Chapter 21
QUIETNESS LOOMED IN the deserted courtyard.
My tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. I’d lost all sense of time. The scent of sweat mixed with blood permeated the air, and something else too, something intoxicating.
“Do you choose life?” It was a woman’s voice, like a soft purr.
She exuded that familiar fragrance, stirring remnants of a long ago desire.
“You’re not real.” I sighed. At least I thought I did.
Sunaria stood close and she was unchanged, flawless.
I struggled to breathe.
“I offer you a life beyond this one. Say yes and I’ll bring you over.”
“I’m dying.”
“I can bring you back.”
A gnawing pain shot through me. I cried out.
“What do you choose?” she asked.
“Don’t leave . . .”
“What do you want?”
“Life.”
She nuzzled in and I welcomed her softness, her comforting, a sharp sting at my neck and the feel of her kissing me there.
Too weak to flinch, I strained against my bindings. “I can’t breathe.”
She pulled away. “It will feel worse,” she whispered, “before it feels better.”
I tried desperately to break free. Had to find my way out of here—and find my way home.
The tickling sensation of her nuzzling in again and lapping there made me wince.
Her wrist pressed firmly against my mouth, which opened wider to receive the warm taste of the finest claret. Even though I knew my actions were depraved, an unspeakable act, the arousing sweetness was too thirst quenching to refuse. My dry tongue licked and suckled. I hoped this could save me, whatever this was.
A boy again, full of excitement, climbing out my bedroom window. Near the far wall on the other side of the arena stood Roelle and Aaron, only this time I observed them with a man’s insight. Felipe’s rough hands nudged me into the bullring.
I choked on a sob.
Despite their covered faces, I knew it was them and recognized the cudgel that Felipe raised into the air.
It was a dying man’s realization, or something else, something shown to me by her, a mystical revelation of what had truly happened that night. My suffering dissipated and, with the wafting of her perfume, my torment crept shamefully away, like a nightmare that had done its worst.
“I have you now.” Sunaria’s words lingered. “You’re safe.”
Transfiguring, I gazed skyward, as a pulsing surged along my arms and down through my thighs and calves, eliciting a thrilling vibration, a quickening of mind, body, and soul.
A sensuous imagining . . .
Sunaria astride me, a fantasy so real, guiding my imagination, luring me, and holding my gaze. Dark locks spilling over naked shoulders. My hands found her small waist, controlling the rhythm. Yearning for her, my body drenched in a wet heat.
“Not really happening.”
In all this time, I’d not once looked at another woman. Annabelle was my one true love who’d freed me from myself, the wife who waited for me even now.
Her chilling whisper, “Surrender.”
I desired nothing more than to hold onto this feeling, then realized that my restraints remained and my hands were still bound behind me and secured to the post, restricting me from moving.
Rocking together, sharing these visions, exquisite pleasure carried us along. Sunaria mastered me, dominating every nuance.
Spellbound, I exhaled for what felt like the first time. Sighing, she guided me on.
Solace.
“Avoid daylight.” Sunaria’s voice came seemingly distant.
Shuddering, I passed through Death’s dark veil.
* * * *
Night.
I awoke to find myself slumped against the post in a deserted courtyard, untied.
No sign of Sunaria.
Had she even been here?
My clothes were blood soaked. I poked around my abdomen, searching for wounds that weren’t there. No pain. No scars. Just blood.
At my feet, a monstrous vision of a dead soldier, his skin pale and leathery, his mouth open in a silent scream. I looked away, all the while removing the knife from his belt. My vision was sharp, lines more defined, and despite the dark, colors vibrant.
No time for madness.
A lump caught in my throat. Salvador’s body lay at the end of the courtyard. A strange memory of Ricardo’s sword tearing into me, it had seemed so real. I traced my tongue along the crimson smudges on my fingertips and headed into the house.
Searching Felipe’s desk, I found the warrant that transferred my estate into his name. I held it over a candle and it flared brightly, and then disintegrated. A flame caught my thumb and I sucked on the burn, trying to cool it. When I reexamined my hand, there was no redness and no blister.
I approached the painting of Belshazzar’s feast. With a rip, the canvass tore out of its frame. Taking a moment, I studied the rich strokes of Belshazzar’s golden coat. The portrait’s meaning: the writing was on the wall, obscurely highlighting the fact I should have known Felipe’s cruelty would find me again.
Felipe had lied about everything. I’d exposed not only myself to danger but also my family.
I returned to the courtyard and hooked the canvas onto a nail that protruded from the top of the pillar where I’d been tied, piercing it in the center.
For a moment, I considered searching for Ricardo, but my usual sensitivity eluded me. Feelings that had once come easily, now dissolved. Recollecting metal striking my spine sent a sliver of pain radiating up my back. Such a strike would be deadly.
I’d come back for him.
In a trance-like state, I lifted Salvador and carried him through the desolate house, not surprised to find a dead guard lying at the front door. Stranger things had befallen me tonight.
I stepped over him and disappeared into the night.
* * * *
I found an abandoned shovel leaning up against a tilting grave. The peacefulness of the churchyard was tranquil enough, but Salvador deserved better, an honorable tombstone to mark a life well-spent.
As I poured the last few handfuls of soil over him, I swore revenge. My hands were filthy and, engrained beneath my fingernails, the blackest dirt. I wanted to wash it off, wash away this pain. The heavy mound of earth was all wrong, and the thought of Salvador waking to find himself beneath layers of dirt made me fling myself at his grave and dig. When I reached his cold hand, I groped for his wrist, fumbling for a pulse.
Nothing.
I held his mottled palm, planting kisses there, staining my lips with soil. Weeping, refusing to let him go, my cries echoed, releasing a wellspring of grief.
Misery, I know thee.
On the horizon, the glint of dawn approached and an uncommon fear persuaded me to tuck Salvador’s hand back. A burning sensation crawled over my flesh as darkness faded, and an irrational terror gripped me as sure as the impending daylight. Searching for somewhere to shelter, I ran past row upon row of slanted gravestones, the names of the departed as worn away as their memory.
At the center of the cemetery, larger tombstones lined the pathway. The wealthy had a monopoly even in death.
Morbid inner ramblings that made no sense held my thoughts hostage, making it nearly impossible to think straight.
A burst of cold, dusty air hit me as I entered a rundown crypt. Wooden shutters blocked out some daylight, but not enough.
This place was hauntingly familiar, similar to the mausoleum I’d been trapped in as a boy. A sunray caught my hand and blisters bubbled. I flew into a panic as red welts tracked up my arm, stinging as they spread. I shoved the stone lid and stared at the rotting casket inside. Reconsidering sharing the space with a corpse, I glanced at the garish sunrays.
A hellish nightmare.
I leaped in, lay down and slid back the stone. A sudden drop in temperature helped me to focus. Spitting a sticky
mass of cobwebs, I hacked the rest out, cringing at the thought of being trapped. Leaning over, I heaved stale blood and it trickled along the edge of the coffin, and dripped. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.
The dust settled. It was so uncomfortable that I considered climbing out, but the incessant stinging persuaded me otherwise. I could see even though there was no light. I tried to focus, and struggled to find reason.
Trembling, I replayed the day’s events.
Miguel had once told me that shock could trick the mind into all sorts of things. Thoughts of seeing him and the boys again, and holding Annabelle, offered some comfort.
By the time I awoke, things would be normal again, I’d feel normal again.
I begged sleep to find me.
* * * *
I chastised myself for delaying my journey.
Darkness welcomed me when I withdrew. Staring back at the tomb, I marveled that I’d slept there.
Alicia would have reached Miranda’s by now. I hated the thought of telling her about Salvador and even worse, I’d failed her by not going back for her son.
I craved meat, yet the thought of eating anything sickened me. I had an uncontrollable urge to suckle, draw from an animal’s veins.
The pathway to madness, my mind lost its grip, as I struggled for clues to explain what had happened over the last few hours.
Sunaria had nestled into my neck and suckled. My imagination groped to comprehend, realizing that I’d seen something similar happen to Roelle. He’d been fine until daylight flooded in.
What the fuck was going on?
Rumors of nightwalkers came to mind. Creatures that stalked the night. Staff had retold tales about the once disappeared who’d staggered back into town with crazed expressions and fang marks, unintelligent talk from uneducated peasants.
The shock of seeing Salvador’s murder had sent me over the edge.
* * * *
I lingered outside a deserted house.
The sensation of a hot orb boring through my eyes persuaded me to scramble on in. Rubbing my eyes, I prayed that the damage wasn’t permanent. My crawling flesh subsided and my vision returned. I would try again tomorrow. I must be tired, weary from my journey, but not the usual weariness. This was different.
Finding the darkness inadequate, I descended into the basement and caught a whiff of a human presence. The entwined couple slept soundly in the corner. With a sense of excitement, I knelt beside them, watching their chests rise and fall. Their pink flesh offered up a bright illumination, my reaction to the pair uncharacteristic. A corporeal desire to embrace them both confounded me. Unable to resist the urge, I moved closer.
He stirred.
Questioning my behavior subsided as the sensation of my tongue tracing his neck brought a wave of exhilaration. I marveled at how easy it was to pierce his skin and then suckled.
My mind followed him down corridors, through golden wheat fields and into lovers’ beds. His memories rolled on, making no sense. Through his eyes, his world unfolded. I lived his life—men he’d seduced, woman he’d taken regardless of their consent, children he’d fathered and then denied were his own, fights he’d won and lost, and the lives he’d torn apart.
The woman awoke and glanced at her lover, and then stared wide-eyed at me. Her screams shocked me back into the room. I scooted toward the wall. The vein on her neck was a tease difficult to resist.
My thumb grazed along my upper teeth, and I flinched when I touched the sharp point of what felt like a fang.
I found my voice and rasped, “Run.” My fingernails dug into the dirt, resisting my own will.
She glanced back at her lifeless lover.
“Run!”
* * * *
I’d stripped the dead man and now wore his clothes, replacing my blood soaked shirt. His trousers were a little short, but they’d do. I reassured myself that this would never happen again. Whatever disease plagued me, if I could just make it home, I knew I’d recover. Once reunited with my family, I’d find a way to overcome this hysteria.
The two sharp teeth that I thought I’d felt had now gone. My imagination spiraled.
Better never to speak of it again and deny it ever happened. Yet, as I recalled how I’d hunted down that sweet girl, and what followed when I’d caught her—sensuous sensations that I’d never experienced before—I wondered if I’d break my own promise.
I had to get a grip.
Upon my arrival at Miranda’s house, I flew into a panic. Her home had been ransacked. Each room was in disarray, the work of angry men. Overturned tables, upside down chairs, and smashed glass everywhere, paintings ripped from the walls, their portraits slashed through, and from her empty jewelry boxes, evidence of looting.
Running from room to room, searching for a coded message left to reveal where they’d gone, it was more than obvious that it was impossible to find anything amongst this mess. And from the look of it, they’d failed to find what they came for, just as I had.
I’d lost Alicia again.
Chapter 22
WHEN I REACHED Santiago De Compostela, the air was still.
Lingering on the steps, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I turned to face the reek of decay and my breath left me. Three slaughtered horses lay rigid in the paddock, their eyes bulging.
I bolted into the house and up, ascending the staircase with dizzying speed.
Miguel lay face down outside my bedroom door, and a knife emblazoned with the senatorial crest protruded from his back. The man who’d treated me like a son was now dead. At the doorway, I teetered on collapse and tears bleared my vision. Upon the bed lay Annabelle and our eldest son, Eduardo.
I settled beside their motionless bodies, their skin mottled. I looked around for Jacob but couldn’t see him, and feared finding his small body like this.
I hugged Annabelle. She lay like a rag doll in my arms. I ran my fingers through her spiraling curls. I reached for my son, and then pulled back, unable to go through with touching a cold, lifeless hand. I leaned over him and my tears dropped onto his pale cheek.
Shaking, I tried to make sense of what I saw and what I felt. I wanted to turn back the clock. I’d gone to save my sister and Salvador and left my family here, vulnerable.
I removed Annabelle’s necklace and opened the dangling locket. Inside, our portraits were captured perfectly. My breath left me as the ache in my chest wrenched so badly that I felt it could kill me.
I wanted it to.
On the bedside table rested an open book and an empty cup. The window was open and the lace curtains billowed.
* * * *
Staring back at the house, my mind splintered. Numbness severed the pain. A breeze whirled dead leaves around me and they settled at my feet. I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing out here, lingering before a mound of earth, my fingernails filthy.
My mind fractured.
Whatever had tried to entangle me over the last two days found its way in. Surrender brought little relief. My sense of smell heightened, enhancing my awareness, sharpening my perception. My vision cleared. I honed in on the nature around me. Emotions scattered.
Voices carried and I followed the ruckus, meandering back the way I’d come.
Twenty soldiers or so sat talking around the kitchen table, before them, plates stacked high with food and numerous empty bottles of wine. The murderers were having a midnight feast.
Again that terrible chatter of voices, the strange illusion that more men spoke than were here, and for a fleeting moment, a diabolical notion that I wasn’t only hearing their conversations but also their thoughts, as voices crossed over, clashed with each other, and made no sense.
Movement in the corner caught my eye.
Jacob, my one-year-old son, played on the floor and he was filthy. I had to get to him before the madness got to me. Strolling past the soldiers, I headed for him, vaguely aware that they leaped to their feet and drew their swords. I planted a kiss onto Jacob’s forehead and carried him o
ver to the pantry where I plopped him in and shut the door.
And then I turned to face the men.
* * * *
The claret tasted off.
I sat back, resting my feet on the kitchen table, taking a moment to consider if the grapes had soured before the wine had been corked, or if the fermenting process had gone askew. The wine’s consistency was too thick and its flavor unlike any vintage I’d ever had.
Sunaria sat opposite to me, wearing a long, black gown that gathered at her waist and clung to her figure. Her revealing dress was overlaid by a sweeping, hooded cloak, pulled back, the lining a burgundy velvet.
Jacob played at my feet with milk-stained lips. He crashed a cup onto the floor and then smiled up at me, proud of the noise, and then did it all over again.
The drink refreshed me nevertheless. “Sure you don’t want one?” I grinned. “Perhaps white would be better?”
Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t blink. “Take a breath, Daumia.”
I took another sip. “When did you come in?”
“Do you know what day it is?”
I beamed at her. “Your beauty, it mocks me.”
She smiled down at Jacob, who was tugging on my shoe laces. I focused in on him and my gaze caught the scarlet circle of dried blood on the floor nearby.
Slaughtered men were everywhere.
This is not wine that I’m drinking.
I bolted up.
Flashes of images came to mind, a sense of sharing their secrets, the darkest intimacies, and a dusky memory of attacking each man, like a crazed animal. The glass slipped from my fingers and smashed, splattering remnants of blood that mingled with the glass splinters. I struggled to slow my breathing, control my panic, and hold back my cry.
Stifled by the putrid air, I heaved in. “All of them?”
She nodded.
“But how?”
“You know you’re in denial.”
“What happened?”
She raised her hand to quiet me.
I fought back panic. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing.”
“Clearly there is.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Dear God, Jacob.” I picked him up, and carried him down the corridor, covering his eyes as we passed another dead soldier. The man had bolted and I’d caught him.
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