Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Yea, m’lady,” Jirí whispered, convinced she wouldn’t escape. “It wouldst be very pointless for you to try.”

  Hathor attempted to look peeved at his constant invasion into her thoughts. “Jackass.”

  Throwing back his head, Jirí laughed heartily. “I have been called worse. Next time think of a better insult.”

  “Stay out of my head.”

  “Stop thinking so loud.” The vampire strolled to the hotel’s balcony, a smile lining his mysterious lips. His hands threaded leisurely behind his back, and he motioned his head for the door to slide open. The door obeyed, and the cool night breeze ruffled Jirí’s clothing. Spinning deliberately on his heels, he moved to look at her once more. “Order food if you like, but tell no one—”

  “Who would believe me, m’lord?” Hathor quipped, a wry span to her countenance. “The bellhop? Should I tell him I’m kidnapped by vampires and ask him to wait here so he can defend my honor against you? And if you think me foolish enough to believe I could run and hide from all of you, you can’t read minds very well. Tell me, where should I go? A church? I am sure it would do no good.”

  “Quite true,” he answered, unconcerned, though he hid a smile at her quick sarcastic wit.

  For a moment, Hathor saw his eyes soften. She suddenly realized he was giving her a small chance. He left her alone to see if Servaes would come and get her. Jirí’s mouth curled slightly as she stared at him. Hathor gulped at the unexpected kindness and looked to the floor in confusion.

  Quietly, Jirí stated, “I will be back. Do what you will, but do not leave this room.”

  “Why…” Hathor began, but when she glanced up to look at him, he was gone. Weakly, she finished, “would you help me?”

  With a heavy sigh, she turned to look around the mauve-colored suite. The beauty of the rich carpets and high ceilings was lost on her. Going to the window, she saw the Thames, a long bridge, the expanse of London. Out on the streets were millions of people with no idea of what really went on in the city at night. She used to be one of them, and part of her wished she could be one of them again.

  “Then I wouldn’t have Servaes.” Despite her desperate state, she felt a smile tug at her heart. If she never saw him again, that one night with him would’ve been worth it. Everything—the journey into the past, the pain of death, and the pain of losing him—would be worth it. For that memory would be with her.

  “You love him.”

  Hathor stiffened before whirling to the side. The night breeze clung to her skin, whipping at her stained T-shirt. Her heart pounded fearfully, though she knew she should’ve been getting used to such quick intrusions into her solitude. It seemed the entire vampire race had forgotten how to knock.

  Before her, hidden by the folds of a dark green cloak, stood a creature—one she was sure never to have met. Immediately, she stumbled back from him, recoiling from the power he had over her. She couldn’t see his face beneath the hood of his cloak as it fell forward, but she felt him watching her, reading her. He was old—older than Servaes, perhaps even older than Jirí. She could sense it.

  “Yea, child,” the creature said. His voice cracked wearily as if he hardly used it, and the accent was old and worn. A thin hand reached forward, the skin sunken to show the structure of the creature’s bones. An old ring graced the bony pinkie of his finger, glittering with a beautiful emerald, and slipping around from the lack of cushioning skin. He compelled Hathor to take his hand in hers. She did, unable to stop herself, though she tried. Slowly, the being pulled her forward and she felt him studying her, smelling her. “I am older than both.”

  “How is it you and Jirí can read me when no one else can?” Her mind was her own, but her body was under his control, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The pale hand held firmly to hers, though the grasp of it was light. He lifted his other arm to stroke his fingers over her soft cheek. They were like an ice cube to her skin. As he leaned forward, Hathor perceived a glimpse of tinted eyes set deep within the sockets of his sunken eyes. Moonlight filtered briefly over the face of a skeleton with hollow flesh. She knew that, like all of the vampires, he would be handsome once his old face filled with life. But there was something else to him. The creature was more self-possessed than the others were. As if he held more power than they did.

  “Hope,” he answered darkly, at last. “I desire hope.”

  “Hope?” she questioned, utterly confused, completely enthralled.

  The enigmatic stranger pulled her into his chest with his will. His arm stretched out, holding her still like the beginning of an intimate dance. A steady, thin hand wound about her waist, the other pulled to the side. The long folds of his cloak wrapped around her, enveloping her in a sensual caress until she felt the bony length of him pressed into her. She detected the mustiness of the grave on him, the potent fragrance of decay and aged death. She perceived the muscles of his chest, recessed ever so slightly beneath his tunic shirt. His heartbeat was weak. His head leaned down to brush over her neck with thin, pulled lips. Lightly, he whispered, “Forgive me, child. Forgive me. I must drink.”

  Hathor felt his mouth, devoid of warm breath, lowering down to her skin. She felt the brush of fangs. Her mind screamed at him to stop, but her mouth couldn’t move. Her arms lifted to encircle his neck, holding still once she returned the skeletal embrace, unable to fight him, almost feeling eager. His teeth pierced her flesh. She felt them inside of her, but his biting kiss didn’t hurt as the others had. There was pleasure in it, pure, mind-reeling satisfaction. Her eyes closed as she moaned lightly. Her weakened body collapsed completely against him, complacent to his will.

  The vampire drank deeply from her, sating his hunger, reclaiming much of his flesh at the taste of her. Then, pulling away, he studied her still face along his shoulder. She had fallen asleep in his arms. His eyes closed, his revived chin resting near her temple. He held her in his cloaked arms. Shaking his head, he murmured into her hair, “Forgive me, child. Forgive me.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Servaes searched through the night for his old friend. Jirí’s scent couldn’t be detected on the wind, but Servaes knew it was quite possible he was already gone. If Jirí chose to disappear, there would be no way of finding him.

  He fed once at dusk, because he had to. It was a woman who slipped drugs to school children, getting them hooked young before they knew what they were doing. The awful taste of humanity stung his tongue. He hated it. The one thing of worth that he’d found in all his years was Hathor. He wouldn’t take that one blessing away from the human world. He wouldn’t change the one decent thing he’d found in his eternal hell, no matter how much he wanted to be with her—that was, if he was ever given the chance to see her again.

  He opened his heart and his mind, trying to listen for her. He couldn’t detect her. With hope in his chest, he went to Kennington House, to the gardens. He walked along the path at a human’s pace, reaching out with his feelings for her. She was not there. But someone else was.

  “Are you looking for Hathor?”

  Servaes turned. The voice was old, but not his old—human old. He met with the kind eyes of an elderly woman. She gave him a compassionate smile, unafraid. Her sad eyes blinked heavily.

  “You are Servaes, are you not?” the woman inquired. She hugged a pink silk robe around her waist. On her feet were fluffy pink slippers. “I saw you walking around. I hoped it was Hathor.”

  “Then she is not here?” he asked politely.

  “No,” the woman said. “She went looking for you. I had hoped she found you.”

  “Me? How do you know it is me she was searching for?”

  “You’re Servaes, aren’t you? Her vampire?” Her eyes traveled over his old clothing meaningfully. Servaes nodded, surprised by the woman’s easy acceptance. “I knew you were. I could tell the minute I looked at you.”

  As Servaes studied her, he saw faint traces of Hathor in the woman’s features. Smiling kindly, he said,
“You must be her aunt, Georgie. She has told me of you.”

  “Come inside, boy.” The old woman inclined her head, turning around on the pathway. She began to walk, not stopping to see if he listened.

  Servaes chuckled, amused at having been called like a child. He easily glided to her, taking up her arm. He could sense the pain in her movements.

  “Allow me,” he said.

  “Oh,” Georgia gasped as Servaes flitted across the lawn to deposit her on the front step of her house. She shook her head in wonder, trying to catch her breath. Frowning a bit, she said, “You young people, always in a hurry.”

  “I am older than you.” Servaes chuckled wryly in amusement.

  “Oh yeah?” Georgia returned airily. Wiggling a creased finger, she answered, “Talk to me when you have wrinkles, vampire. You may have lived many years, but you are still a kid compared to me. Now, come in out of the dark night. I don’t suppose you can catch your death, but I sure can.”

  Servaes followed her inside. He lifted his hand, shutting the door without touching it. Georgia shook her head with a sigh.

  “I was praying you were Hathor. I’ve been worried about her. Have you seen her?” Georgia asked hopefully. When she saw the look on his pale face, she frowned. “No, I suppose not. Tell me, do you know? Has something happened?”

  “Mayhap. I believe one of my kind has taken her,” Servaes said.

  Georgia nodded, clearly appreciating the candid honesty. She patted her hands nervously together. “Do you love her?”

  Servaes studied the woman carefully. He didn’t know how to answer.

  “You do. I can feel it in you,” she stated, her eyes flashing with secrets. “Well, I’d offer you some coffee, but I don’t think you’d like it.”

  Servaes nodded. He continued to stare at her, fixed between amazement and awe. Georgia ignored his rude silence.

  “Hathor did say you were a handsome boy,” Georgia admitted in a matter-of-fact tone. “I see she was right. You’ll find her, won’t you? You’ll take care of her?”

  “I will send her away where no one will hurt her. If she comes here, I want you to tell her to go back to America. It is for the best if she leaves London immediately.” Servaes’ voice was quiet, his lips hardly moved.

  “She left looking for you,” Georgia said. “Don’t you think you should at least talk to her? She has gone to an awful lot of trouble trying to find you.”

  “She shouldn’t have.” Servaes turned to leave. “Just tell her to go. Tell her it will be safer in America for her.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?” Georgia asked, stopping him. “If someone as powerful as your kind is after her, America will not save her.”

  Servaes bowed his head at the woman’s perception. She couldn’t read his worries, but she was right. If the vampire council wanted her dead, there was nowhere on the planet she could hide. It was possible she was already within their grasp.

  “She wants to be with you,” Georgia persisted when he didn’t leave.

  “Then she is a fool,” he said in return. “My life is cursed.”

  “She has told me of your deeds.” Georgia cautiously stepped forward. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. The cold of his body sent a chill over her. Leaning to the side to study his face through the trailing length of his dark brown hair, she said, “There is purpose to everything. You were made for a reason. You love her for a reason. Don’t question so much. Go to her and take her to be with you. It will work out.”

  “So much faith,” Servaes mused, amazed. He lifted a hand to her weathered cheek. He felt her mortal age in his palm.

  “You should have some also,” Georgia said. “Have faith in your heart. Do what it tells you. Life is too short, even your life, I suspect. She was meant to be with you. She told me nearly everything. She has gone through time for you. She has gone freely into the mouth of hell and possibly death—for you. She loves you.”

  “Hathor does not know, does she?” Servaes smiled a sad smile. Brushing the old woman’s cheek, he lifted his finger to his lips to taste her single tear. Biting into his fingertip, he drew the bloodied tip to her lips until they were stained a very moist red. “Drink this.”

  Georgia stood transfixed. He wiped the blood over her mouth.

  “This single drop will take away the cancer and the pain,” he continued.

  Georgia’s eyes filled with tears. Again, he drew his hand over her cheek tenderly as he watched her swallow his gift. The backs of his fingers glided over her thinned hair. He felt the immense pain the woman was in. She never let it show, not wanting anyone to fuss over her.

  Suddenly, Georgia wrapped her arms around him. Servaes stiffened at the unexpected gesture. He could sense her body recovering, growing with strength. Leaning her head to his broad chest, she rushed, “Thank you, Servaes. You’re a good boy. Don’t you ever doubt it.”

  Servaes patted her cheek, resting his fingers along her neck before drawing her away from him. “Go up and rest. You will feel tired for a few days. Do not fear. It is my blood warring with the disease inside of you. When my blood wins, you will feel better.”

  “Promise me you will find her,” Georgia whispered, trying to hold back her tears of worry and gratitude.

  “If it is within my power I will find her,” he promised. Within a human second he was gone, disappearing into a fine mist that swirled out beyond the window.

  Georgia gasped at the abruptness of his departure. She touched her lips, drawing a finger away stained with a trace of blood. Sticking the last bit on her tongue, she sucked the gift from her finger. She went to the window to stare out into the darkness.

  “Go to her, boy,” Georgia whispered. “Find her.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Jirí growled. He tore up the side of his hotel, over the balcony and through the suite searching for Hathor. She was nowhere. He sensed the lingering effects of a presence that was not Servaes’. The smell was too old to be his son, but was too faint to detect whom. Someone had taken Hathor.

  Abruptly, he stopped. He appeared impassive as he walked to the balcony. He looked out over the city, searching for Servaes with his senses. He detected him traveling alone through the night. Nodding his head, he somehow knew that Servaes would find her. Smiling, Jirí decided to give his son the one night with her, before he set out to reclaim the human woman and bring her before the council.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  A fire burned brightly in the large, old fireplace of the bedchamber. Its soft melody echoed throughout the hollow room, cascading a warm orange glow over the gray stones, which were covered with thick velvet drapes. The long blue material flowed beautifully from ceiling to floor, spilling forth like a pool of water on the hard stone.

  Covering the floor in front of the fireplace was a bear rug, its brown fur soft and inviting. In place of a regular bed rested a coffin, made from brushed steel, its wide base large enough to fit two people easily within its deep core. Along the wall were a dressing table, a wardrobe and a large, high-backed chair with a padded cushion seat of matching velvet.

  Hathor opened her eyes. She felt the press of fur beneath her limbs. The softness of it tickled the back of her neck, sending chills over her spine. Weakly, she touched the side of her throat. She felt the scratch of dried blood against her fingers. As she sat up, she wove back and forth, her attention drawn to the flames.

  “Hathor?”

  Hathor stiffened, but endeavored to smile when she saw Servaes’ handsome face. Her lids drooped over her eyes, forcing her to peek at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Servaes,” she whispered.

  Servaes looked at her pale face, staring strangely at him from the middle of his rug. It was like a dream—her in his room. There was no way she could’ve found it on her own. Looking around him, he couldn’t sense anyone else’s presence.

  “Who…?” Suddenly, he frowned. He saw her body sway as she fell over to her side. He detected the two perfect holes in her s
hirt over her breast, stained lightly red and two more matching holes on her jeans near her thigh. The soft brownish-red tresses of her hair clung to her neck, revealing two more very distinct punctures hidden there. Servaes was immediately by her side, gathering her up into his strong arms. She smiled gratefully, unable to look at him.

  “Damn it, Hathor,” he cursed. His eyes searched hers as she draped in his arms. “Who did this to you?”

  “I don’t,” she mumbled incoherently. “Jirí took…”

  “Hathor,” Servaes said firmly to get her attention. His tone neared panic. He cursed again, this time in several languages. Biting his wrist, he lifted it to her. He let a few drops pass her lips until her eyes opened once more.

  Hathor moaned as if awakening from a sweet dream. Her clouded eyes found his. She parted her lips to speak, but thought better of it and leaned up to press her lips against his instead. Servaes groaned, wrapping her instantly in his solid embrace.

  There were no words between them as Servaes laid her back on the soft fur. Hathor raised her arms to him, pulling him down to kiss her. Her fingers found the nape of his neck, hidden beneath the warm linen of his shirt. She lifted herself up to meet his inviting hold. His hand found her back. Gently, he rolled next to her on the floor.

  Servaes caressed the length of her. His unhurried touch explored her every curve. The flames glowed, haloing his perfect hair. His firm mouth only left hers to trail kisses over her face and throat.

  A moan escaped her as his hands found the flesh at her side, inching her shirt up as he explored her flat stomach. She sat up on the fur, reaching to pull her shirt off her shoulders. Then, she tugged his shirt over his head. The stormy gaze of her eyes studied all of him. A smile lit her features as she went into his arms. Servaes laid her on her back, stripping her completely with his supernatural speed. Within the next instant, he too was naked, molded to the length of her waiting body. His eyes glanced over her breasts and thighs to make sure she was unharmed by the bites she’d received. He knew they were his fault, albeit indirectly. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t stay away from her.