Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Much to her own dismay, she spent the lighted hours applying lotion, rubbing it in with nervous fingers, and perfume to her skin. She then carefully straightened her hair and applied a light layer of makeup—enough to highlight her face, but little enough it wasn’t obvious she put the effort in.

  Picking her clothes was another great affair. She tried to find something simple, but not too sexy. She didn’t want Servaes knowing she thought about his promise all day. Though, in truth, she thought of little else. She forced herself to remember the person she waited for was dead, and the vampire was only a walking shell of the man she’d fallen in love with. She had seen the coldness in Servaes’ undead gaze. She felt the power and danger within him, the capacity he had for death.

  But damned as she might become, she couldn’t stay away from him. He would consume her soul with the black beast he hid so well, and Hathor knew she would let him. The creature had her mesmerized. She knew what he was, and she couldn’t fight it. The vampires in the alley were right. He had her marked.

  Finally deciding on a simple black dress, she slipped on matching hose. Her shoes were only slightly heeled, not too fancy. Satisfied that she looked casual, yet sophisticated, she poured herself a glass of wine to calm her nerves and continued to wait on the balcony. If anything, her clothes might give her the power to intimidate him. It was a long shot, but one she needed to comfort herself with.

  For all time appeared to slither along, when the sunset finally approached it was too soon for Hathor. She watched as the bright orange and red glow of the sun fell behind the trees of the back gardens, turning more purple than red. Chills racked her body in little bumps.

  The soft light fell over the trim grasses and flowing fountains, making the stone statues come alive as if they deliberately moved in the stillness. The statues reminded her of the attack in the alley. She stared so hard at them that, at times, she could convince herself someone was there watching her. Again and again she would count their stony numbers to make sure no extras appeared.

  Her heart raced faster with each falling inch of the setting sun. When finally the moon took complete control of the sky, her insides were a mess. Swallowing down the last bit of wine in her glass, she turned to go to the bottle. Servaes would hunt first before coming to her. Part of her hoped it took him a long time. She tried not to think of the life he took in sustaining his own.

  Pouring another glass, she felt him more than heard him behind her. She set down the bottle on the pewter serving tray with a clink. Lifting her wineglass, she turned. The red liquid swirled easily in its glass. Her nerves whirled uneasily in her stomach.

  She forced an unconcerned yawn as she crossed to the balcony. She felt he was there, waiting for her. Her feet were silent on the carpet. Coming through the doors, she saw she was right. The sight of him hit her like a stout breeze.

  Servaes leaned leisurely against the railing, watching for her. He wore his usual clothes, turn of the twentieth century in style. Tight slacks pulled against his legs, a loose-fitted shirt blew unfettered in the night breeze to hug his pale-muscled chest. His skin was supernaturally smooth, and his demonic eyes watched her with a soft inner light. Already, within the potency of his prevailing gaze, she felt the length of him crushed against her. Every one of his lightest touches was burned into her memory.

  She endeavored to give him a polite smile, not too sweet, yet not too cynical. She understood why he’d come and what he wanted to do to her, though she didn’t know how much he would demand. Would he require her blood? Her life? Her soul? Lifting the glass to her lips, she said, “I would offer you some, monsieur, but I believe you already had your wine for the evening.”

  Hathor sipped the strong liquor. She walked to the rail as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He studied her through veiled eyes that flashed with green. She knew he tried to read her thoughts. She didn’t let him. Instead, she kept her mind focused on the fountain in the distance. She stared at its pale purple lights shining in the waters. The cold stone brought with it no comfort.

  “You are right, mademoiselle,” he answered quietly. “I cannot drink of your wine—at least not from a glass.”

  Servaes studied her slender form. Hathor shivered, losing a bit of her composure as he glanced meaningfully at her neck. Taking a deep breath, she forced her chin into the air and willed her heart to slow. Her ruse didn’t work. He heard the beating as it pounded fiercely like the beckoning call of a native’s drum.

  The dress she wore clung to her body, hugging the sway of her hips, the long line of her thighs. The skirt stopped at the knee, exposing the pleasing curve of her calves beneath seductive black hose. The shortened sleeves covered her shoulders, the neckline leaving her slender neck and collarbone exposed. He trembled with longing. She was captivating, enchanting. He detected a faint line of blackness around her eyes, outlining them pleasingly, making them look big and wondrous as she stared at him.

  She was alive, so mortal, so fragile and powerless. He heard her heart, smelled her blood. He had supreme power over her. He could kill her, torture her, snuff out her life with a single gesture. But the life he could so effortlessly stop had become so precious to him.

  For a brief moment, he couldn’t move, and in that eternal second she possessed the power—the power to awe and manipulate him if only she knew how to wield it. In that moment, she could have enslaved him to her. Within a blink, the moment passed, and Servaes was in control once more.

  The vampire knew he should leave her, knew he should send her away for the whole of her short life. He couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t form in his throat. It was too late for both of them. They were linked together in an ill-fated maze, at the end of which was only death and blood.

  He slowly came to her. His hand lifted lightly to brush her jaw, fitting next to the creamy softness of her skin, the silken locks of her auburn hair. He turned her eyes around to meet his. His gaze bore into her, searching, wanting. She trembled at the raw emotion he allowed her to see.

  “I told you I would come tonight,” he whispered with a glance to her mouth. Her lips parted in breath. The scent of the wine drifted off her tongue, intoxicating him as it swirled in her blood. She didn’t lean in to invite his kiss as he’d hoped. Instead, she turned away from him. His hand fell to the side. He rested against the railing, waiting patiently for her to speak.

  “Was it real?” She studied the wine in her glass, the red liquid reflecting the silvery moonlight. As if she couldn’t bring herself to drink it, she poured it over the side of the balcony. She watched the liquor fall into darkness.

  Hathor didn’t need to explain her question. Servaes knew she spoke of the dream he’d shown her. “Yes and no. It was real, long ago in the time that it was lived. But to us now, it is a dream of the past. Do you understand?”

  His words were gently spoken. Slowly, she nodded. “So I did travel back in time?”

  “I believe you did in a way. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know. I myself don’t have the power to journey through time at will. I remember now seeing you on the ship as I crossed to America. I can’t even recall the name of that boat, and I had forgotten the journey until you. It was you there with me.”

  “Then it was you in the gardens? It was you who talked and laughed with me? It really happened? It wasn’t just a dream?” she asked.

  “I didn’t remember your face as the years took the fine curves of it from me. I remembered you only as a vague impression of a woman long dead.”

  Hathor could barely believe it. It was the only thing that made sense. It had to be real. It felt real. She sensed the confusion in Servaes as he tried to answer her. He didn’t know how it was possible either. Looking down at her hands, she suddenly remembered the splinter she’d received in the boat. In her nervousness she’d ignored the minor irritation.

  Cautiously, she ran her finger over her palm. With a delicate wince, she realized it was still there. Servaes, seeing her discomfort, lifted her palm. He absently
hovered his finger over the splinter, drawing it out. It disappeared into the wind.

  “I remember now, the day in the garden. Jirí set me up that night to die. He wanted to go to the colonies. He was bored. He wanted me with him. However, I was too widely known just to kill. If he had me shipped to America and changed there, then we would be able to come back to France and reclaim my title. That is what we did just a few years later. By that time, King Louis had married his mistress, Madame de Maintenon, and didn’t care about me. Nevertheless, Jirí and I both bewitched him with our power. He didn’t even remember sending me away. Those who did, mysteriously ended up a victim of a strange plague that affected France that year.” Servaes didn’t reach for her again as he waited for her next question. He didn’t wait long.

  “So if it was true, then you did want me to marry you? You said you wanted to ask me that night. You told me on the boat.” Hathor shivered. It might have happened several hundred years in the past, but to her it was only yesterday. Her heart pulled with a curious emotion, one that had not a thing to do with desire.

  “Yes. I meant it then, but you know how things have changed. I’m not that man any longer. I’m what you see. I will not lie or trick you. That man was killed. You saw my human death and what you see before you is all that is left.” Servaes stepped away from the railing. His eyes kept steadily on hers as his hands rose from his sides. He held still, waiting for her to examine him. She did, turning carefully to watch his every move.

  Hathor’s eyes roamed over his deliciously firm body. “You look the same, except for your eyes. They are older. They tell the story of your long days.”

  “I’m not the same. What you see is a shell. I won’t have you fooled into thinking I can be like that again. Don’t imagine you’re with that other man. My body is all that remains of the Servaes who walked with you in the gardens. He was a boy, a fool who didn’t even know what a vampire was.” Servaes chuckled to himself—a slow, ridiculing laugh.

  He dropped his arm, stepping up to her. Before she knew what was happening, he took the empty glass from her loose fingers and set in on the balcony’s ledge. Her eyes darted to it in question.

  When she turned back to him, her face met with his hand. His palm was warm as it cupped her cheek. The pad of his thumb rubbed over her smooth skin.

  “You know what’s going to happen.” There was no embarrassment or hesitation in him. “You cannot deny me or escape it. I will have you. I will possess your body.”

  “I—” She tried to stop him, but couldn’t find the words. “You want my body, my blood, but what of my heart? Do you no longer care anything for that?”

  The idea broke down her spirit, but she couldn’t stop his quest as he touched her. His fingers brushed over her lips, silencing any plea. There was so much pain in his touch, and yet she couldn’t pull away from it. Slowly, he shook his head.

  “No, chéri,” he broke in. “There is nothing you can say to change it. Don’t fight me. If you let yourself, you will enjoy my touch.”

  She nodded, enraptured completely by the spell in his eyes. His words were full of promise. His accent floated around her in temptation. The fog of his words was a palpable mist around her reasoning. Her tingling nerves screamed at her to kiss him, to give herself over to the beast completely. Her limbs begged her to believe him, to hold him and touch him. But her mind wavered, unable to give away the control. She was frightened of the vampire in him. Her heart hammered in her chest, protesting the fact it was so thoroughly ignored by his words. Her eyes unexpectedly welled with tears. She tried to pull away. Her feet wouldn’t move. His puzzled gaze held her captive, as he took in every nuance of her resistance.

  “The maids finished their work today,” she said, desperate to change the subject. “They won’t disturb you again.”

  Servaes continued to study her, drawing closer. He could detect her desire for him in the frantic beating of her heart, her deepened breath. She pulled her eyes away only to get caught back up in his gaze. He held no power over her to make her react to him. Her response was her own, pure and unforced.

  “Are you frightened?” he questioned with sudden insight. He knew she was nervous, but the look he caught filtering briefly in her eyes went beyond apprehension. She was deeply terrified.

  Hathor nodded.

  “Open your mind to me,” Servaes said. “Give me your thoughts. I can take away the fear.”

  “I don’t want you to,” she answered. “I like to feel.”

  “Are you afraid I’m not shaped like human men?” he asked, knowing it to be a natural apprehension she might have. He was a creature after all. She gave him a strange look. “There was a time when innocence wasn’t as rare, but surely, chéri, in this day and age, you have been with a man before.”

  Hathor suddenly laughed. “The thought hadn’t really occurred to me since you were human.” Her smile died. “Unless it grew fangs as well?” She glanced down at his hips.

  He arched a brow. “It is very much the same—only better. Of that I can promise. I won’t hurt you. I won’t be too rough. I will be able to read your body better than any lover in the past. I will be able to give you what you want.”

  Lightly, she said, “I…no.”

  His expression dared her to deny him.

  “I was engaged to a man, well, boy really. We grew up near each other and dated throughout high school. My parents loved him, but I don’t know that I ever really did. I think I was with him to please them. He told me he was old fashioned and wanted us to wait until marriage to, well, and so we never did. Then in college I caught him with another man. After that, I did date, but it was never anything to brag about,” Hathor said. Her cheeks stained with pink. Finally, she drew her eyes down to the balcony. “I understand if you want to go find someone else, maybe someone with more experience. If you only do this every couple hundred of years, you’ll want it to be memorable.”

  When her eyes moved back up to look at him, she shrugged delicately and began to back away. She moved toward the bedroom door.

  “I don’t want anyone else, Hathor.” His lips barely moved, but the words were unmistakable. She froze. Coming up behind her, he touched her cheek again. “And you were meant to be with me. I am your destiny.”

  All her life, had she not felt the same thing? Had she not felt something in the distance holding her at bay? Keeping her from seeking out men? It wasn’t like she wore a purity ring or held out for any particular reason. She wasn’t technically a virgin, but fate made sure she was damned near. Though, she hardly counted the two seconds of technical intercourse she’d had with her college ex-boyfriend. The other times she’d come close, fate usually intervened—once with a car crash, several times catching the man with another woman, with another man, a phone call, an interruption, an actual priest knocking insistently on the wrong door. Sure, she masturbated, knew her own body. She might be inexperienced and a little nervous, but she wasn’t dead from the waist down. Thinking on it, she shivered. Was fate holding her for him? Was she his destiny as well?

  Servaes’ mouth came down slowly. His tongue met with her lips, delving over the edge to taste the wine on her tongue. She detected the faint impression of blood on him. His mouth tormented and excited her. Her head told her it was wrong, her body didn’t listen. Tentatively, she raised her hands to rest on his broad shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open as his lips left hers. The brown of his gaze flashed with an eerie light, pulling her in. She wanted him. Her body burned for him. She would never deny him.

  “Is this real or in my head?” she asked. His hands found the gentle curve of her waist. His palm fitted over her hip. The heat of his touch soaked through her black dress. “Because it feels real.”

  “It’s real,” he murmured, “very real—more so than you or I.”

  Hathor moaned as his mouth claimed hers. The sound was stifled, swallowed up into his body. His hands ran over her, boldly caressing her through the thin material. He lifted her up, floating forward as
he kissed her. He brought her fully into the room, lifting his hand over his shoulder to close the balcony doors behind them.

  “I should get…the lights,” Hathor said between kisses. His mouth moved over her chin to her throat. “Ah.”

  Servaes didn’t stop in his exploration, only lifting his fingers to flick the switch from the distance. Then, in a sudden burst, her candles lit on the dresser. Hathor moaned in wonderment. Pleasure rippled through her and she grew dizzy with the scent of him, the feel of his unyielding body pressed firmly along hers.

  The fire of his kisses moved down until he was leaning over the soft curves of her breasts. Hathor arched her back. His strength supported her easily. Her hands lifted unbidden to stroke the length of his hair. It fell around her fingers like a cocoon. She moved her hands over his strong neck, to the broad play of his shoulders, and down the center of his chest. The white linen glided seductively against her palms. She felt the heat of him, the fiery touch of his flesh underneath.

  Servaes’ kisses grew bolder, licking over her skin to taste her. The brush of his fangs skimmed over her flesh, but she was not afraid. They didn’t bite down or hurt her in their dangerous stroking.

  Slowly, his fingers edged up the skirt of her dress, bunching it at her waist. His lips broke free so he could gaze into her eyes. He slowly lifted her off the floor. Her shoes fell from her feet. He kicked his boots off to join hers. They floated back, carried by his will to the soft comforts of her bed. Gently, he lowered her, letting her feet stand on the mattress. Her skirt fell down to cover her once more. Then, staring deeply into her eyes, he urged her to her knees.

  Hathor watched the confident lift of his chest, as she knelt before him. His flat stomach and narrow hips passed by her sight, perfect and unmarred. She touched his waist, stroking over the backs of his thighs, near the bottom curve of his ass. Servaes groaned his approval. Looking up the long length of his body, she saw his desire growing before her.