Remembering Señor Machon, my first tutor, I smiled fondly recalling his lessons, which enlightened me at such a young age, feeding me knowledge that I’d actually used. And later, my relationship with Miguel, his lessons not from books but drawn from life itself, his wisdom that only now I appreciated.
The voices in my head had almost gone. Here I’d managed to suppress many of the old inner ghosts, subdue the angst that disallowed any sense of calm, searching for self-forgiveness or even insight as a poor second. Striving to keep at arm’s length that awful feeling of being overtaken by the unseen, and fearing I’d be unable to prevent it.
The hairs pricked on the back of my neck. With a quick check of my surroundings, I confirmed that I was alone.
Holding Marcus’ letter, I re-read the missive: London was even more avant-garde than when I’d left, Rachel flourished, and Belshazzar’s thrived.
“Come back to me,” his final words written in a steady hand.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Sunaria approaching. “How long have you been watching me?”
She looked surprised. “I just got here.”
I knew that expression. “What’s wrong?”
She gave me a wary nod, uncomfortable with me being so near the edge. Her dress billowed.
“The clouds broke an hour ago.” I flashed her a smile. “I love this view.”
“How many times do you have to see it?” Sunaria grumbled. “I yearn for something else, something different.”
I turned away. “We’re not going to Madrid.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Madrid.”
“I’m not ready to go back yet.”
“But I am.”
I pointed to the small fishing boat off in the distance. “Now that’s a hard life.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“What’s brought this on?”
“Boredom.”
“Why so desperate to return to London?”
“Cornwall.”
“Seek out your ancestors?” Reluctant to bring up an old argument, I looked away.
“Why not?”
“Because there’s risk and no gain.”
“I’ll gain joy in seeing how my descendants have fared.”
“You’re not going.”
She pouted. “I hate this place.”
“But it’s so peaceful.”
“Too much time to think.”
“That’s what I like about it, less chaos.”
“I’ll only be gone for a few months.”
“You’ve made up your mind then?”
“This is important to me.”
“You’re being reckless.” I sighed.
“Please try to understand.”
“Your relatives are dead. Their ancestors are a diluted version of them.”
“You think that this is living? This is stagnation. Marcus and Rachel are living the high life, mingling with society’s finest, and I’m here. Sand is in my hair, under my fingernails, and in my knickers!”
I burst out laughing.
She also saw the funny side, her laughter rippling, as she snuggled into me. “The same view is driving me crazy. I need variety.”
“You’re the one who suggested this place.” I squeezed her into me.
“Not for forever.”
“My mind’s getting close to some kind of resolution.”
“Finding you will be easy. You’ll still be here.” Her lips met mine.
With the deepest kiss, I tried to persuade her to stay.
Sunaria strolled back along the cliff and then she turned and a gust of wind blew strands of hair across her face. She smiled.
I considered going with her.
Far off, where the ocean met the sky, a melding of dusky blue hues, a glorious array, bestowing a familiar, restless mood, a precursor to a night of hunting, when I’d search out new ways to amuse myself. A large seagull swooped low over my head and I ducked, losing my footing. I quickly regained my balance.
Sunaria had gone.
Chapter 59
SUNARIA’S SCREAMS SHATTERED the silence.
I flew out of bed, feeling abject fear, finding myself alone in the small chateau. Sunaria, now a continent away, was calling out to me. Paralyzed with terror, an awful realization hit me that she was in the utmost danger, and I was powerless to save her. Unable to get to her, I used the mind gift to relay that she must stay calm. Escape.
She’d only been in Cornwall a few weeks.
“Stone Masters,” her voice drifted in and out.
They had her.
I’d slaughtered Lord Archer along with many of his men, but the Stone Masters had reestablished.
I’d failed her.
Within that dark prison, I shared her misery.
The agony unfolded as sounds, sensations, and feelings were relayed by her. I refused to leave the château, refused to abandon her. As the hours unfolded, everything unraveled. Sharing Sunaria’s suffering was unbearable, but I wouldn’t let her go, or let her down, staying with her in thought and trying to comfort her.
I’d never known her so afraid. Or me.
She lay blindfolded, gagged, and bound. From what she conveyed, I gathered that she was held in a dungeon.
They bled her.
In the process of moving locations, they lost their grip. She’d bolted and her blindfold fell. The faces of two small boys stared back at her aghast, seen also by me and imprinted into memory.
The men overpowered her.
Lord Archer’s study. His books referencing Stonehenge. The ritual. The separating of the ashes, pouring them into the fissures of the stones.
* * * *
Madness promised the greatest escape.
What followed when one found oneself immersed in the alternate reality of insanity, those of us who manage to hold on will never know. Pacing the house, I struck the furniture and threw it against the walls that confined me, rousing a once dormant fury, and sending me into a diabolic frenzy. I decimated the place.
When Sunaria’s screams were eventually silenced, there came a moment of relief that her suffering was over. Falling to my knees, my cries were unceasing. My maker, my lover, my beloved, was dead.
I nuzzled my nose into one of her soft gowns that she’d left behind, finding no easement from her scent.
I want her back. I want her back. I want . . .
The anger raged on and took me over. My blood lust disrupted my ability to think straight.
When I reached the edge of the cliff, I hesitated. The sheer drop was enticing. For the first time since Sunaria had given me the gold ring, I eased it off to read the words inscribed along the inside of the band, “Orpheus, I’m yours eternal.”
With a trembling hand, I slid the ring back on.
Far off, twinges of crystal-like orange flickered along the horizon, promising sweet relief.
The kind that’s permanent.
With my back facing the cliff, I stretched out my arms, and fell . . .
Chapter 60
May 1805
I GAVE MYSELF OVER TO IT.
Inside the mausoleum, the same one that I’d been trapped in as a boy, Sunaria’s resting place, I found some solace replaying my time with her, pretending she was near. I’d returned to Santiago de Compostela, hoping to remember in detail that first vision when she’d appeared to me. Holy ground, the one reason the tombs were not torn down, and as though God had taken pity on me, I remained undisturbed.
And so I slept for sixteen long years, on and off. Unconsciousness, my only respite, freed me from the harsh, glaring grief. On the rare occasion when I roused, I’d consider with fascination that I could survive without frequent feeding. It did result in exhaustion and a loss of will, but as such the drag of sleep came easier.
As society encroached, the noise outside my self-imposed prison increased. For the most part, I blocked it out, but as time and the elements wore away at the boundaries of my sacred resting ground, the time came for me to rise.
The faces of the two boys were mentally preserved, though they’d have grown in years. Still, such a lead offered me hope that if I found them, I’d find Sunaria’s murderers.
I made my way to Palos.
Stopping off at a private residence, I found a change of clothes, grateful for the opportunity to freshen up. And feed.
The journey to the port provided proof of my longevity. I’d not changed like the landscapes around me, society ever enduring, ever evolving.
Upon my arrival, I arranged for my oak chest to be delivered to the largest sea-going vessel in the harbor, and placed in my private cabin.
That feeling of being watched again stirred a familiar feeling, but I shook it off.
Returning to England possessed my thoughts, and I ruminated on what I’d find. Unfinished business beckoned.
Strolling along, I was captivated by the way fashions had changed, though the people seemed the same. They still went on with their miserable lives, working and playing as though completely unaware that within them time ticked away, ever threatening to cease. With nothing in common, the reality that I was an outsider rippled through my veins.
Even at this late hour, the place was crowded, and I pushed through the horde. Thick fog lay heavy, reaching out amongst the docked ships, swirling around them.
A tall, slim figure loomed at the entrance to the pier. The man stepped out of the shadows; moonlight dancing upon his face, illuminating his features.
“Hello, Father.” Jacob cocked his head.
Almost three hundred years since his death and he stood there. His complexion was pale. His translucent brown eyes held my gaze. A young face, but irises that reflected an era, evidence of his transformation, and proof that he’d not died that night in my arms.
And yet I failed to react.
“When I left the room?” I made it a question.
Jacob nodded.
This time upon our reunion, there were no open arms, no words to convey the relief I felt in seeing him.
I felt nothing.
“It’s taken me all these years.” He sighed. “This takes some getting used to.”
I rubbed my eyes as though they needed it.
All this time, I’d grieved for the son I thought I’d lost.
“I was searching for answers,” he responded to my silent ruminations.
“You took your time.”
“Forgive me.”
I looked away. “I didn’t want this for you.”
“Sunaria?”
“I told her not to go.” My mind drifted.
“Father, Sunaria may not be lost to you.”
“It’s unlike you to be cruel.” I narrowed my gaze. “How long have you been in Spain?”
“Years. But it’s all relative, right?” He glanced at the boat. “You do realize the fashion in England includes the wearing of wigs.”
“The women?”
“The men.”
“Who started that craze?”
“Louise XIII.”
“Of course,” I said, “a French aristocrat.”
He smiled for the first time. “Stay here with me.”
The thick evening air was stifling.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Fine, and you?”
He followed my gaze. “Don’t get on that ship, Father.”
A bell pierced the quiet.
“It’s over,” he said.
“It’s the only way I’ll have peace.”
“Let her go.”
“Never.”
He looked away, breaking my stare. “What will you do?”
I smiled.
“Don’t follow that path. It’s an empty one.” He stepped nearer. “Come with me. We can make a new life together.”
With conflicting emotions, betrayal being one of them, I tried but failed to empathize with him. Sunaria had deceived me, breaking the promise that I’d kept, and I hated her for it.
Jacob sighed.
Sunaria had tried to tell me on the very evening I thought he’d passed away, as I climbed into my coffin deep within the depths of Belshazzar’s.
And yet I still loved her.
“Come with me,” I said.
He offered his hand to me. “Stay here.”
Sunaria’s ashes were buried within the pillars of Stonehenge, and I was going to retrieve her.
Retrieve all of them, every last vampire and then revive them.
“Things are never what they seem.” He held my gaze. “You know that.”
“I don’t know who to believe anymore. Who to trust.”
From the ship’s deck came a last call for passengers. My life had been a series of regrets, and here now, I had to make another choice, either follow through on a promise, or come to terms with my darkest side.
“You’re heading for its very center.” Jacob read my thoughts.
Two last-minute passengers scurried up the ramp to board.
“Where have you been all this time?” I needed to know.
“Searching for the truth.”
“Is this conversation veering off?”
“True spirituality has nothing to do with religion.”
I shrugged.
“There are secrets about our kind, truths that will dazzle you.” He opened his lips to say more and then stopped himself.
“Go on then, what are they?”
“Not here, not like this.”
I’m dead inside.
He held out his hand to me again.
“Her face haunts me,” I said, wistfully.
A lone sailor stood port side with both his hands on the wooden drawbridge, ready to pull it in.
“I’ll always love you,” he whispered.
The ship swayed and creaked in the dock.
“Jacob, you were my rock, you know that, don’t you?” I turned back to face him.
A chilling breeze billowed my jacket.
I was alone, dazed, but strangely calm.
Strolling along the pier, heading for the Blue Rose, I hoped that the weather would hold, at least until I reached Cornwall.
About the Author
Vanessa Fewings (aka V.M.K. Fewings) is the award-winning author of The Stone Masters Vampire Series. Prior to publishing, Vanessa worked as a registered nurse, midwife, and served in the British Army at the rank of Captain. She holds a Masters Degree in Psychology. She has travelled extensively throughout the world and has lived in Germany, Hong Kong, and Cyprus. Born and raised in England, Vanessa now proudly calls herself an American and resides in California with her husband.
Vanessa Fewings is repped by management firm IPG. Visit her on Facebook.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapt
er 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
About the Author
A Vampire's Rise Page 36
