A Vampire's Rise

by Vanessa Fewings

  From outside, noises in the room hinted at a tussle. Unable to resist, I opened the door ajar and saw Salvador, completely naked, embracing a male servant. The inner rush caused me to freeze. Taking pleasure from the moment, I enjoyed the view. I slid through and lingered in a shadowy corner. I’d trespassed into a risqué rendezvous. It felt wrong, but it felt good, too. I considered that my kiss had alighted such passion and here now unfolded the result of my flirting.

  Once hidden beneath a dashing uniform, Salvador’s muscular physique was now exposed.

  I turned to go.

  A long groan drew me back. The man leaned forward with outstretched arms against the wall, supporting both he and Salvador, his fingernails digging into the granite.

  And that could have been me.

  Salvador, this dashing conquistador, still a virtual stranger, and yet we’d connected immediately and our rapport had fired our imaginations, kindling something impossible to ignore, impossible to turn away from.

  Beads of perspiration shimmered over both of them. Candlewick flickered, throwing dancing shadows. I exhaled, unsure of when I’d taken my last breath, hoping that they’d not heard my sigh.

  The sublime affection they shared was stirring to watch.

  Salvador regained his composure. And then he saw me.

  “Out,” he directed his servant.

  The man grabbed his clothes and ran past me, avoiding eye contact. I opened the door for him.

  Salvador cringed. “I thought you were with the girl.”

  I smiled. “If you’re going to tell me this is not what it seems . . .”

  “Like to watch, do you?”

  “You’ll have to make your indiscretion up to me.”

  Salvador nibbled on a fingernail. This man had faced the most ferocious of armies and yet with me, he yielded.

  “Don’t you ever knock?” He reached for his trousers.

  I snatched them out of his hand. “And spoil your fun?”

  He rested his hands on his hips and faced me. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Why?” I said. “You of all people deserve anything you desire.”

  He gave me a long stare.

  “I have to go,” I said.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Daumia.”

  “I do believe you will.”

  He buried his face in his hands and I tortured him with the protracted silence. Outside, leaves dangled from a crooked branch and tapped against the window.

  I handed his trousers back. “Get dressed.” I beamed at him then turned and headed out.

  Chapter 12

  FELIPE’S APPOINTED GUEST room was easy to find.

  The bed hadn’t been slept in and an unopened bottle of white wine rested on the mantelpiece. Beside it, a candle had burned to the wick. A fresh bowl of water had been provided. I leaned over it and splashed my face to wake up, and then used the nearby towel.

  Felipe could have the house. We would take the horses and rebuild elsewhere. Start over, and make a new life for ourselves. Sobering up, my head cleared, the decision obvious. My family had been virtually wiped out, and I wasn’t prepared to lose Alicia on account of my pride.

  Looking around for Felipe’s personal items, I noticed there weren’t any and doubted he’d even been here, or perhaps the servant who’d pointed to this room had been mistaken.

  Outside, hoofs clipped along, pulling a rumbling carriage. I peered out of the window and saw Felipe climbing in, ignoring the butler who closed the coach door behind him. With the crack of a whip, the carriage jerked and sped off. I flew out of the door and along the balcony, down the stairs and through the house. Dodging staff, I bolted through the kitchen and came face to face with the man I’d caught Salvador with. He was dressed as a chef. I threw him a wide smile and he beamed back. With a leap in my step, I headed outside.

  Within minutes, I’d found the stables and saddled my stallion. I threw a coin to the groom who’d taken care of him and galloped out of the barn. The small amount of money I had would have to be enough to feed both my horse and me.

  Fear of losing sight of Felipe’s carriage ensured my focus.

  * * * *

  I lived up to my reputation of being reckless.

  The unforgiving rain poured. It was impossible to remember ever being dry.

  Within two days, I was in Vigo. The harsh climate was a contrast to Santiago De Compostela, the town somewhat larger, busier.

  Fatigue set in. I needed a place to rest. Having ridden my horse too far for too long, I’d sealed his fate. I’d pressed him on past his pain, and I was well past mine.

  Limbs aching, I rallied the remnants of my fading strength. From a little way off, keeping a safe distance, I observed Felipe enter a well-guarded manor. Searching the windows, I wondered which room Alicia might be in.

  I turned my weary horse and followed the tattered sign back into town. Concerned stares from passersby pointing at my stallion’s rear left hoof forced me to choose the nearest tavern.

  The innkeeper’s wife escorted me to my room. Nausea welled as I entered. The stale odor of the previous tenant lingered, but exhaustion forced me to stay. With a thrust, I secured the bed against the door. Despite the nasty bedding, fatigue pulled me down and I fell asleep. Nightmares and dreamscapes, disconnected memories and fears came and went. Carried away, impossible to escape, I cycled through terror.

  Caught in the grip of a nightmare, I was a boy again, standing in the pitch dark, and out of nowhere a large bull thundered toward me, gnashing white teeth, and snarling.

  I sprang up.

  Stifled by the lack of air, I climbed out of bed. It was impossible to judge how long I’d slept. Dust puffed off the tatty curtains as I peeked outside. It was dark.

  The tavern entertained a few locals eating supper. At a corner table, I inhaled the scent of stale bread, boiled chicken, and gulped cups of warm water. Stroking my chin that hadn’t felt a razor in days, my thoughts drifted once more to Annabelle. Although I’d heard of the flamenco, this had been the first time I’d ever seen the exotic dance that gypsies had brought from the Mediterranean to Spaniards desirous of a rich expression of love. Annabelle’s performance had bewitched all the guests, including me. Still shaken from Felipe’s threat, though, I’d not been able to truly appreciate her.

  This indulgence wasted time.

  I had just enough money left to pay for my stay. Much to the tavern owner’s concern, I removed my horse and despite his insistence, refused to destroy the animal. My horse had benefited from the rest, but he still limped.

  Brute force ensured my entry into the local tailors. Row upon row of clothes awaited their turn. In the corner, I found what I’d come for—officer’s uniforms—and after finding one that looked about my size, I stripped.

  The corner mirror would have reflected a dashing Army Captain if the trouser legs weren’t two inches too short. I found another. This time, Spain’s finest stared back in the warped mirror, despite my stubble. In the back of the store, I found what I needed to shave. I left my old clothes and withdrew.

  My horse trotted bravely.

  I steadied my nerves and marked the direction in which the stable boy led my stallion, and ignored his comment about the horse’s ‘gammy leg.’

  Tilting my heavily braided cap, I ascended the stone steps. Several passable salutes later, I strolled on into the senatorial residence.

  * * * *

  I’d spent a lifetime wondering about my sister.

  I leaned up against the door, her door, and listened, marveling at the influence of a dashing officer, the uniform having gotten me in. I’d found the staff’s quarters and used my affable nature to cajole the female cook to get information. Wiping her powdered hands on her apron, feeling sorry for the young officer newly returned from active service, she told me that she’d just delivered warm milk to Señorita Alicia’s boy in the south wing. With a wave of her pointed finger and her lowered tone, she showed her disapproval. The senator was after all mar
ried, but not to Alicia. I attempted to remain stone-faced, despite the heaviness in my chest. Felipe had fathered Alicia’s son, the scandal, a closely guarded secret amongst his innermost circle. Felipe had lied. He had no intention of freeing my sister.

  I became that nine-year-old boy again, struggling for the right words and unable to find them.

  Alicia, the only family I had left, and I was seconds from seeing her. With a turn of the handle, I entered. She lay asleep upon a large bed. Dark flowing locks spilled over white linen, our similarity startling. Beside her slept her child, a one-year-old boy. I removed my braided jacket and flung it over the back of a corner rocking chair. Careful not to make a noise, I sat in it.

  Seeing her again stirred once buried memories.

  Alicia’s look of horror when Ricardo had slapped down that bull’s ear onto the kitchen table, or the way she clung to our mother when she thought I might win one of our fights, and the endless days we’d played by the river, both of us lost in our own imaginary worlds, and sometimes crossing into each other’s.

  Dusk promised to arrive at any moment. I wiped the perspiration from my brow with my sleeve.

  The child stirred.

  Alicia awoke and sleepily swept a few stray hairs away from her face. She bolted upright. “Daumia?”

  I rose out of the chair. “It’s so good to see you.”

  She pulled her son closer to her.

  “He’s sweet.” I forced a smile, though I could see Felipe in him.

  “What do you want?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “I’ve come to get you out.”

  “Don’t hurt us.”

  “Never!” I glanced at the door.

  She stared past me at the officer’s jacket that had slipped off the chair and lay crumpled on the floor. “Guards,” she yelled.

  “Whatever Felipe’s told you is a lie.”

  “Get out!”

  “I’ve come to take you home.”

  “I am home,” she screamed.

  The door burst open, but I didn’t wait to see who entered.

  With my throat tightening with panic, I peered out of the window and down at a drop that would kill me. I leaped up onto the ledge, leaning out, grabbing hold of a handful of vines.

  And then I jumped.

  Dangling, I pulled myself along. I slipped and struggled to hold on as the twisting vines tore into my palms. Clutching at an open window, I hauled myself up and clambered in.

  Descending the central staircase too fast, I tripped and tumbled over marble steps. My right shoulder bashed against the iron banister, shooting searing pain down my arm. Three guards closed in on me, their swords pointed.

  I scrambled through the front door and out as something behind me, cold and sharp, sliced into my left ear, burning it fiercely and streaming a warm gush down my neck. Unable to catch my breath, I descended four steps at a time, startling a flock of crows. They flew up and around me, flapping their black feathered wings in my face as I dashed into the center of the courtyard.

  A horse-drawn carriage swerved, just missing me by a hair, and I felt myself being grabbed hold of and dragged into the careening vehicle.

  * * * *

  Carved oak bedposts came into focus.

  “You’re safe now.” A husky female voice whispered in the dark.

  “Alicia?” Not recognizing anything, I froze.

  I was lying on a bed with no idea how long I’d been there. Several flickering candles threw dark forms over thick, drawn drapes and plush furniture that denoted expensive taste. A female’s silhouette loomed.

  With fumbling fingers, I explored the material used as a bandage, wrapped around my head, covering my left ear. As she stepped into the light, shadows danced across her, revealing those familiar, striking turquoise eyes that lit up when she smiled.

  “I know you.” I sat up.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Sunaria?” I tried to focus.

  She gave a nod and then a gesture that I’d almost got it right. “Your ear’s fine.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Not long.”

  “I have to get to my sister. Wait . . . you’re . . .”

  “Hush.”

  I could make it to the door in about ten steps. The idea of a woman being any kind of threat felt ridiculous, and yet she conveyed an unearthly presence and that stare of hers elicited a visceral response, a sense that she had within her the power to entrap, to seduce completely, enslave.

  This arousal could have been better timed. I shook it off. “That carriage, it was yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saved my life?”

  “You’re reckless.”

  “That’s the first time anyone’s ever made that remark about me.” I climbed out of bed. “Roelle, what the hell happened to him?”

  She wrapped her pale, delicate fingers around the bedpost and hugged it.

  I gestured. “Please don’t come any closer.”

  “Daumia, lay back down.”

  I placed my feet firmly on the floor. Those long, red fingernails of hers would leave a mark, scratching a man’s back until he came.

  My back.

  Not arousal, I’d confused it with the excitement stirred by danger.

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Her heavy-lidded gaze held mine.

  There were no marks on my hands from the vines. I turned to face the vanity and peered into the mirror. I peeled back the bandage and to my astonishment my ear had healed. “How long have I been here?” Blood on my collar was the only suggestion of an injury. I remembered the sword slicing through, shivered and spun round, lifting my shirt and checking my back. Again no laceration where I thought I’d been stabbed, caused me to question my judgment.

  Her curious expression faded. “How much do you remember?”

  “Everything.”

  She stepped toward me. “Then we have a problem.”

  Chapter 13

  A COLD CUP PRESSED against my lips.

  I shoved it away and scrambled up, leaning back against the headboard.

  “Steady.” Miguel sat on the edge of the bed, frowning.

  I welcomed the familiarity of my four poster bed, enshrined within the long, sweeping net that kept the mosquitoes at bay in summer and shrouded me against the maid’s inquisitive gape on mornings when I craved privacy.

  “How long have I been asleep?” I asked.

  “Try to settle down.” He gave me the cup.

  “How long?”

  “A day.”

  “How long was I away for?”

  “A week.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  “What time is it?” I gulped the rest of the water.

  “Seven.”

  “Morning or evening?”

  “Evening.” His tone was anxious.

  “Everything seems so foggy.”

  “We’ve checked you over. You have no injuries.” He pulled open the curtains.

  “Close them.” I motioned to the long, white drapes.

  “We found you collapsed by the front door.”

  I examined my left ear, but it felt normal. “Please, close the curtains.”

  Miguel lifted the window latch and opened it. “And you need fresh air.”

  I flopped back down onto the pillow.

  “You’re home now.” He rested beside me. “Where did you go?”

  “To see Alicia.”

  He folded his arms. “How did you find her?”

  “She doesn’t want to see me.”

  “She’ll come round.”

  “She has a son.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  I pulled the bed sheet up and over me. “Senator Grenaldi’s the father.”

  “She married well.”

  “She’s not his wife.”

  Miguel flinched.

  “Why can’t I remember anything?” I wiped sweat from my brow.

  �
�The shock of seeing Alicia after all this time was too much perhaps?”

  I had a vague memory of Alicia’s awful grimace when she saw me for the first time in years, and the emptiness of her stare, sorely reminding me of the distance festering between us. I cursed my inability to rescue her.

  He patted my shoulder. “Why don’t you write to her?”

  “I don’t think the letter would reach her.”

  “I’ll hand deliver it.”

  I stared at him to make my point. “I don’t want you anywhere near Vigo.”

  “Is that where you went?”

  The warm breeze billowed the curtains.

  He topped up my cup. “The Romany performers asked a high price for their main act?”

  “Annabelle? She’s still here?”

  “She is.”

  I slid down the headboard and stared up at the ceiling.

  “She’s done nothing but talk about you since she’s been here.” His eyes lit up.

  I smiled.

  “You have two letters.” He handed me an envelope. “This one came two days after you left.”

  I ripped it open.

  Velde,

  My lawyers are scribing the deeds of ownership to your estate. The papers will arrive shortly. See that you sign them.

  FDG

  Miguel studied my reaction. “Everything all right?”

  The coward hadn’t even signed his name. “There were two?” I tucked Felipe’s letter back into the envelope.

  “This one has the Royal Seal of King Ferdinand V.” He gave me the second dispatch.

  The luxurious parchment and royal crest illustrated its noble source. Peeling back the adhered seal, I eased out and unraveled the scroll.

  He leaned in. “What does it say?”

  “I’ve been knighted.”

  “Is this one of your jokes?”

  “I can’t accept it.”

  Miguel peeked at the official parchment. “Is it real?”

  I nodded.

  He lowered himself down onto one knee.

  “Please don’t.” I gestured for him to stand. “I didn’t earn it.”

  “Well, the king doesn’t bestow such an honor unless—”

  “Evidently he does.”