"I know you can do nothing without Kristian's permission. Didn't he send you here to look for Karl?"
The vampire blinked at her. "Not to look for him as such. But to put pressure on him… "
"By hurting Fleur?"
"By showing him there's nowhere he can hide and no corner of his life he can keep secret from his master."
Unexpectedly she felt tears locking her mouth. She swallowed them. "Then you should know you are wasting your time. Karl has gone back to Kristian. So there's no reason for you to be here."
A smile touched Stefan's bone-china face. "I can think of one very good reason. I understand you are Karl's friend, despite the fact you clearly know he is a drinker of blood, like us. And it seems he has told you a great deal that Kristian would rather you did not know… "
"Don't touch me!" Charlotte took a step back, realised Niklas was right behind her.
"Not afraid, Charlotte?" Stefan said sweetly. "I thought you liked vampires."
She turned, meaning to run—but they moved faster than thought to seize her, four arms binding her so tight all her breath was squeezed from her. Their hands were bonds of rock, and the sudden certainty of death petrified her. Suffocating, she felt the steel touch of fangs on her neck and waited for the stab of pain…
A voice cut in sharply, "Let her go, Stefan."
Suddenly she could breathe again. She almost fell as they released her, but Stefan caught her—a gentle action at odds with the violence he had just shown her. Then she saw Karl in the shadows, his silhouette blending with those of leaves against the indigo panes of glass. He came towards her, received her in his arms as she ran to meet him. "Charlotte, Charlotte," he said. Then to Stefan, "If you ever touch her again, or allow Niklas to—I'll destroy you."
Stefan did not look cowed or even resentful. His face seemed too sweet for an evil thought ever to have crossed it. He opened his hands to Karl. "It's your responsibility, then, that you have told her too much. I shall say nothing to our master; but you know the dangers of caring for humans. Don't blame us for the knots in which you have tied yourself." As Stefan spoke, Niklas's serenely empty expression did not change and he showed no awareness of what was happening.
"It's Kristian I blame for everything," said Karl, "as you should, my friend." He kissed Charlotte's forehead and said, "Wait here a few moments."
She watched him take Stefan and Niklas to the edge of the conservatory. She could hear them whispering but she could not hear what they were saying. Then there was a draught, the click of an outer door opening and closing, and Karl came back on his own.
"It's all right, I've persuaded them to go," he said. "I had no idea Fleur was in danger, that Kristian would go to such personal lengths to persecute me. What were you thinking of, trying to confront them? There are worse creatures, and I have no quarrel with them—but all vampires are potentially lethal to humans. You took a terrible risk."
"What else could I do? You weren't here!" she exclaimed. Tremors of shock and relief went through her as she explained what had happened that day. "They've been feeding on Fleur and Clive for at least a month." She waved a hand at the canvasses, all her anxiety twisting into rage. "Look, look at these dreadful things that are in Fleur's mind. I had to try to make them leave. I waited for you this morning, I saw you walk away with someone else! Oh God, I thought you weren't coming back! Who was that woman, who was she?"
As if sensing his touch would not calm her, Karl stood apart, watching her with shadowed eyes that still dissolved her. Even through her anger it was an ache, wanting to feel his arms round her, wanting to hurt him and hold him at the same time. Love, obsession, whatever this feeling was she could not conquer it; it took only one touch of his hand to start it all again. She had no choice but to give herself up to it completely. Softly, Karl answered, "It was Ilona."
"Your daughter?" She was stunned. "But she looked the same age as you—from a distance, at least."
"Did you expect her to be a little girl? I told you she was in her twenties when… "
"I know, but actually seeing it was something different," said Charlotte, subdued. "Ilona… it sounds strange, but I could never quite believe she was real."
Karl's eyes were sad and he did not look directly at her. "You are very angry with me, dearest, and with good reason. Let me explain. It was Stefan I wanted to see this morning; he is often in London, though I had no idea he was here. I could not find him. When I came to meet you, Ilona appeared and stopped me; I could hardly bring her to you, so all I could do was to take her away. The rest of the day I have been talking to her and Pierre… " His shoulders rose and fell minimally, as if the talks had been fruitless. "And the truth is, I almost did not come back to you at all. I thought you would have gone home by now, but I couldn't resist the temptation to come past Fleur's house and make sure. When I sensed vampires inside, I had no choice but to come in. Is there some reason why your family have not taken you home?"
"You should know better than to ask that," she said thinly.
"You haven't contacted them? Well, if I condemn you for that, I condemn myself. I should have said goodbye, and meant it."
"But what did Ilona want?" Even knowing their relationship, Charlotte could not suppress a spasm of jealousy. "I thought she wouldn't speak to you."
"It is quite a rare event," said Karl. "But Pierre had seen her, and told her I intended to go to Kristian. She's angry; even after the way he's mistreated her, his castle is still her home and she does not want me there. So she came to tell me that if I went back, she would leave Kristian and neither of us would ever see her again."
"Would that be a bad thing?" Charlotte spoke sharply, before she could stop herself.
Karl gave her a dark look. "Don't envy her. The hatred she feels for me must be bitterly painful—as is the love I feel for her. But the fact that I love her does not mean I love you any less."
She felt a little ashamed. "So—has she made you change your mind?"
"Nothing has changed," he said, pinching out the faint glimmer of hope. "I have to go away, Charlotte. You know that. As long as I stay there will be Stefan and Pierre and Ilona to offer you and your family danger… but when I leave, they'll all go with me."
She was quiet, biting her lip until she tasted the metal sting of blood. "And I will never see you again. Am I no more to you than Madeleine was? Can you just leave me and forget?"
"There is no other solution." He avoided her gaze, but there was such misery in his face that she almost cried out.
"There must be! Karl, I can't bear it! You asked me to be sure of what was in my heart—but the only thing of which I am absolutely certain is that I want to stay with you." She made to embrace him, stopped herself. "I know we can't always have what we want," she added bitterly.
He took her hands and would not release her when she tried to pull away. "Charlotte, you don't belong with me. You belong with your family and friends. I would not wish it on you to stay with me, to deprive you of the normal life that is yours by right." She stared at him. "Deprive? What is there left for me when I go back? You can't really think I could marry someone else and be happy, can you? How could I even contemplate looking at another man, after you? No one, no one could ever compare! All that remains for me is to stay at home and be a continual source of disappointment to Father, because I'm not the person he really needs. Anne and David will be there, it's true, but they'll have their own life… Karl, can't you see that you are the only thing that matters to me now? You've made everything else seem meaningless!"
She did not mean it to be an accusation, but it was. His eyes were so rarely anything but tranquil that the anguish in them cut right through her.
"Yes, I have been cruel to you. I was far kinder to Madeleine, simply because I do not love her. Perhaps this pain was inevitable from the moment we first met. I've already made it worse than it need have been, by being unable to let you go. But now I must. I won't promise that you will get over it, liebchen, because I know
you probably won't. Nor will I. But this is the least painful way."
"I don't see how it could possibly be worse," she whispered. Tears clawed at her eyes. "Tell me."
"Yes! I want you to understand!" he said with sudden intensity. "Ask yourself what would happen if we stayed together! Leaving aside the guilt you have suffered since I gave you the choice of staying or leaving—it would be far worse for both of us. I described the anguish of watching my family growing older, suffering every wound that mortality can inflict. It was one of the main reasons I have distanced myself from mortals, deluded myself that I could not fall victim to love. I could not bear to go through that pain again, watching you grow old and die. Don't think I would cease to care for you; unlike humans my nature is not fickle, my emotions not dulled by time. To lose you, however slowly, would be the pain…
"But it's nothing, Charlotte, to what you would suffer. How do you feel, knowing that I must prey upon humans to live, that my bite will bring them illness, madness, even death? I wonder how long the love of a sensitive and Christian soul can survive that knowledge. Have you any idea? No. But you would come to hate me eventually—or yourself, which would be worse. Our love has no future. None!"
She was utterly stunned by his words. The truth of them was a dazzling, vitriolic light that she could not bear.
He added bitterly, "Well, have I not treated you in just the way you would expect of a vampire? You may be physically unharmed—just—but I seem to have drained your life of any prospect of happiness."
"God, don't say any more!" She felt devastated beyond weeping.
"But I don't want to spare you anything," he said. "There's a question you have never asked me, but I can't believe it's never been in your mind. Do you want to know whether I could make you like myself? A vampire."
"Yes—I thought of it—I daren't ask."
"The answer is no."
"Why not?" she whispered.
"Many reasons. It carries too much risk, Charlotte. You would have to die before the transformation takes place. Do you understand? Actually die. And sometimes it does not work. I could not even contemplate it. And my energy alone would not be enough to re-animate you, it takes the power of three. There is no one I can ask to help me; and even if there were, even if we succeeded, when Kristian found out he would punish us and destroy you."
She swallowed against the thickness of her throat, said, "But he let Ilona live… "
"And I should never have made her," Karl said abruptly. "Whatever motive anyone might have for seeking to become a vampire—the prospect of immortality, or power over others, or a fascination with evil—no reason can be anything but wrong."
"What about love?"
"Love is the worst of all! It would destroy you, Charlotte! I don't have the right to inflict this existence on anyone. It can be beautiful, yes, but also excruciatingly lonely. It's comfortless; the only true relief is in killing. And there are no answers. The passion and the life we have is stolen, paid for by the suffering of our victims."
"Would you rather be dead?" she said sharply.
"Your questions always go straight to the heart, like a needle, don't they?" he said with a faint smile. "I told you I have a strong instinct to live. I have come to terms with what I am. And I am frightened of dying, just like anyone else."
"So you don't want to bear the responsibility of changing someone. I understand that, but if the other person was to consent—"
"You can't consent, because however much I tell you, however much you think you understand, you would never truly comprehend until you actually became a vampire—and then it would be too late. And you don't want the responsibility of making such a decision either, do you? You would like me to take you as I did my daughter. But I will never do that again."
"That's the real reason, isn't it?" she exclaimed. "You are afraid that I'll change, as Ilona did!"
She saw then that she had touched the thorn-sensitive root of his reluctance. A darkness collected in his eyes that frightened her, but when he eventually replied his voice was level. "Yes, if I am completely honest. I cannot tell you how much distress it caused me, the complete change in her character. If it happened to you, if you hated me afterwards, it would be more than I could bear."
"But it won't happen to me. I could never stop loving you."
"You can't be sure. It would be bound to alter your feelings, it always does."
She stared wildly at him. "You mean you might not love me any more. I'd be someone different."
"I would still love you, even if you were; but that is not the point. Think what it means, Charlotte! Can you really make a choice that will result in you going out each day to prey upon people by drinking their blood?"
She shuddered violently, lowering her eyes as he went on, "Knowing, even should you choose to prey only upon strangers, that each one you strike down has sisters, or parents, or children who will grieve for them and ask why, why it had to happen?"
Now she was weeping, shaking with sobs. "You know I couldn't."
"No," he said more gently. He drew her into his arms and held her, stroking her hair. "So now do you believe me when I say we must part, and the sooner the better? I cannot go on loving you because the longer I am with you the harder it is to resist my instinct."
"But it was not so terrible," she said. "It was a bond between us."
"Yes. And that has made the desire a torment… and if it happened again, it would probably kill you."
She looked up at him, her eyes burning. Her fingers dug into his arms. "I don't care! I would rather be dead than have to bear what you've told me, and live without you!"
He seemed taken aback by the fierceness of her reaction.
"Why don't you do it?" she said, closing her eyes. "Put an end to this misery."
She felt his hands tightening on her back; his tension transmitted itself to her body, electrifying. She meant what she'd said, yet it petrified her to realise that this time he was not going to turn away. That he could not. He kissed her mouth, gently but with fervid intensity; his tongue touched the blood where she had bitten her lips and he caught his breath. A thrill of panic. His lips moved over her cheek, down her neck. Silvery waves of anticipation sheeted over her skin, while his arms tightened until she could barely breathe.
This was so different from the time she had given him her blood in the manor; he had been vulnerable then, dependent on her for his life. Not now. He held her in bonds of dark stone. And although he held her with love, not cold hunger, that love had become a ravenous need that scythed away all her defences. The liquid ache of desire pinned her body to his. Every instinct warned her to stop him, but she could not. His dark thirst mesmerised her and she arched towards him, wanting him, willing him to sate it. Treacherous, this seductive yearning for self-destruction.
His lips were a whisper of warm silk on her throat. And then—two burning thrusts of pain. His mouth was a circle of heat, pulling, bruising her. She cried out softly, Ahh, and clasped his neck as a heavy ache spread through her chest, stomach, limbs, dragging her down until the rhythmic contractions of her heart and loins turned into the wingbeats of a flock of grim birds which swooped towards her as she slid under the surface of a black ocean… down until the agony twisted on itself into a perverse, excruciating delight.
She never wanted this to end. It answered her despair completely. This was more than predator and prey. Yes, it was unholy, dangerous, dark, yet she felt centred within it, poised on the mouth of something rich and incomprehensible. All your conventions, beliefs, values, whispered the birds as they soared along the night. Leave them all behind and come away…
Forevery drop of life that Karl drank, she drew something out of him in return. The threads of his being. An insoluble bond.
But it lasted only a few moments. There was a wrench as he fangs slid out of her flesh, a tingling that centred in the wounds and dissipated down through her body. Her eyelids fluttered open. The world swung back into focus and she was sha
rply aware of every sensation; the moist air sweetly cool on her face, the texture of Karl's clothes and the touch of his hands.
He was holding her, one arm enfolding her shoulders, the other hand cupping her head. One lean thigh pressing gently between hers; she felt the sweetness lingering there. He breathed in, held the breath, let it go in a long, shivering sigh. Then, with heartrending gentleness, he helped her to sit down on a bench and kissed her, leaving drops of her own blood on her lips.
A sacrament.
"Beloved, I could not… " he whispered. Tears rimmed his crystal eyes. "Never. Not for the world."
"I know," she answered. "I know."
He wrapped his arms round her, buried his face in her hair. "Everything we have said might just as well have gone unspoken. I don't know what we are going to do."
She held onto him, every last trace of fear gone; all the tension between them shattered and discarded like egg shell, so they seemed to be inside each other's minds. Her blood in him. Despair locking them seamlessly together.
"I don't care about any of it," she said. "Just stay with me."
"Charlotte… " He kissed her with purely human passion and at once she was adrift on a blood-dark ocean, sinking. Sweeter than any drug was this feeling, and a thousand times more addictive. They would have pulled each other to the floor amid the foliage and easels, the scents of greenery and linseed, not caring if they were discovered… but Karl suddenly drew back, his hands on her arms holding her away.
"What is it?" she said. It was such a wrench to separate herself; how could he do it so abruptly and completely? But he was gazing past her into the darkness of the dining room, and she knew with sharp foreboding that something external had disturbed him.
"There's someone here." His sudden complete stillness and the concern in his eyes alarmed her. She turned starkly sober, her mind ice-clear.
"Who? Not David?"
Not answering, he folded his hand round hers and drew her to her feet. As they went into the house she began to sense something wrong…
Then, in the hall, she realised. The house was silent; no music, no voices, no sounds of the party at all. Terror washed over her.
A Taste of Blood Wine Page 35
