by Lyons, Rene
The longer Constantine was gone the more outrageous the scenarios that played out in Lex’s mind. She imagined Constantine and Isobel having a passionate reunion after centuries of being apart. She envisioned them stealing kisses in the shadows as he whispered sweet nothings to her.
Lex bit her lip to hold back her laugh. The degree of her fatigue had to be great to have her imagining such a ridiculous thing as Constantine whispering sweet words of love to a woman. The thought was downright preposterous considering the sort of man he was and she felt silly for thinking it. Thank God Constantine couldn’t read her mind here. No doubt he’d laugh at her silly thoughts for centuries.
When the door opened, Lex hopped off the bed and ran to Constantine, who carried a tray of fruit, cheese and bread. The moment he set the tray on the round table off in the far corner of the chamber, she saw the knuckles on his right hand were a mess.
Hands on hips, Lex frowned as she took in the damage. “What happened?”
A veil of indifference settled over him. “Nothing.”
“Really?” Lex pointed to his hand. “That doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”
Constantine dropped his hand. When he clenched his hands into fists, the skin over his knuckles pulled open. Lex watched as his blood dripped to the floor. She looked back at his face and flinched at the way his gaze bore into her.
“I need to feed.”
Getting punched in the gut couldn’t possibly hurt as much as his admission did. “Oh.” Lex looked back at his knuckles. “And that’s why you smashed your hand into what... ? A wall?”
Constantine bared his fangs as he turned away from her to look into the flames dancing in the hearth. “Yes.”
Lex raised a brow at the way he pushed that word out. She wanted to understand how difficult it was for him. Truly she did. But right then, Lex was too miserable to feel anything other than, well, her own misery. She fell victim to her own private pity-party and gave him a shrug. He missed it, however, since Constantine wasn’t looking at her.
“So go feed.”
Silence stretched between them for so long, Lex didn’t think he was going to answer. She walked over to one of her suitcases and dug out a book. Hopefully she’d be able to lose herself in it as she tried to find the exhaustion that had suddenly fled her.
“The Order has donors.”
Lex wanted to vomit. “‘Dial-a-donor’. How convenient.”
Lex didn’t care how bitter she sounded as she carried her book to the bed. She wasn’t hungry anymore and didn’t give the tray of food a glance as she climbed on the large bed. As she settled back against the pillows, she held the book closed on her lap and stared at Constantine’s back.
Right at that moment she hated what he was. Truly hated it with everything she was.
The man she loved needed to put his hands and mouth on another woman and take in her blood—her life. True it was only to feed, and she tried hard to equate it with her eating a steak, but that wasn’t working to make it easier for her to accept. Her heart rebelled at the intimacy of the act and ached for it to be her he took from.
Finally, Constantine turned from the fire. He looked tortured. “Lex... ”
She held up her hand, shocked when he stopped in mid sentence. Lex hadn’t thought the power of “the hand” would work on Constantine. She had to remember to tell Raphael about this. It would fuel Rogue’s evil delight for centuries to come.
“Please, Constantine, don’t say anything. I know you need to do this, but right now I’m too strung out emotionally to deal with it. So please, just go do what you have to and I’ll get over it once I’ve gotten some sleep.”
Pain, sharp and intense, cut through Constantine as he watched Lex open the book and begin to read. Of all the things Lex could have done, dismissing him was not one he’d imagined. Her cold indifference pained him. He wanted to deny his hunger. He wanted to make her look at him, as she always did, as if he wasn’t a monster.
Constantine’s pride wouldn’t allow him to go to her, which was for the best. The hunger was a raw need pulling his insides apart as Isobel’s words haunted him. He growled and turned away from her. He didn’t hesitate when he pulled open the door. A second after he left and slammed the door closed he knew the thud that came from within had to be the book being flung across the chamber.
Lex’s soft sobs followed Constantine down the corridor. He came to Isobel’s chamber and gave her door one hard bang. When it opened, he cut Isobel with a hard glare.
“Call in a fucking donor.”
He didn’t miss the look of astonishment on Isobel’s face before he turned and strode down the corridor, down the stairs and out to the courtyard. He needed to put as much distance between him and Lex as the castle allowed.
Constantine had never been sorry for a damn thing he’d ever done. Yet tonight, with Lex’s quiet tears resonating in his head, he was sorry. For once, he was sorry for what he’d been in life and for what he had become in death.
So goddamn sorry he ached with it. Michael should have sent him to Hell. At least then, he’d be the only one to suffer for his deeds.
Chapter Nineteen
Greaves Castle:
Spring 1296
The longer Ulric stared at him the more Constantine panicked. He knew what would come, now that he’d caught Ulric’s attention. The thought nearly had him vomiting up his rancid food right then and there.
Ulric’s gaze was a thousand insects crawling over his skin. He resisted the urge to scratch the feeling away, though he couldn’t stop the shiver of disgust.
Crouched in the corner of the hall, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, Constantine gnawed on a piece of meat that shouldn’t even be given to a dog. Rotted it may be, but at least tonight he’d been allowed to eat. God only knew when he’d next be given more than scraps to eat.
The delicious aromas that came from the high table made Constantine’s mouth water. Pheasant and venison—their wonderful smells came at him as he tore off a hunk of his unidentifiable rotting meat. His stomach rolled in protest of the foul food as it hit his belly like a stone. He wondered if he’d ever know a feast like the one Ulric laid out for his guest. His heart sank when he thought of such a thing since as the days rolled by, he’d begun to give up hope of one day being free of this life of horrors.
Ulric had laid his finest of everything to impress the beautiful lady gracing his hall. Her name was Isobel of Lowel and, to Constantine’s eyes, the lady looked like what he’d always envisioned an angel to be. Blonde, blue-eyed and ethereal, the lady’s grace had left him awed from the moment she’d swept into the keep. It made his shame at being reduced to a dog in her presence sting that much more.
Lady Isobel’s holding bordered Greaves, yet this was the first time she’d ever come to the castle. In the year since Constantine had been here, he’d heard it whispered that Isobel was a witch. Others claimed she was a creature of the night. A demon. Finally seeing the lady in person, Constantine didn’t care if she were all those things and worse. To him, Isobel of Lowel was an enchanting angel sent here to offer him a bit of beauty in his ugly world.
Daring a glance at the Lord’s table, Constantine winced when he noticed Ulric still staring at him. Only a depraved bastard such as his lord would watch him instead of the elegant woman in his hall. But then, Ulric’s fancy didn’t run toward women.
Constantine crouched lower, trying to make himself smaller still, though it was a hard task since he’d gained even more height over the last year. His size did him well on the lists, as did his ever-increasing skill with a sword. Where it didn’t help, was keeping him out of Ulric’s notice.
With every day that passed, Constantine made certain he fought better than the day before. To become the best warrior he could and fight his way out of this life was all he lived for. Everything he did he made sure it had to do with gaining the skill to break free of Ulric’s hold on him.
The things he had suffered at Ulric’
s hands, almost from the moment he had arrived here, were unspeakable. He’d learned early on what the bag of gold had signified. He‘d been bought, body and soul, by the devil.
Isobel followed Ulric’s hawk-like gaze to Constantine. Her musical voice rang out, almost bringing tears to Constantine’s eyes. “Why is that child in the corner, Ulric?”
“Bah, that’s no child. That’s my dog.”
Ulric’s laughter turned Constantine’s stomach. It took every bit of strength he had not to give in to the mortification of the callous remark.
Isobel raised a single brow. “Truly?” Her sharp stare bore right through Constantine. He lowered the hunk of greening meat away from his lips and swallowed down the bite in his mouth. “He looks like a boy to me.”
Right then, with her odd eyes boring into him, Constantine felt as if she saw clear to his heart—and to his blackest thoughts.
“Come here, child,” she commanded.
“Leave him,” Ulric ordered around a mouth-full of greasy pheasant.
The man was a filthy piece of foulness, leaving Constantine to wonder why such an elegant creature would lower herself to be in his presence. With his dirty brown hair and beady brown eyes and sadistic ways, no well-born woman dared to enter his lair. On the rare occasions when boys couldn’t satisfy his sick lusts, he used whores from around the neighboring villages. And usually, after a night spent here, they didn’t return.
If they survived his brutality, that is. Most however, did not. Isobel pulled her gaze from Constantine and leveled a hard, cold look at Ulric. Much to Constantine’s shock, his lord leaned back in his chair. He had the look of a chastised youth.
Isobel hadn’t even uttered a single word and she’d put him low.
She turned her attention back on him and her expression softened. “Come here to me.”
He didn’t want to dirty her with his nearness. Yet he found himself throwing his meat to the floor and wiping his hands on his rag of a tunic. The thing was a size too big and had once been white, but was now stained, and so filthy it appeared brown. Since these were his only clothes, it was a rare thing for them to be washed. He did so only when he was allowed to bathe, which was before Ulric called him to his solar—or the torture chamber, as Constantine came to think of it. It was there that Ulric did unspeakable things to him.
Unconsciously, he shook his head, not wanting to think about the nights he was forced to spend with Ulric alone in his solar.
As he treaded over to her, Constantine adjusted his clothing and smoothed down his matted black hair. By the time his feet dragged him to her, Lady Isobel’s hand was already outreached toward him. He stopped far enough away from her so that she couldn’t reach him. He didn’t want her to touch him. He was afraid that if she did, he would shatter into a million pieces at her small kindness.
“What a beautiful boy you are, Constantine Draegon.”
How would she know his name? To hear it on her lips made his throat constrict and his chest tighten.
“Come closer to me.”
And then it hit him like the cut of a blade to his very soul. Lady Isobel was as depraved as Ulric was. No wonder she had finally come here. She wanted to hurt him and he’d not go quietly. No. Constantine would fight her with everything he was.
He backed away. No more. Please God, no more.
And not by her, who looked like an angel sent from Heaven.
When she stood, Ulric told her to sit back down and forget the “dog”. Isobel ignored her host. Instead, she knelt—knelt—before Constantine and took his chin in her icy hand.
“I see you, Constantine.” Her voice was low, a mere whisper meant just for him. Glancing around her, Constantine saw Ulric leaned forward in his chair. The nosy bastard strained to hear what the mistress of Lowel Castle said to him. “Oh yes. I see the dragon in you. One day it will give you the strength to escape this life.”
She did see. She saw clear to his soul.
As her gaze bore into him, Constantine realized that her eyes glowed with a light all their own. He also saw that fangs peeked out from behind her lips. He knew then all of those whispers he’d heard about her were true. She was a demon, and though Constantine knew he should be afraid of her, he wasn’t.
She offered him kindness in a place where he knew only pain. Her touch was gentle. Her eyes looked upon his with tenderness and it tore at his very soul—a soul not worth the dirt this holding sat upon, yet one he would relinquish in a heartbeat if she’d take him from the place.
The real monster in the hall was reclining on his chair like a king on his throne. Ulric fed his gluttony as he struggled to hear what this lovely creature was saying to Constantine. He hoped the fat prick would choke to death on the pheasant filling his mouth.
“There will come a night when you’ll need me. I’ll be waiting, Constantine.”
When she rose and turned back to the table, her deep blue tunic swirled around her legs. She offered Ulric a cool smile in a way that kept her fangs concealed. “So Lord Ulric, tell me about those fine horses of yours.”
Constantine glanced up at Ulric and saw the promise of pain in his cruel eyes. Fear, cold and numbing raced through him as he retreated back to his corner. He reclaimed his hunk of meat, but had no stomach to finish it.
The cold of Isobel’s touch on his face stayed with him for a long time after. Her voice echoed in his ears long after she’d gone, drowning out his screams as Ulric tortured his body into the night.
Chapter Twenty
Constantine wiped the blood from his face, wishing he could rip the taste of it from his mouth. Sitting on the bottom of the steps, the alcove shielded him from the bitter wind. He felt dirty, and that was a feeling he thought he’d left behind at Greaves.
Obviously he hadn’t, since his skin crawled over what he’d done.
He spat on the ground in an effort to cleanse his mouth of the taste of the donor’s blood. He needed to wash the taste from his mouth and her touch from his body. Yet, he was loath to return to the keep. He wanted to remain here, lost in his misery and hidden away from the world.
He didn’t want to face Lex’s disgust of him.
Constantine ran his hands through his hair before dropping his forehead in his palms. Much to his irritation, his knuckles had already healed. He wanted the pain back. Physical pain never failed to rid him of the shit festering within him.
“I’m saying you can take Lexine’s blood.”
Constantine banged his palms against his head in the vain hope of dispelling Isobel’s words from his mind. Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.
The plea was screamed inside the recess of his mind, and yet they continued to echo until he wanted to claw at his brain to rip the words from his memory.
The louder Isobel’s words resonated, the angrier he became. That anger had caused him to be careless with the donor, who’d offered herself up for him to take with a quiet acceptance that had made him feel even dirtier.
When she’d grabbed at his shoulders and whimpered from pain, Constantine knew he’d hurt her. The girl, however, made no move at trying to fight him off. She’d accepted what he was doing to her. And once he was finished with her, she collapsed to the floor, too weak to stand. Disgusted with himself, and much to his shame, he’d left the girl where she lay and fetched Isobel. He didn’t even wait for Isobel to go to the girl before he left the keep.
From the shadows of the alcove he’d watched the donor leave. He’d wanted to apologize for hurting her, but knew such words were beyond him.
Though he was never one to hide from a goddamn thing, Constantine didn’t want to leave the dark and the quiet of the alcove. Although with dawn approaching, he was left with no choice but to abandon his refuge.
He walked back to the keep with a heavy feeling in his chest. As soon as he entered the castle he saw Isobel was there, waiting for him no doubt, in the hall.
“Why do you torture yourself, Constantine?”
He didn’t even pause as he ma
de his way to the stairs. “Why can’t you mind your own goddamn business?”
Isobel rose from the sofa and intercepted him. “Vent your fury if you must, but I had hoped—never mind what I’d hoped. It’s no longer important. Go on,” she said to him, stepping back. “Go to Lexine. Remain locked in the prison of your memories and never let her close. Never accept the love she obviously feels for you.”
She turned away. Why Constantine didn’t walk away, he didn’t know. Nor did he know why he stopped her cold by barking out her name. She turned around, every bit as ethereal as she was the night he’d first seen her.
“You know of the events that have shaped me, so ask me no more why I torture myself.”
