage surge through him. Gathering up all of his strength, what little remained, he launched himself toward her ankles and captured them in the crook of his arm. He’d pull her down to the ground and use his weight to hold her until he could slam the thing into her black heart.
“You’ve…spent…” he gasped, trying again to get his muscles to cooperate, to upset her balance, “too…long…with… Cezar.” His grip was weakening as she fought to free herself, the desperation evident in her flailing movements and wild kicking. He was never going to let her go. She would die along with Maia. Even slow as he was, she was no match for him.
But then a noise, a great crash behind him had his rage disintegrating into blind fear. His grip lessened and Lerina pulled away as Dimitri turned back around with a weak lurch. A large flaming chunk of building had fallen between Maia and him, bouncing to the side. The fire leaped and danced, and he couldn’t see past it.
“Maia!” he shouted, forgetting Lerina, dragging himself closer to the blazing piece of wood and to the side. “Maia!” he cried again, desperate to hear her respond.
But he knew the closer he got to his goal, the weaker he’d become. Her hands were bound and she had no way to loosen herself from the rubies. There were too
many of them.
It was an impossible task. Impossible.
Impossible for a vampire whose Asthenia was rubies.
A labored twisting on the floor to look behind told him that Lerina had gone, perhaps fearful that if he gave up on saving Maia he’d come after her.
He collapsed on the floor, his face and bare torso grinding into the grit even as he used his toes, his fingers, to try to propel himself closer. Just a little closer. The length of a fingernail. The distance of a flea jump. He dragged, writhed, heaved, trying to make himself move.
The power from the gems emanated from Maia more strongly than the flames and smoke, but at last he moved himself to where he could see her again.
“Maia,” he gasped.
“Corvindale,” she said, then coughed. She seemed to be more awake now, more lucid. She’d regained her strength, only to die?
“I…can’t…” he choked out, his throat closing with emotion. “I can’t.” His fingers dug between two wooden planks, but they were so weak that he could barely fit them into the groove. It was too much. Something stung his vision, gritty and bitter.
“I know,” she said, somehow mustering the strength to speak over the choking smoke in her lungs. “I know it.” Her beautiful face was streaked with black, her hair messy and sagging, her gown filthy and the malevolent rubies shining like dancing red beacons in the roaring flames.
“Maia. God, Maia…I’m…sorry,” he groaned, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she said, holding his gaze somehow through the smoke and darkness. “I love you…Gavril.”
I love you. The emotion flashed into his own mind, burning there like some great revelation. Truth.
At the same time as that self-realization, that long-denied truth, a sharp slice arced through him. For a moment he thought something had fallen, landing on his naked back. Or that a stake had stabbed him, piercing his heart. But it wasn’t that, it wasn’t external. It was something inside, cracking, splitting. Pain blazed through him and his muscles collapsed at last, his face slamming into the dirt. He couldn’t lift his finger. Could barely blink. His breath was short and restricted, his mouth filled with dirt and ash.
Dimitri squeezed his eyes closed, the pain overtaking him. With one last breath, he heaved himself up, lifted his face to look at her once more. He had to tell her. He couldn’t let her die without knowing the truth.
He couldn’t even speak the words, but he thought them, sent them to her with his gaze. I love you. Maia, I love you. I have always loved you.
The pain snapped and sizzled, centered at his Mark and raging through his flesh, his muscles and organs, and down through his limbs, radiating torture like never before. He cried out in agony, seizing and shuddering, trying to throw it off, to escape.
Never. Never anything like it.
It burned like a thousand fiery whips laying into his skin until he thought he would explode, go mad, scream until his throat was raw. And then, impossibly, he saw Wayren…nodding, with a quiet smile.
Then…nothing.
Black. Darkness.
21
In Which Miracles Become Curses
Dimitri opened his eyes to darkness and a roaring that filled his ears. Heat. Roiling heat. His thoughts were confused, sluggish, and as he lifted his head, he remembered.
Pain. But it was gone now.
Maia. Oh, God.
Emptiness and fear stilled him for a moment, then he dragged his eyes back open and looked around. Golden and red flames swirled and danced, heat seared him. His lungs burned, his eyes were raw. Beyond the flames, darkness loomed.
He’d died. He was in hell.
Where is Lucifer?
He’d seen Wayren for that one, odd moment…but nothing of the fallen angel.
Dimitri found that he could move, and he rolled over, his body weak and aching, but mobile. And then he saw her.
Maia, impossibly, still there, still in the same place. On the chair, still bound in rubies, the flickering light illuminating her face.
How could she still be there? How could the fire not have swallowed her up, choked the life from her?
She was watching him with a horrified expression that, as he staggered to his feet, changed into one of bewilderment.
And then wonder.
The same shock and strength rushed through Dimitri, even as he coughed and choked, the black smoke swirling around him. The heat raged and he felt it on his skin as if it sat there, branding him.
But he was moving. Toward her. The rubies seemed to have no effect on him any longer.
Yet, Dimitri stumbled, clumsy, coughing and choking so hard that he doubled over, clutching at his middle. What’s happening to me?
And then, suddenly, he realized he felt no pain. No pain.
Not even from the Mark of Lucifer.
Just the blazing burn of flames roaring around him. The gritty heat of smoke and soot.
With a sudden burst of clarity, he touched the back of his left shoulder. Although covered with grit and sweat, it was otherwise smooth. Unblemished.
The Mark was gone. The shock stunned him, paralyzing him as he stood there, doubled over, panting. He realized all at once the blessing…and the curse…of his realization.
Wayren. That was why she’d been there.
His covenant with Lucifer had been broken.
He was mortal again.
Mortal.
He kept on, and then he was there, gathering Maia to him, that sweet, smoky, soft bundle. Tearing at the ropes of rubies, he flung them away and pulled her completely into his arms as the dark smoke choked and enveloped them.
“Maia,” he said in a rough, smoky voice, then his breath was cut off by the smothering roil of smoke.
She coughed, sagging against him, and he bore them both to the floor where the smoke wasn’t quite as thick, wrapping her close to his body, wishing he still had his damp shirt to put over her face. She was kissing him, kissing his jaw and along his bare throat, and he found her lips, sooty and salty, covering them with a desperate hunger. His face was damp with sweat and tears, relief and warmth. And something good unfurled inside him. It was going to be all right. He had her now.
He was mortal again. Human again. He loved.
Maia. Thank God I found you.
She was saying something, and at first he couldn’t understand it. But then he heard it, felt the shape of his name on her lips: “Gavril.”
I love you.
He felt, rather than heard her say the words. Her lips formed them against his mouth, and he bowed his head into the floor, trying to escape the smoke. “I love you,” he said into her hair. How could I have been so foolish?
An ominous cracking brought him back to reality. “We have to…get out of here,” he said, then was overtaken by a fit of rough coughing.
When he looked up, he saw the wall of flames in front of them. Everywhere he turned, there was fire, raging and snarling. The smoke rose and filled the room, thinner but no less potent near the floor.
He looked again, twisting his body around on the floor while protecting her from the flames and smoke. A chill began, deep in his belly, and began to roll through his body, leaving him numb.
There was no way out.
The fire burned too tall, too hot, too encompassing. There was no way to get through.
Impossible.
Impossible for a mortal.
Fury and impotence raged through him, replacing the cold fear, and he looked down at her. Their eyes met and he felt the acceptance in her limbs as she relaxed into him, closing her eyes. Resting her smudged cheek on his arm. Preparing to die.
She knew it. She’d probably always known it.
No. There had to be some way.
He looked around again, seeking some break in the flames, some low rise that he could jump over, carrying her. But there was nothing.
Bitterness, oh, such bitterness.
If he weren’t holding Maia, Dimitri would have raged
and thrown himself into the flames, wild with fury and frustration. He didn’t care about dying. He’d been ready for decades. It was Maia…it was all Maia.
He gathered her up, felt her arms curling around him as she shuddered a cough, trying to speak but unable to because of the heavy smoke. Closing his eyes, he huddled around her, positioning his large body to protect her from the falling beams and dancing flames.
Please.
The irony, the horror of the situation—that he’d obtained his deepest desire, that he’d finally freed himself from Lucifer but was now useless to save the woman he loved—brought harsh, stinging tears to his eyes. They fell into her hair, burning his dry eyes, salty as they trickled down his cheeks.
Damn you. Damn you.
Help me. Someone.
He thought of Wayren, her slight, elegant figure appearing in his mind, and her platitudes. Her meaningless platitudes that had come too late: But that’s why men are here. To be bothered. To feel. To live. To love. And…to be loved. That is what makes you different from every other creature. And that is what makes man ultimately more powerful than the Fiend.
Yes, he’d found love. He’d opened himself to it, just in time to lose it. Her. To lose life. The miracle had turned to a curse, and now she would die.
Maia would die, just as Meg would have.
If he had stayed immortal…kept the covenant…
The chill was back, the horrible knowledge that he had the choice. That he could save her, just as he’d saved Meg. It washed over him, dark and evil, even more potent than the fire raging against his mortal body.
He hadn’t known what it meant, before. When Lucifer came to him the first time. But now he knew. He fully knew the hell, the horror, the blackness of what that covenant meant.
He didn’t want to live it again. But he could.
