A Vampire's Rise

by Vanessa Fewings

  She climbed in first.

  With a nod from her, I slid the stone lid over us and hugged her into me. Despite the dark, her turquoise-eyed gaze pierced mine. Her beauty extraordinary, a resplendent vision, I traced the tattoo of an ancient design on her left arm. “What does it mean?” I asked.

  She softened into me.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

  She nuzzled into my chest and I conveyed gratitude for being here with her, thankful that I didn’t have to go through this on my own, whatever this was. Sunaria’s expression was still. She’d been like a phantom floating in and out of my life, and now she lay in my arms, this moment devoid of all understanding.

  A preternatural awakening, an epiphany of what had befallen me, hinted that I might even cheat death, lessening my sadness and absorbing my attention, and providing the courage to turn inward. I drew comfort from this mysterious woman, captivated by her alluring timelessness.

  The promise of this woman like a sublime rite of passage from my world to hers.

  With her nod of permission I made love to her, worshipping her, demanding nothing less With a glance at her half-lidded gaze and the soft sound of her sighs, I confirmed that she approved. With her fingers wrapped around locks of my hair, tugging, I felt beholden for the chance to serve her.

  Not so long ago, deep underground, I’d allowed my imagination to run to this moment. How I’d ever disrespected her, I don’t know, couldn’t comprehend that I’d once allowed her to walk away. My thoughts obsessed over her, and even this close there was the need to be closer, and for this fierce intimacy never to end.

  I didn’t want to ever cease, responding to the arch of her back and her soft moans, subtle movements that clued me in on her unspoken words. I wanted to punish her this way for making me so indebted, provoke her to scream in ecstasy as I continued on, refusing to relent until she commanded me to.

  Sunaria’s domination of me was a bewitchment of extraordinary tenor.

  Chapter 24

  LYING IN SUNARIA’S ARMS within the mausoleum, we waited for the sun to set.

  Strange how I’d developed an aversion to daylight, more alarming the very idea that I might draw blood as sustenance and indeed find pleasure in it. It scared me to my core, and I tried to hide my fear of damnation. Yet at the same time, I fantasized about the act. The most fiendish of desires burned within.

  Still wary of staring directly into Sunaria’s eyes, I avoided her gaze. Instead, my fingertips traced the outline of her tattoo.

  “It’s the symbol of a master’s ownership,” she said softly.

  “You were a slave?”

  “Once.”

  I followed the curve of the design.

  “I was sold to a Roman. As a child.”

  She sent me a mind image—a twenty-three-year-old female slave ending the bond with her master.

  Her turquoise eyes glistened. “I loved him.”

  “But you killed him?”

  “I did.”

  “How old are you?”

  With delicate fingers, she stroked my face and kissed my cheek and with that very movement, she conveyed she didn’t want to talk about it. She guided my chin up so that she held my gaze. As I stared into that unending blueness, I sensed the last remnants of daylight slipping away, an internal awareness, a natural connection to the night.

  A chill reached my bones. “Help me to understand.”

  “I will.”

  “We’re being followed?”

  She sighed. “They’re easy to evade.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The elders.”

  “Are they like us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are they following you?”

  “There are statutes that we must follow.”

  “And you broke one of their rules?”

  She stilled and moments fell away, then she let out the deepest sigh, like a dark whisper. “I turned you.”

  I gestured for her to continue.

  “Elders rule our kind.” She twisted her delicate fingers in my hair. “Or try to. They deem who is to be turned. Who is worthy.”

  “I wasn’t considered worthy?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “How many of us are there?”

  “Impossible to keep track of. Wayward nightwalkers are turning people all the time.”

  “What would they do to you?”

  She sighed as though bored with my questions.

  I didn’t like the idea that we were being hunted. An internal coercion ignited my senses, the promise of what the night might offer. “I need to see my son.”

  “And you have unfinished business.” Her gaze left mine. “To have any chance of surviving, you must see it through.”

  I acknowledged Sunaria’s command and slid the tomb lid open. I offered my hand to assist her. When we withdrew, I had a strange feeling that we were being watched and discreetly studied Sunaria to see if she also detected it. She didn’t seem to.

  Within several minutes, we arrived at the edge of the graveyard where a horse-drawn carriage was parked. The horseman’s face was half-hidden by a low tipped hat.

  “He works for you?” I asked as I climbed in after Sunaria.

  “Tonight, he does.”

  “You feel safe like that?”

  “One thing you’ll learn, Daumia, and this is imperative for your sanity, we easily mingle.”

  “Does he know we just slept in a mausoleum?”

  “Of course not. But he knows he’s paid well.”

  The carriage lumbered forward and we were off.

  She folded her arms. “We don’t need to hide in the shadows.”

  “Are we being followed?” I tried to shake off the feeling.

  “The only enemies we have are those who consider themselves superior to us.”

  “Well, that pretty much includes everyone in Vigo,” I muttered, not sparing the sarcasm, and stared out of the window. “Am I condemned to hell?”

  “You’re condemned to a lifetime of sensuous pleasures and luxuries most never get to enjoy.”

  As she reminisced, I sensed she’d tasted such pleasures beyond my wildest imagination and she turned her head slightly. Staring at me, her bright red pout seemingly promised that I would, too.

  We rode out of Santiago De Compostela, our carriage rocking along the well-worn pathway.

  I wondered if I’d ever return to the city of my birth. “I’m so afraid.”

  * * * *

  Conflicted, I yearned for Sunaria, yet at the same time my independence.

  Her hold on me was due to my fear and she knew it. With little knowledge of what I’d become, I conveyed gratitude for her continued guidance. My confidence in making the right decisions was lacking. I’d arrogantly judged those whom history had deemed satanic—Prince Belshazzar, Julius Cesar, and Judas Iscariot came to mind. I couldn’t find any difference between them and me, and believed that my sins now equaled theirs.

  I shook off the melancholy, fascinated with my ability to feel less. Nature’s way of lulling the guilt, I assumed.

  My courage to hold Sunaria’s gaze increased and with such an exquisite vision sitting opposite me, I was comforted. Fantasizing about her was a delightful distraction to more terrifying thoughts.

  She smiled, having picked up on my musing.

  Sensing that she heard my every thought, I tried to control them. She’d haunted me as a boy, a mysterious apparition, appearing and then withdrawing, altering life’s course. Sunaria had saved me on numerous occasions and, more recently, she’d saved my son.

  I reached for her.

  Sunaria raised her long leg and pressed her foot against my chest, pushing me back into my seat. Her shoe traced down, lingering between my legs. Nervous of her heel and yet enjoying myself, I bit my lip.

  She lowered her foot and crossed her legs with an imperious stare. With her head held high, she gazed out of the window.

  I let out the deepest sigh.


  From the familiar countryside, we were getting close. Far off, a deer galloped across a grassy ridge and over. Estimating its distance, it appeared at least four miles away. I marveled at my new ability to see with remarkable sharpness, but it also alarmed me.

  I missed Annabelle.

  * * * *

  With no time to grieve, I pushed the ache away.

  No part of what I saw around me, or experienced now, reminded me of my old life. It had passed so quickly, and at no time had I considered that it would one day become a memory.

  The carriage came to a stop.

  Sunaria stroked my leg with a comforting gesture. “I’ll follow you.” She paid the driver several coins and we watched the horseman drive it away out of sight.

  “Find us somewhere to sleep,” she commanded in that husky way of hers. “And it better not be a graveyard.”

  The thought of having to find shelter and delay our visit made me wary, but we had no choice. I relented, agreeing that it was actually better to face Vigo with a clear head.

  Sparrows burst into song, announcing the imminent daybreak.

  With minutes before sunrise, I surveyed the well kept cemetery, trying to ignore Sunaria’s disapproval. The grand mausoleum was a slight improvement over the one we’d slept in the day before.

  I read the inscription of who lay within: Thomas A. Haywood, aged 37, and rubbed away the dust to read the epitaph.

  Sunaria yanked on my sleeve. “Now that’s creepy.”

  I raised my eyebrows only to quickly lower them again when the idea of being buried alive came to mind. A soft bed beckoned, a luxury I’d once taken for granted. The next time I got to lie on sheets, I promised myself I’d savor every second.

  Despite that, as we settled into the mausoleum, I drew comfort from lying with her. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. Nightmares came and went, providing a myriad of images, a restless sleep. I’d been fighting an invisible force, held in some continuously revolving bad dream.

  I awoke with a jolt and found myself alone.

  Sunaria had left my side without waking me. My breath left me and I was gripped with fear. I slid open the stone slab and climbed out.

  Sunaria had reassured me that she’d placed Jacob with my sister.

  What if she’d lied?

  Outside, I turned around and around, trying to get my bearings. Leaves and twigs rustled as small creatures scurried away, and then voices carried. I followed them down a grassy bank. The gravestones were smaller here, many of them sunken and tilted.

  Sunaria was in conversation with a young man dressed in a well-cut suit. I tried to hide my panic. Sunaria flirted with him, stirring my jealousy.

  “What do you think?” She glanced at me.

  “About what?” I kicked up yellow, dry leaves.

  She gestured to the stranger and he approached me, conveying nervousness intermingled with excitement.

  She smiled at him. “Arnold, isn’t he everything I told you he’d be?”

  He nodded.

  I cringed. “What?”

  His smile dropped.

  Sunaria threw her arms around him and he leaned into her and grinned.

  My glare made him let go.

  Sunaria pointed to Arnold again. “His clothes will fit me.”

  “What are you talking about?” His mouth gaped.

  Sunaria’s tongue traced her upper lip. “Thirsty?”

  “I am a little, yes.” He glanced from her to me.

  “Daumia?” Sunaria smiled.

  I knew to refuse would displease her, but I hesitated. Despite my recent attack on the soldiers, this was wrong, cruel even. Trying to get my head around the situation, I sensed her growing impatience.

  My gaze locked with his and he seemed to catch the subtle change in me, as I focused in on him, the mark of a hunter.

  He bolted.

  Sunaria’s hands rested on her hips. “Well?”

  I shrugged.

  She sent a pulse of anger my way.

  I tracked Arnold through the graveyard and into the woods, and with a shove, I had him down and flipped him over. Sunaria ran her fingers through my hair and then her pressure increased, as she held me there.

  Arnold struggled beneath me. A familiar rush as his blood tingled in my mouth. All became familiar and knowledge flowed as he drifted. I rocked, grateful for both the sustenance and the information. Tracing his steps through time, he unwittingly introduced me to people he’d known, adventures he’d taken, cities he’d visited, and the books he’d read.

  Arnold the architect. Amongst the scattered designs within his mind, we settled upon one of the plans he’d drawn, followed the ink upon the page as it manifested into structure. I recognized these corridors, bedrooms, and staff rooms, and as we passed through the courtyard, I dug deeper, willing him to go on ahead as I lingered, taking my time in Felipe’s senatorial office.

  Chapter 25

  WE STOOD FIFTY FEET or so outside the senatorial residence. Sunaria had stripped our architect and now wore his clothes. Arnold’s jacket concealed her curves.

  “Easier to get about.” Sunaria twisted her hair and poked it beneath her cap.

  I’d dragged Arnold’s body into the mausoleum where we’d slept, petitioning Thomas A. Haywood, aged 37, to watch over him.

  I tried to fathom how taking his life was so natural, like how I’d imagine an animal might feel after a kill, as though we were privileged to choose who lived and who died, gifted with the ability to be another’s undoing.

  Or cursed.

  Such a cruel trick for Sunaria to appear so alluring, so exquisitely bewitching, the moonlight reflecting off her dark locks, shimmering off her pale skin, lulling everyone, including me.

  “After what Ricardo did to you,” she said, “you still want to rescue him?”

  I studied the windows of the great house. “He had no idea what he was doing.”

  “Still.”

  “He’s my nephew.”

  She pursed her lips. “Let’s deal with the senator first.”

  “He’s my unfinished business.”

  She squeezed my shoulder. “And now you have the layout in your head.”

  I turned to her. “You think you’ll pass as a man?”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  Her attire convinced me, but her demeanor would have to change.

  “I’m ready.” I nodded, trying to persuade myself that I was.

  “Stick to the plan.”

  That had sounded like an order. I questioned whether I could. Within moments, we landed on the senatorial roof. I peeked over the edge at the sheer drop, astounded that I’d just scaled a building. We pried open the loft door and entered.

  “Felipe’s office, go,” she whispered.

  I hesitated.

  She frowned. “I’ll be fine.”

  Stepping mindfully over the rafters, I proceeded ahead and quickly found the room, but when I turned to show Sunaria, she was gone.

  She was going through with it.

  Peering down, I had a good view of Felipe’s office, and saw him sitting at his desk, scribing away. With all my will, I resisted the urge to descend and strangle him.

  The painting had been replaced by a smaller, less significant portrait. He must have panicked when he’d discovered me gone and his decimated Belshazzar’s Feast there.

  Sunaria entered with a member of staff who introduced her to Felipe as a royal representative. With the shake of their hands, Felipe welcomed her. Sunaria’s voice was a tone deeper, her mannerisms masterfully imitating that of a man, an effeminate one at that.

  Felipe bowed. “How is the king?”

  “He sends his deepest regards.” Sunaria tilted her head in greeting.

  I closed my gaping mouth.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of such an unexpected visit?” Felipe gestured to a chair. “My staff will prepare a room for you.”

  “I won’t be staying.” She sat down. “This is the king�
�s time, therefore, I must be brief.”

  “What brings you here?”

  She frowned. “Propaganda is devised to mask the truth.”

  “I quite agree.”

  “The Church must keep its ministerial throne secure in these times of unrest.”

  Felipe showed impatience. “Go on.”

  “As you know, I have served the king for many years.”

  This he didn’t know, but he hid it well.

  “His highness,” she continued, “has chosen well . . .”

  Felipe’s intrigue was palpable.

  “In you,” she emphasized with a long stare.

  Felipe nodded.

  “Intelligence reports indicate that there is a plot against the throne.”

  Felipe sat back.

  “The king needs evidence.” Sunaria leaned forward. “Proof before he convicts the queen’s favorite courtier.”

  “Does her majesty know?”

  “He wishes to protect her, just in case the information is—”

  “False?”

  She smiled and loftily raised her chin.

  “What is required of me?” Felipe asked.

  “Travel to Palos—”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. The queen’s ship is due to set sail.”

  His brow furrowed. “The Santa María?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I—”

  “At seven o’clock tomorrow night, you must be in The Captain’s Table Inn. Wait for further instructions.”

  “I don’t think I can make the port, even if I leave right this minute.”

  “What shall I tell the king?” Sunaria rose.

  Felipe flinched. “There must be some mistake.”

  “This is your message to his majesty?”

  Felipe’s stare searched the room. “Tell his highness that my utmost discretion is assured.”

  She gave a deep bow. “The throne expects nothing less.”

  * * * *

  “You think he fell for that?” I kept my voice low.

  “Yes.”

  “It can’t be that easy.”

  She grasped my chin with long fingers, and then she softened, tracing my cheek gently.