Master of Ecstasy

by Nina Bangs

  The thing that rushed into the room and hurled itself at her made Blythe cover her mouth to stifle a cry of horror. She would've covered her eyes as well, but her other hand was busy clutching her heart. The creature looked as though it had been caught somewhere between a change from human to beast. She couldn't specifically identify the beast, but whatever it was had fangs that seemed to take up its whole face. Which was a good thing, because what she could see of the face beyond its fangs wasn't a pretty sight.

  Years of Ecstasy Inc. training made looking into the creature's eyes automatic. Blythe looked. And wished she hadn't. If Darach's eyes revealed no emotion, this creature's told everything about its soul. Hate, ravenous hunger, and madness shone in eyes the same shade of blue as Darach's.

  Blythe now understood the true meaning of the phrase "frozen by fear." Her brain was frantically sending messages for appropriate body parts to initiate evasive action, but said body parts were ignoring orders from the top in favor of turning to jelly as disaster approached at warp speed. She was doomed. Darach wouldn't reach her in time to stop the creature from leaping on her.

  A booming voice suddenly echoed around the great hall. Blythe didn't understand the words the voice shouted, but she recognized the tone. Anger.

  The creature did, too. It stopped in mid-charge to turn toward the voice. Blythe followed its gaze.

  A man stood in the darkened doorway. Massive, with huge muscled shoulders and tree-trunk legs, he held a wooden shield in one hand and brandished a deadly looking ax in the other.

  As he strode toward the creature and her, Blythe registered mini-impressions between waves of terror. Wild mane of blond hair. Full beard. Metal helmet. Long cloak. Short tunic. Chain mail. Where had she seen… ? A Viking. He looked like images she'd seen of ancient Viking warriors.

  Blythe had no more time for thought as the Viking drew closer. He shouted in the strange language, and the creature cowered and gibbered.

  Since no one seemed to remember her, she forced her frozen feet to edge away from the creature, but not far enough to avoid a close encounter of the scary kind with the Viking. Intent on the creature, he strode past her. Blythe sucked in her breath as his cloak slid across her arm and his shield brushed her hip.

  Suddenly an arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her off her feet. Her intended scream of terror emerged as a frightened squeak.

  Her struggle died almost immediately as she recognized Darach: his scent, the press of his body against her back.

  He set her down well away from the danger. "Leave." His harsh whisper brooked no defiance.

  Good advice. Blythe ran from the great hall. She had her foot on the bottom step that would lead to the semi-safety of her room when she paused.

  The voice of caution said there was nothing she could do to help Darach. You have your Freeze-frame. Remember? She didn't want to remember. She'd be stupid to go back into that room. Drawing in a deep breath, she surrendered to her stupidity.

  Her gene that regulated idiotic acts was obviously faulty. The same need to do her job no matter the personal cost now insisted that she try to help. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Besides, she had to watch anyway, because if she ever hoped to reach Darach's emotions, she had to understand what he was.

  She crouched in the doorway while she fumbled in her bra for her weapon. With his back to her, Darach moved behind the cowering creature, whose attention was fixed on the Viking menacing him with raised ax.

  Some primitive instinct for self-preservation must have warned the creature, because it turned and with a shriek of fury flung itself at Darach.

  With an exclamation of triumph, Blythe pulled the Freeze-frame from her bra. But as Darach met the creature's assault, a black cloud formed around the three combatants. The cloud moved and changed shape, turning from black to a fiery red as the battle raged silently.

  No, this was not happening. She was not watching a vampire, a Viking, and an unidentified terrifying entity struggle to kill each other while the hearth blazed cheerily as though this were a perfectly normal occurrence.

  Blythe rethought her decision to stay. She couldn't help Darach if she wasn't able to see him, and she wouldn't be able to touch Darach's emotions if her own emotions were in tatters. This was beyond not only her own experience, but beyond her most terrifying imaginings. Just as she prepared to race up the stairs to the dubious protection of her room, the battle ended.

  There was a brilliant blue flash like the superheated center of a flame, and the cloud disappeared, leaving Darach standing alone. If it wasn't for the bleeding gash across the part of his chest exposed by his shirt, Blythe could have believed the battle had never happened.

  "Did ye enjoy watching the destruction of a life?" Darach knew she didn't, but as always happened when he was forced to destroy, he felt the need to lash out at someone, something.

  "Me? No, I…" She trailed off, her eyes wide as he strode over to her.

  "Do ye have your proof of what I am? Do ye fear me now?" He leaned close and watched with satisfaction as she backed up a step.

  "I didn't actually see much."

  She swallowed hard, her attempt to clear her throat of the fear that clogged it drawing his gaze to the smooth, warm flesh of her neck. It would be so easy now. He could bend his head and touch her skin with his lips, his teeth, and feel her life force flowing into him, renewing him, driving out the demons that rode him after a kill.

  Darach wrapped his willpower around his desire, holding it where it was, not allowing it to run free. As he had so many times in the hundreds of years of his existence, he defeated the temptation.

  "Ye didna see because I drew the cloud around us when I sensed ye watching." If only he could draw the same cloud around his memories.

  She offered him a tentative smile. "It was kind of you to shield me from seeing that kind of violence."

  "I wasna trying to shield ye, but rather keeping ye from viewing Ian's last moments."

  "Ian?" She blinked as though it had never occurred to her that what he had fought could bear a human name.

  He nodded. "Ian MacKenzie, my nephew." Darach waited for her cry of disbelief and disgust. Surprisingly, she just stared at him.

  "Ian? He was the creature? Who was the Viking? What happened to Ian? Could that happen to you?" Emotion flooded her eyes. "Tell me that couldn't happen to you."

  He chose to answer only one of her questions. "The Northman?" His smile was no smile at all. "Ye speak of Jorund. He was Ian's greatest fear."

  She blinked. "I don't understand."

  "Ye'll come to my room, and I will tell ye about Ian." He knew his smile was little better than a baring of teeth. But at least they were now human teeth. He had lied to her about the cloud. He had wanted to protect Ian's last moments, but he also had wanted to protect himself. He still did not want her to see him in his vampire form, still did not want her to utter the dreaded word "yuck."

  "Is this visit to your room negotiable?"

  For all her brave front, he saw that her hands shook and her breaths came quickly. "Ye have no choice. Now that ye have seen what ye shouldna have seen, I would have ye understand what Ian was." He must also persuade her to choose another to make happy while still watching Ganymede for him. Darach needed no woman trying to pry open doors best left locked.

  Instead of arguing as most women would, she simply turned from him and started up the darkened steps. When she reached the top of the stairs, she stepped aside for him to open his door. Darach needed no fastening other than his will to keep unwanted visitors from his room. He pushed open the door, then lit the candles while Blythe hovered in his doorway. The room was already warmed from the fire he had left blazing in the fireplace.

  "Legends say that vampires sleep in coffins. Humans don't use coffins for burial anymore because Earth is too crowded. If you sleep in a coffin, it'll really creep me out." She scanned the room for coffins.

  Even though her voice was a mere whisper of sound, she still stood in his doorway ra
ther than running back to her room. Brave woman. Foolish woman.

  "Ye fear to be alone with me, yet ye stay. Why?" He usually did not care what drove human behavior, but he found that he had an uncommon curiosity about this woman.

  Deliberately she moved into the room and seated herself in a chair close to the fire. Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. "You scare me more than any man I've ever known." She offered him a weak smile. "Okay, so maybe my first date with Caekal, the space-bus driver from Sovarn, was a little scary. Sovarnians have three hands, and Caekal was unstoppable when all three were in motion." Her smile disappeared. "There's only one reason why I'm not pounding on Ganymede's door demanding a refund and immediate transport out of here. My job is more important to me than anything else I can think of. Right now, you're my job, so I stay."

  Darach willed the door shut, then sat on his bed.

  "If you don't mind, I'd like to sit here." Her expression said that if he called her to his bed, he could risk injury to sensitive parts of his immortal body.

  "Ye need only listen." It was a lie, but she would find out too late.

  Blythe nodded as though his words made perfect sense. She reached up to finger the metal talisman lying against her throat. It spelled "Ecstasy," a constant reminder of her purpose. "The need to talk about a tragic event is the first step toward healing."

  He felt her try to touch his feelings, a soothing slide of power meant to coat his emotions, make him happy again. He would not let her in, would not accept what she offered. Absently he put his hand over his heart, then jerked it away as soon as he realized what he was doing.

  "I wish ye to know what happened to Ian so ye will understand why ye're safe with me." Why her neck was safe with him. He made no promise about other parts of her body. "But first I would make myself more comfortable." Removing his plaid and leaving only his shirt, he propped himself up against the headboard. When the silence dragged on, he raised his gaze to meet hers. "Ye may remove anything ye feel makes ye uncomfortable."

  "If I could, then you'd be gone. And not one piece of clothing leaves my body." Blythe stared at his chest where his shirt gaped open, her gaze touching his flesh with the same result as if she had slid her fingertips across his skin. His body acknowledged her power to distract him from what he did not want to remember.

  "That gash on your chest is almost healed." She shifted her gaze to the fire. "So I suppose regeneration is one of your powers."

  "Aye." Darach smiled. Staring at his body made her uneasy, but she could not watch the fire all night. "Only the most serious injuries dinna heal quickly."

  Her gaze strayed from the fire and shifted to the sword he had propped in a corner. "You're a violent man, Darach MacKenzie."

  "Ye've come to a violent time."

  Sighing, she finally looked back at him, but kept her gaze safely above his neck. "Okay, tell me about Ian."

  Curiosity tugged at him. "Are ye happy, Blythe?"

  Her eyes widened, and he realized that no one had ever asked her that before.

  "I'm perfectly happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

  Was her answer a wee bit too definite? "Aye, why would ye not?" He would pursue the question of her happiness later. "Ye would know about Ian."

  He willed his attention away from her as he forced himself to tell Ian's story.

  "When we first become vampire, we are powerful with undiluted blood. We are meant to stay that way. We dinna feed often, because too much human blood weakens us, makes the blood lust too strong to resist. Humans are the greatest danger to our control. If we kill, the blood lust rises. Those who are weak surrender to it. They become like Ian, mad with the need for more and more blood. Eventually their vampire blood is so infected with human blood that they must be destroyed to stop their killing frenzy." He hoped her disgust would keep her from asking for more, and yet the thought of her disgust bothered him in a way he didn't want to examine.

  "Are there any other things that can send you over the edge?" She leaned forward in her chair.

  "Send me over the edge?" Every time she used words he did not understand, she reminded him of how different they were. Except in the matter of sexual desire. The need to join knew no boundaries of time.

  "Make you lose control." Her intent stare allowed for no lies.

  Darach considered lying anyway, but then discarded the thought. She had not run from the battle in the great hall, so this small truth would not send her screaming from his room.

  "Sexual desire is entwined with the need to feed." He watched her carefully to see the effect of his words.

  "Oh." She frowned. "So what happens when you're really hungry?"

  "I feed from verra ugly men."

  The corners of her lips tipped up in her first attempt at a sincere smile he had seen this night. "How about when you're with a 'verra' beautiful woman?"

  "I make certain I have already fed. I am verra good at resisting temptation." She would never know how good.

  "So you're like on a permanent diet?" A line formed between her brows, signaling her attempt to understand what he had told her.

  He nodded. "I survive because I am strong, have stayed strong over the centuries, and gained power because of it. I would never risk what I have gained."

  "That means I'm safe with you?" She looked uncertain.

  He allowed himself a real smile. "Aye. Your life is safe. But ye might want to guard other things."

  "Right." She looked away. "What happened to Ian? Was he just weak-natured? And why did he show up here?"

  "Ian was not weak." His gaze shifted to the hearth's flames, and within their dancing brilliance saw the Ian he remembered. Laughing, strong, vital. "I believe that he was captured by a group of women who keep their identities secret and harbor dark obsessions. Their wealth allows them freedom to stalk us."

  Blythe leaned forward, her unease evidently forgotten in her fascination with his tale. "Women? What would a woman want with a vampire? And how would these women even find one?"

  He watched her flush as she realized what she'd said, and he knew his smile was bitter. "Gold can achieve much during any age. And indeed, what would a woman want with a vampire?"

  Blythe leaned back, her eyes troubled. She hid none of her emotions from him. What would it feel like to open his emotions to others? After so many years of guarding himself, he doubted he would know how.

  "These women desire but one thing: immortal life. They believe they can attain this by mating with a vampire." He felt the familiar rage building along with his need to destroy.

  "That's crazy. I don't understand how—"

  "They use bog myrtle to sedate a vampire until they can strip and bind him." Darach's heart beat faster at the horror of being helpless. It was what he feared most.

  "Bog myrtle?" Blythe's confusion washed over him.

  "Bog myrtle is used by the Northmen to increase their bravery before battle. It has the opposite effect with us. We are unable to defend ourselves when under its power." He forgot that Blythe was listening and lost himself in his tale. "Ian was strong-willed and wouldna have done this to himself. These women must have captured Ian, then cut him so that he bled. We can heal one wound quickly, but many wounds that cause great loss of blood take much longer to heal. This is their way to weaken us further. Then they each would have used him."

  Hate was a living, breathing part of him now. "He must have managed to escape, but by that time he would have lost much blood and been forced to replenish it by taking from humans. He should have hidden himself and regained his strength slowly, but no doubt his need was so great that he took too much at one time. He would have done better to let himself bleed, because he was dead the moment he tried to replace his lost blood at one feeding. He became what you saw in the great hall, a mindless thing that lived only to kill." It was fortunate that Blythe was not probing his emotions now, for he doubted he could mask all he felt.

  "Is that why you came here? To meet Ian?" "I came here to meet any who returned."
Darach gazed back to the fireplace's leaping flames. "Even though none of my clansmen live here now, the clan memory of our ancestral home is imbedded deeply in each of us. Like many animals, our instincts draw us here when we sense our time to die drawing near. This is true even of those who were born in distant lands. They all come home. 'Tis a compulsion we canna resist.

  Even in his madness, Ian knew he must return." Darach allowed the flames to soothe him. "Once every twenty years, 'tis my duty to stay here for one full cycle of the moon, waiting for those who seek their final release."

  "And when your month is up?" Blythe's soft question didn't contain the horrified curiosity he would reject, but rather a sincere desire to know, to understand.

  "Another member of my clan arrives to continue our duty."

  "How can you say you're happy when you have to face this?"

  "In five hundred years, I have learned to mourn, but then to put the sadness aside and celebrate life, the joys it can bring. I willna forget Ian, but I will choose to remember only the good things about him."

  "Sounds great in theory, but I don't believe you can neatly compartmentalize something like this and forget it. The residue of all the violence you've seen must eventually seep out. I think that's why you're hiding your emotions from me. They're a weakness, aren't they?" She studied him intently. "Who was the Viking? You called him Jorund. Did you destroy him, too?"

  "You judge me by your own emotions. I choose to control what I feel, control everything that touches my life." Darach frowned as he remembered Ganymede and the troublesome cat. He must deal with them soon. "I would speak of Jorund at another time." Another time when she was not so burdened down with what he had just told her.

  She said nothing. Asked no more questions. He felt her reluctant acceptance of what he had said, of his wish to tell her nothing more tonight.

  Darach drew in a deep breath, then tried to push aside the darkness that had settled around him. "I need to walk in the hills tonight. Come with me so that I may show ye my land." Mayhap he should use a temptation she could not resist. "I do feel a wee bit unhappy. Ye could help me banish the sadness." She would not know that even an army of those from her Ecstasy Incorporated could not dispel his demons tonight.