Eternal Blood - Books 1-3 Wolf Shield, Sword of the Blood, Vampire Bride

by Maria Isabel Pita

  “Father?” she whispered, stepping into the cold gloom.

  She heard another thud come from the far left of the long space and then his voice, “Audrey?” sounding surprised; almost flustered. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I was about to ask you that. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I was just searching for a book.” His figure, stooped slightly to avoid the slanted ceiling, stepped into the faint light provided by one of the circular windows.

  “Of course you were. Did you find it?”

  “No.”

  “I wanted to tell you I invited the Eckarts over for dinner tonight. I’m sorry, I know we normally don’t entertain… you know, but I ran into Colby’s son on my walk. He just got back from Afghanistan and I thought it would be nice to show him how much we appreciate… you know…”

  “That’s fine,” he said absently, brushing off his forest-green sweater as if he’d run into some dust and cobwebs during his search.

  She suffered an inexplicable surge of anger. Young men very much like Jonathan were dropping like flies in the Middle East and her father was, at the moment, as far as she could tell, obsessed with the utensils ancient Etruscans used to clean their fingernails! It seemed not only pointless but offensive that so much brain power was wasted on the past when the present was such a terrifying mess. “Our guests will be here at seven,” she said and escaped the place that had once been her launching pad into countless lifetimes which had all seemed more exciting than hers. But the truth was, history had always been a bloody mess.

  ⊕

  Audrey decided to play up the Egyptian look. She chose a low-cut long-sleeved white cashmere dress that clung to her Victoria’s Secret bra but fell softly to her knees, leaving her shapely calves and ankles exposed and displayed to best advantage in snowy-white extreme high-heels. She ceramic-ironed her unruly shoulder-length golden-brown hair and bangs until they were straight as a wall painting’s, and then outlined her upper lash line in a glittery dark-green before using a black eyeliner on the inside of her lower lash line. A touch of mineral powder and blush, a delicate lip-liner and a rosy gloss for her lips, and she felt more beautiful than Cleopatra—ready to conquer the minds and hearts of men but also to help raise their spirits.

  Jonathan Eckart arrived right on time, alone. His father—Darlene informed Audrey after she had escorted their guest into the fire-lit Drawing Room—was indisposed. So much the better. It was remarkable that, until today, she had not once laid eyes on her closest neighbor. All her father’s guests came from other parts of England and Europe or beyond. Perhaps this business about the girl and the boy next door wasn’t just a myth. However, that was a dangerous thought to be entertaining before the night had even begun. There was no doubt meeting Jonathan had given her despondent mood a hopeful boost, but there were possible ingredients in the metaphorical pot that were less than appetizing. For instance, a great many men returned home from war mentally and emotionally scarred even if their bodies miraculously survived unscathed. Banishing the negative thought, she let herself into the Drawing Room.

  Jonathan was standing half facing the hearth and half turned toward the door and she knew she would never forget her first vision of his profile gilded by firelight. His hair was shaved so short it might only have been a shadow. His skull was perfectly shaped, and there was something about the way his neck flowed into his spine as he turned his head to look at her that communicated an ideal blend of alertness and relaxation she was irresistibly drawn toward.

  “Good evening.” He turned to face her but remained standing by the fire, letting her come to him since he had been the one kept waiting.

  “Good evening, Jonathan. I apologize for Darlene’s excessive formality but it makes her happy and we love her too much not too indulge her.”

  “That’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard. Not that you needed one. It was a pleasure to be kept waiting in here. There are some extraordinarily beautiful works of art in this room, especially now.” His expression sober, he studied her from head to toe as openly as he might have assessed enemy territory.

  She gestured to the red leather chair across from the one in which she quickly sat down.

  He perched on the edge of the cushion, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned toward her. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater over black slacks and shoes. The small silver hoop in his left ear flashed like a distant star in the firelight.

  The door opened and Stuart entered the room. Audrey fervently wished her father had lingered over his toilet, perhaps testing the efficacy of an ancient Etruscan razor, but she smiled over at him sweetly as Jonathan got to his feet.

  The two men shook hands.

  Stuart said, “Welcome home,” and then seemed at a loss for a moment before he added hopefully, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Jonathan sat down again, his hands lightly gripping his knees. He looked both relaxed and ready to move fast.

  “I’d like a glass of Chardonnay, please, father.”

  “I’ll have one as well,” Jonathan said.

  “I’ll open a bottle.” Stuart moved over to the small refrigerator concealed inside an antique cabinet.

  Jonathan asked her abruptly, “Were you arguing with someone on your cell this afternoon? You sounded seriously brassed off.”

  “I was just talking to myself.” Embarrassed, she cast her father an impatient glance as he struggled with the cork, but then—obliged to politely meet her guest’s eyes again—she heard herself elaborate, as if it was perfectly reasonable, “I was defying the constraints of time and space.”

  The recalcitrant cork slipped out of the bottle with a loud pop reminiscent of a gunshot hitting her straight in the heart as all she was suddenly aware of were Jonathan’s eyes. The shadows created by the flickering firelight flowed around them both in dark currents mysteriously alive with so much potential she seemed to feel her mind cowering like a helpless creature shrinking into the back of a stone cave afraid of the storm of forces blowing dangerously just outside the entrance…

  “Audrey, you look a bit off color, dear,” her father remarked as he handed her a glass half filled with wine.

  She accepted it from him gratefully and took a sip before replying, “I’m just a bit knackered from last night. It was after midnight when I got home.” She recalled the eyes she had seen staring at her from the woods, pale, intently focused eyes… She took another sip of wine and concentrated on the fire as Stuart handed the younger man his drink, and then returned to the cabinet to pour himself a scotch.

  “Time and space is only a mold that’s meant to be broken in the end,” Jonathan stated matter-of-factly and held up his glass as Stuart seated himself. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers!” They echoed and for a long moment the only sound in the room was the wordlessly eloquent sound of wood burning.

  Stuart rattled the ice in his glass, “What you say about time and space may be true but it’s a mistake to desire to break the mold before the mortal clay—if I may be so bold as to elaborate on your metaphor—is strong enough to stand on its own.” He glanced soberly at his daughter.

  “What do you mean by that father?”

  “Nothing,” he replied evasively, but his eyes fell to the scarab resting just above her cleavage before he raised his glass and took another hearty swig of scotch.

  All afternoon she had imagined impressing Jonathan Eckart with her intelligence and the breadth of her knowledge even as she exercised her unique charm and wit to make him laugh, but instead she felt hopelessly scatty for most of the evening. Her thoughts were like sheep scattered across a vast countryside while her physical senses were distractingly acute. The soft sensation of cashmere caressing her skin as she uncrossed her legs, combined with the lick of warmth as a log shifted in the grate, registered so loudly in her nerve ends she lost track of the conversation for a few crucial moments. She tended to prefer Chardonnays that had undergone malolactic fermen
tation but how oddly intoxicated she felt had nothing to do with the alcohol content.

  As if in a dream, she watched Darlene quietly enter the room, deposit a plate of ham croquettes and spinach empanadas on the table, and then walk out again, an unusually gratified little smile on her face. Jonathan had acknowledged her presence with a quiet, “Thank you” she accepted with a formal nod and smile. To Audrey they seemed perfectly comfortable with each other and she found herself wondering at the ease with which he returned to being served home cooked food after surviving on army rations for years. Or did elite warriors dine better than the average soldier? Stuart had asked him early on, “So where were you stationed, Jonathan?” and he had replied, “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that” and that was the end of that. She might never know what he had done “over there,” how many men he had killed, if any, how often he was wounded, if ever, anything. Could she live with that? Would he open up to her if they grew closer? Did she want to know? She was astonished by how much he knew. Listening to him talking with Stuart she could easily believe he had a degree in history. Perhaps that had been a requirement of whatever he did or maybe he’d simply had a lot of time to read while he was in between top secret missions.

  When dinner was announced, Stuart excused himself for a moment. “I’ll meet you in the dining room,” he said and quickly left the room.

  Standing, Jonathan offered her his arm. “You’ve been very quiet,” he remarked as they followed Darlene out of the Drawing Room’s cozy warmth and across the chilly entrance hall, from which all but the most attractive Goodrich ancestors had been banished years ago by Wilona.

  “I’ve just been enjoying listening to you and father talk. You seem to know almost as much about history as he does.”

  “ ‘The past is now part of my future and the present is well out of hand’.”

  “ ‘Heart and soul, what will burn’,” she finished the quote. “Joy Division. I believe Ian Curtis was only twenty-three when he dared to ‘break the mold’ or, as he put it, when he took a chance and stepped outside.”

  “When he lost control.”

  She laughed, “As Jay Leno would say, ‘there’s a million o’these’ ” and smiled up at him.

  He held her eyes. “And right now I’m perfectly happy ‘forgetting any other home but this’.”(2)

  She tightened her grip on his arm and was about to say, “You certainly know how to chat a girl up, Jonathan” but her heart refused to let the cheeky words cross the horizon of her lips, which were so drawn to his she was forced to look away in order to resist the desire to kiss him.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered in her ear, “I feel the same way!”

  Paintings of English landscapes—including works by Crome and Constable—adorned the walls, framing a table long enough to seat twenty-four people. Only three places were elegantly set at the north end, with Stuart occupying the head. Consuelo’s meal was, as usual, delicious, but Audrey had a hard time concentrating on the Sopa de Ajo followed by Conejo al Salmoneja and Torrijas for dessert—slices of Spanish Bread Pudding fried in olive oil and topped with home-made coffee ice cream sprinkled with toasted pine nuts. She was grateful for the colonnade of burning cream-colored candles partially obscuring her view of Jonathan as she hoped the flames, flickering gently in an unseen breeze, helped mask the passionately hopeful light in her eyes. Whatever he had done in Iraq and Afghanistan, he knew how to make her father laugh, and this fact endeared her to him, making it even harder to fight her growing physical attraction to him. On this particular day of the year her father never smiled, much less laughed out loud, but he seemed to have forgotten all about his missing wife as he and his guest enjoyed poking fun at archaeologists (particularly Egyptologists) who applied their own rational and often priggish world views to ancient cultures completely different from their own.

  “I do not believe in linear historical evolution,” Stuart stated with only a slight slur in his cultured voice as he poured himself another glass of wine. “I am of the opinion humanity has lost much in some departments even while advancing in others. I believe it is imperative to remember what was lost in order to properly control the forces of the present so that we can shape a less increasingly destructive and more progressive future.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and this was all the excuse her father needed to open another bottle of Borsao.

  ⊕

  Audrey lay in bed until well past midnight occasionally reading but mostly thinking about Jonathan Eckart, recalling some of his observations on different subjects which offered her tantalizing clues to his personality, but mostly she found herself recalling his rare smiles and how happy they made her feel even now. His smiles felt like the sun coming out after a week of rain, like a light shining directly into her soul and suffusing her with a hope and excitement impossible to distinguish from each other.

  After dinner—when he had mentioned he should get going to check on his father—she had pre-empted Darlene and walked him to the front door herself. As she opened it he said very quietly, “What’s your number, Audrey?”

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to remember it after drinking so much wine?” she teased.

  “I remember everything I don’t make an effort to forget,” he replied soberly and she felt then the potentially unbridgeable emotional gulf between them. Yet her body was more than ready to take the plunge. She told him her number, and then didn’t resist when he gripped her right hand and pulled her outside. The cold made the urgent warmth of his embrace feel even better. His mouth fell hard against hers but even as her lips parted in response he drew his head back and cupped her face in his gloved hands.

  “I’ll call you,” he whispered.

  The darkness threatened to encroach upon the small pool of gas light in which he left her standing desperately craving the sensation of his lips, and the scarcely imaginable adventure of his tongue, after just one brief kiss.

  When her phone rang later while she was making an effort to read, she was massively disappointed to see Aapti’s number on the caller ID. She didn’t pick up and Aapti left her a text message: GIVE US A BELL! She wasn’t yet prepared to confess to someone else, not even her best friend, what she scarcely dared admit to herself. Finally, she slapped the e-book reader down on the bed and thought, Okay, yes, I fancy him! So what? That doesn’t mean I’m going to fall in love with him!

  She did fall asleep, however, and when she woke up the light across her bed was coming not from her lamp but from the full moon shining straight into her room. Then she saw Merlin. He was standing beside the bed looking up, the way he had in the last year of his life when he wanted to come up but felt he couldn’t manage the jump and was waiting for her help. She tried to ignore him because obviously he couldn’t really be there, but he was. He had been a mix of white and tan, with an adorable black mask around his eyes when he was a puppy, but now he was mostly a pure white. Yet he was clearly there, her little boy, so she reached down and lifted him onto the bed with her. She watched in awe as he walked over to his usual spot and rooted a little. Then she wasn’t surprised to see Jonathan Eckart walk into the room from the balcony. He was dressed in the same black turtleneck he had worn to dinner and it pleased her to realize he’d never really left her.

  She whispered, “Can you see him?!”

  “Yes.” He sat gently down on the edge of the bed.

  She knew her beloved pet couldn’t possibly stay for long and a part of her was afraid to touch him but of course she couldn’t resist. When she reached for him he rolled onto his back and she rubbed his belly just as she always had. She could truly feel him, the unmistakable shape and sensation of him. “You’re such a good boy!” she cooed as she stroked him. “And you always will be!”

  She glimpsed his little teeth, shining white in his black mouth, the way she’d seen them the night before she had him put down because his enlarged heart was failing and his body was slowly drowning in its own fluids. A piece
of her brain kept insisting this visit was only an illusion sent by a demon that would bite her any second now if she kept petting it, but the rest of her felt otherwise; her heart knew better. She was so happy Merlin had come to see her! She continued caressing him, filled with wonder at how long he was staying. She dared to touch his head and look straight into his eyes as she told him again and again what she had told him just before she left him in that terrible room at the veterinarian’s office—“I love you! I love you! I love you!” She was so close to him she could hear his breaths and they sounded like a dark, soft echo, “Love you, love you!” Content, she lay back against the pillows.

  “He’s in good shape,” Jonathan said, and gently kissed her forehead.

  She woke up again, this time for “real.” Her beside lamp was still on and her e-book reader was in sleep mode. Feeling at once intensely disappointed and profoundly blessed, she picked it up and switched it back on in order to shut it off completely. The page on the screen was not from the book she’d been reading, or maybe she’d been so sleepy by then she couldn’t remember. The first line that met her eyes was a quote by Oscar Wilde: The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.

  Chapter Four

  The following morning was consumed by Aapti, who dropped by unexpectedly as Audrey was finishing breakfast. She ran into the kitchen, and then stopped to catch her breath as she slipped off her bright red wool coat, revealing an equally bright saffron-colored sarong worn over a short-sleeved turquoise shirt. She gasped, “I’m pregnant!”