Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  That day their dreams were again filled with the images of stone runes. Only this time the birds turned black and fell off the stones to the ground over piles of slain corpses. Hathor shivered, waking in the middle of the day to hug Servaes to her chest.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, worried.

  “Just a nightmare.” By slow degrees her breathing calmed, until her chest stilled and she again shut her eyes.

  Servaes held her close, her slender body fragile in his arms. He felt her heart beating regularly against his chest. The even thuds lulled his senses until they again slept.

  When they awoke again at dusk, the dreams hadn’t stopped. Hathor rubbed her tired eyes as she sat up in the coffin. Servaes went to check the door. Still, the heavy oak didn’t move.

  He didn’t mention it as he turned to her, watching her crawl from the coffin. Her bare feet padded across the dark floor. He watched in amusement as she lifted her hand to the fireplace. The fire didn’t light. She pursed her lips together and tried again.

  “Fire,” he heard her whisper.

  Servaes chuckled. He waited for her to lift her hand before motioning behind her. The fire lit. Hathor gasped, spinning to him with pride. When she saw his hand lowering, she shook her head in mock anger. “Very funny, monsieur.”

  “So what would you like to do today?” Servaes shrugged. When Hathor smiled playfully, he held up his hand, “Besides that.”

  Hathor rolled her eyes heavenward. “You had better be careful or I might start to take offense at your rejection.”

  “Hathor—”

  “I’m sorry if I woke you last night,” she interjected to keep him from responding. “I just keep having the same dream.”

  “I know.” His face was blank. He came forward and sat on the chair she left by the fire. He stretched his legs lazily in front of him. “We had the same dream.”

  “Why would you dream about my tattoo?” she asked, curious. Hathor paced restlessly behind his turned head, hopping on one foot and then the other in frolicsome self-amusement.

  “Your what?” he questioned a bit sharply. Hathor paused, moving to study the back of his head.

  “Please, after everything we’ve been through, and are going through, you’re not going to get mad about that, are you? I didn’t even hide the fact from my parents.” Hathor wrinkled her nose in defiance.

  “You jest,” Servaes asserted.

  “No,” Hathor put forth mildly. “I told them before I went to the tattoo parlor. My father wasn’t happy about it, but what could he do? I was of age.”

  “I’ve seen you,” he paused to glance around the chair. His gaze roamed rakishly over her form. A smile lingered on his face at the memory. Hathor took a step back at his lecherous perusal. His body pulsed with desire, as he added, “All of you. I would remember a tattoo on that pretty flesh of yours.”

  “It’s on my back hip,” she smirked. “But you must not have looked there. You’re always too busy staring at my front.”

  As if to prove her point, Servaes’ eyes darted up from her chest. He gave her an unabashed shrug and a come-hither smile. Tapping his fangs thoughtfully with his tongue, he suggested, “Come, let me see it now.”

  “No.” Hathor denied him, moving away. Servaes stood in an easy movement. He eyed her like a stalking beast. Hathor wasn’t scared. “You just want to see me naked again.”

  “Oui,” he admitted, forgetting himself. “Take off your clothes.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. We have to behave, don’t you remember?” Hathor scolded.

  “Technically, according to our laws, you belong to me until you’re ready to be out on your own, which I’ll decide for you. Since I made you, you must follow my instructions completely.”

  “Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before.” She grinned, shivering at the look in his eyes. “I don’t know if I trust you to teach me the laws. Next you’ll be telling me that after we leave here, I’ll have to be in your bed every night.”

  “Oui, it’s unfortunate and true.” His devilishly handsome eyes began to glow with a naughty light. “Don’t make me turn you in to the council.”

  “I’m beginning to believe there is no council. It’s like the threat you old ones use on us young ones to make us behave.” Hathor placed her hands nonchalantly on her hips. “Speaking of which, what will the others say when they see you shacked up with one as fresh as me?”

  “They will be envious.” Then stiffening, he questioned, “shacked up?”

  Hathor giggled at his confusion. “I see there are some things I can teach you. It means we live together.”

  “Many people live together. Are they all shacked?” The devilish light never left his eyes.

  “Only people who are living together and who share a bed but aren’t married.” Hathor looked down at her hands.

  “That is the second time you have mentioned this marriage subject,” Servaes observed.

  “I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just a coincidence.”

  Hathor bit her lip, refusing to think about it. Eternity was a long time without the sanctity of marriage. Although, Hathor knew it was strange, in light of everything that had happened to her, to dwell on it.

  I am no longer human and have a lot to learn about my new kind, she reminded herself.

  Servaes hummed thoughtfully, but said nothing.

  With a kittenish toss of her head, Hathor changed the subject with ease. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who said we had to behave, and you’re not behaving.”

  “All I know is I have yet to crave blood, but my body burns with a hunger so deep that if I don’t see that little tattoo of yours soon, I’ll surely explode.” He glanced down to his midsection, drawing her attention to his unmistakable erection.

  “Fine, I’ll show you the tattoo, but nothing else. Deal?”

  “Argh,” Servaes growled.

  Hathor smiled. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

  She slowly moved toward him. His eyes fastened on her hips as she moved. Her blue jeans hugged snugly to the curves. Slowly, her fingers found the button at her waist. She undid the binding material, moving the zipper down slowly to expose her lace panties. Tilting his head, he watched hungrily as she turned. Lifting up her T-shirt, Hathor exposed her back hip to him and pulled down her jeans just enough to expose the top of her buttocks.

  Sure enough, there was a tattoo. Servaes stiffened. He leaned over to get closer to it, falling to his knees. Hathor giggled as he grabbed her hips. Narrowing his eyes, he leaned into her to study the simple black design.

  “It’s not that interesting—” Hathor began.

  “Why didn’t you show this to me?”

  “What?” Hathor tried to move. His firm hand on her hips stopped her. Lightly, he touched her back, tracing over the hieroglyphic of the bird. “You can’t tell me you are seriously upset by it.”

  Servaes didn’t answer, unable to believe what he was seeing.

  “Servaes?” Hathor finally managed to pull away from him. She buttoned her jeans as she backed away from his serious expression. “What is it?”

  “When did you get that?”

  “When I was in high school, I had just turned eighteen.”

  “Why did you pick that design?” He stared at her hips, as if he could still see it on her back.

  “It’s the old Egyptian symbol for my name. I don’t know. It sounded like a neat idea at the time. Really, it’s no big deal. Almost everyone has at least a little one these days. I mean, I know when you were human only sailors and tribesmen had them, but today it is acceptable in most circles.”

  “It’s not the tattoo.” His eyes turned almost black. “It’s the symbol.”

  “What of it?” she inquired, frightened by his sudden change in mood.

  “When you turned,” he asked slowly, “did you see anything? A vision of some sort?”

  “No. I only saw you, your life, my life.”
/>   Servaes shook his head, confused. He slowly rose to his feet. “You should’ve had a vision. Every vampire does. Something isn’t right. I’m still not hungry, and you should’ve been raving mad with bloodlust by now. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What does this have to do with my symbol?”

  “It’s what I saw when I turned,” he whispered. “It’s the same as in our dreams. Something is happening here, and I don’t know what it is.”

  “Maybe it’s nothing.” Hathor reached out for him. He wouldn’t be comforted.

  “I gave you a lot of my blood. I can feel it in you. I can tell you’re changed. I can see it inside your thoughts, by the firmness of your body. But it’s almost like you have not changed completely.”

  “Maybe your blood was old. You’ve never used it. Maybe it just takes longer,” she offered. “And maybe the symbol just confirms I am meant to stay with you.”

  “I felt your pain as you died. I smell the death on your skin. But it was almost like I died that night too. I felt the change in myself.” Servaes moved back to his chair, falling into the cushion. “We aren’t the same as before.”

  “Servaes, I…” Sighing, she slumped her shoulders some as she walked over to him. “I can’t help you with this. I feel different, stronger. I feel that I’m dead. I can hold my breath forever, and it doesn’t hurt. It’s hard to explain, but I’m sure you understand.”

  “Oui, mademoiselle,” he whispered. He sensed her concern and worry and wished to erase it from her pretty face. Stroking her soft cheek, he sighed. “Let us think of something to do, before we tempt fate too much. I will teach you about your new powers, but I think you should conserve your energies.”

  “Can you teach me how to light the fire without a match?”

  Servaes studied her face, beautiful and secure next to him. She trusted him completely to take care of her. He stared at her glowing eyes—purple swimming within the ocean of blue. He smoothed the rich red-brown locks back from her pale, flawless skin. Gradually, he nodded. Raising his hand over his shoulder, he smothered the fire with little effort.

  “Show off,” she mused. Servaes chuckled.

  “The trick to fire,” he began, turning her around with him easily, “is to think of fire.”

  Servaes turned Hathor to the fireplace. He came up to her back. His body pressed closely to hers. Then, with a motion of his hand, the fire lit up. With another motion, it died.

  “Simple,” he stated. “You try.”

  Hathor lifted her hand, waving it in the air. All she received was a spark, not the great blaze she envisioned.

  “It will come.” His lips brushed her neck. Hathor shivered. “Try again.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  “They’re both still there.” Ginger lowered her hand from the brick wall only to hit it viciously in her anger. The skin on her knuckles scraped off at the tirade only to heal instantly. “They can’t survive much longer. She should be dead!”

  Vincent and Lamar glanced at each other. Just then, they detected laughter on the other side of the blockade. Ginger growled in outrage, storming away before they could answer her.

  “Maybe they are eating rats?” Lamar suggested, putting his hands on the barricade. Behind him water dripped from the ceiling, puddling on the ground in even splashes. He closed his eyes, doing his best to concentrate his thoughts. He felt the couple moving behind the thick stone, very much alive. His ears strained for the sound of rodents, hoping to prove his point and solve the mystery.

  “I don’t hear rats.” Vincent laid his hand on the rock, pretending to do the same. His impression of them was indistinct and unfocused.

  “That’s because they ate them,” Lamar hissed, pretentiously. The vampires’ eyes met and locked in silent battle.

  “The rodents are gone now. They will turn on each other soon,” Vincent predicted. His eyes turned black with hatred. “I hope Hathor wins, though it’s unlikely. I should like to step in to teach her about our kind.”

  “How do you know she would choose you?” Lamar asked in disgust, turning to flee down the passageway to hunt. “She might choose me.”

  “I have tasted her twice,” Vincent bragged. He followed Lamar into the rain-soaked night. Lamar sped up, trying to ignore his swaggering friend. Vincent refused to be disregarded. “If she doesn’t, I’ll show her how painful an existence ours can be. Perhaps I’ll make her my eternal slave.”

  “You couldn’t enslave a fly,” Lamar hissed, speeding up into the night. He sensed a drunk passed out in an alleyway and thought about scaring the man for a bit of fun. He tried to lose Vincent by snaking erratically through the streets. The other vampire stayed close on his trail.

  “Could so!” Vincent protested, not about to be outdone. He turned a sharp corner, his eyes focused on Lamar’s back. As they sped, his unrelenting objections were lost into the blurring movement of the night.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The hours faded and blended, turning into days, molding into a full week. Still, Servaes and Hathor stayed within the bedchamber, trapped. Each night Ginger would lead Vincent and Lamar to the door, growing outraged to hear them still alive within. No sounds of torture came from the room as she listened.

  Ginger screeched, as she flung her fist against the bricks in wild fury. Every night, her hands became bloodied and raw. Pushing them to her sides, she ignored the pain as she healed herself. “There is no way they have lasted this long without help. I want them dead. Suffering. I want them to feel pain!”

  Vincent and Lamar watched her frantic ranting, as she cursed death upon the two within the chamber. Then, after Ginger left, they followed her out into the night to hunt.

  Within the quiet sanctuary, Servaes read to Hathor from some of the volumes he had collected. Most of them were in his native tongue, although some were in other languages she didn’t understand—German, Spanish, Slavic. When he didn’t read, he taught her about her powers, simple tricks that didn’t take up much of her strength. But as the days wore on and neither of them weakened from lack of blood, Servaes grew bolder in his teachings.

  Hathor quickly mastered many of the skills—invisibility to humans and other vampires, mind reading, mind control—though she had little chance to perfect them since she couldn’t control her teacher and there were no humans to try them on. Each day, her mind grew stronger, her body more fine-tuned and her skin paler. And each day, Servaes felt the strangeness within him stir and grow.

  “I’m tired of making myself disappear. I want to make fire,” she grumbled. She lifted her hand to the fireplace, thinking of fire. Motioning her hand, she tried to smother the flames. They sputtered and continued to burn. “Why can’t I get it?”

  “You’re trying too hard,” Servaes answered, looking up from the book he read quietly.

  He was used to the solitude and endless hours, so he wasn’t as disturbed by them as she was. Hathor was fidgety. To her, a week locked up in one room was a long time, especially with so many powers growing in her body. He well imagined her brain bursting to try them for real.

  “How long do you think they will leave us in here?” she asked, moving restlessly around the bearskin rug in circles. “Maybe we should try to tunnel out.”

  Servaes chuckled. It wasn’t the first time she mentioned the idea.

  “How can you ignore that tapping?” Going to the door, she pressed her ear against it. “What are they doing out there? I hear Ginger muttering. I know she’s there.”

  “They are trying to drive you into madness,” he answered. “I told you, focus your thoughts away from the noises they make.”

  Hathor pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. Already they tried moving it together to no avail. The wood was too thick, reinforced with unbendable steel. Servaes had informed her it was made by vampiric craftsmen and would be unbreakable.

  “I think she left,” Hathor said. “The noise stopped.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “What do you think is goi
ng to happen?”

  “My guess is Ginger will grow enraged that at least one of us isn’t dead. She’ll tear through the wall and confront us. She has quite a temper.”

  Hathor leaned against the door, tired from trying to open it. They felt Ginger’s restless presence each night at dusk. The vampiress’ lackeys were always with her.

  Servaes perceived his powers begin to weaken slightly, like they did when he didn’t drink blood on a regular basis. After the fourth day his body mellowed, plateaued in a state of contented rest.

  “We could trick her,” Hathor said suddenly, coming forward. “When she comes to the door, act like you have eaten me, and I’ll think of nothing.”

  Servaes watched her, doubtful. His eyes roamed over her body. The past week might not have been hard on his mind, but his libido felt differently. Sleeping next to her each night, not being able to touch her as she nestled next to him, was driving him to severe distraction. Biting his lip, he ran his tongue over the tip of his fang thoughtfully.

  Hathor turned to the fire, mumbling and motioning her hand. The orange glow licked over her body, outlining the slender form. Her bare feet curled in the bearskin rug once again as she began her circular travels.

  Absently, Servaes asked, “Is it so bad being trapped with me? It’s only been a week. How will you feel after the first hundred years?”

  The idea brought him up short. He’d been trying not to think about it. He was so happy with her, content to sit and read to her, content to spend all his time next to her. But as the nights wore on, she didn’t speak of loving him. She didn’t speak of their eternity together. So he didn’t speak of it either. Did she regret her decision already? Servaes waited nervously when she didn’t answer. He set his book aside and sat up.