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

by Maria Isabel Pita

  She plumped two feather pillows more comfortably beneath her and wriggled deeper beneath her feather comforter. Her eyes, however, remained open and this time they focused on the torn panty lying on the floor beside the bed—a pathetic looking rag adorned with bright red, green, orange and blue hearts. Her sleeve wasn’t the only place she wore her heart.

  She had suffered more than one blinding climax of feelings last night. First she had endured raw terror, paralyzing disbelief, a sinking, utterly visceral sensation of absolute helplessness, miraculously followed by a transcendent surge of hope and the certainty that prayers were answered and miracles were real. She had run a gauntlet of emotions that in the end freed her through the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced. Her body—a tad sore in places but for the most part enjoying a delicious languor—clearly felt the means justified the end. And yet she wasn't sure she wanted to undergo such a violent, emotionally-rending event ever again. However, there was truly no arguing with the pleasure she had experienced—the overwhelming fulfillment which consumed her—so that artificial divisions of mind, body and soul no longer possessed any meaning because she had been somewhere else entirely.

  What exactly had happened last night? She had seen Jonathan walking beneath her balcony, until the moon was momentarily extinguished behind a cloud, then she had seen what she had thought was merely his pet dog. After that nothing made sense, at least not to her brain; to her body it had all definitely made a great deal of sense. Her ability to think coherently had been blown away the instant she thought she saw a huge black wolf leap onto her balcony, but all she had really seen was a shadow. At the time a fierce-looking silhouette was bad enough and yet everything that happened afterward proved it wasn’t a wild animal but a man who had followed her into the room, a man who, by his own admission, hadn’t been able to control himself. Most folks—the way politicians and news anchors referred to people these days—would say she had been raped and demand the culprit be thrown in jail. The overwhelming pleasure she had experienced—stoked perhaps by the intense fear that preceded it—was in no way politically correct and could not be used as evidence by the defense.

  She had exhausted all her thoughts on the event, it was time to get out of bed, but there was one last thing she had to face, that she couldn’t keep skirting around. Jonathan hadn’t said “I couldn’t control myself” his actual words had been, “I couldn’t control it.” The dog-wolf? But it was a man who had grabbed her leg, tripped her across the bed and fucked her. It didn’t matter that at first she had thought he was a wild animal before literally coming to believe the vicious creature had transformed into one of God’s angels, sent to alchemize her agonizing death throes into a transcendent ecstasy. Transformed, such a lovely word. “I couldn’t control it”… He couldn’t control the—his—transformation?

  She flung off the comforter and got out of bed. It was a mistake to entertain such impossible thoughts before breakfast and she was starving.

  After a hot shower (their long-time maintenance man, Edward, made sure the pipes and the water heaters were always in tip-top condition) she felt it was actually a good thing anything seemed to be possible, and the hearty breakfast Consuelo prepared for her succeeded in convincing her she could deal with the fact her mother was alive and wanted to see her. The woman who had borne her wasn’t dead, hadn’t been abducted, raped, murdered and buried in the woods somewhere, she was alive and, by all accounts, happy. This was good. True, she couldn’t tell her father, and that felt bad, but it would all sort itself in the end, somehow.

  She asked Consuelo as she ate, “What time did father’s guest leave last night?”

  “He did not.”

  Her stomach clenching, she set down the biscuit she had been about to bite into.

  “Darlene took their dinner to them in the study and they stayed up all night working on sometheeng. They ate breakfast in there as well.” Consuelo shook her head, unable to comprehend what could possibly be more interesting than good food.

  Audrey struggled not to feel as if the progress she had made emotionally and mentally since she woke had suddenly been wiped clean like a crashed hard-drive. She had worked too hard to put two and two together in a way that added up to her peace of mind and the reassuring conviction that she had herself, and therefore matters in general, under control.

  “Oh my God!” She pushed her chair back.

  “But you have not finished eating!” Consuelo’s voice rose in disbelief. “That man with your father did not touch his food. I do not like him!”

  Audrey had just remembered she forgot to put her scarab necklace back on after her shower.

  “Finish your breakfast!” Consuelo commanded.

  Resuming her seat, Audrey bit obediently into her biscuit, the inside of which she had generously slathered with strawberry jam. She swallowed before commenting, as casually as possible, “There is something a little dodgy about father’s guest.”

  “Es cierto.” Consuelo slapped a heavy round of dough onto the counter and kneaded it furiously. “He is too…”

  “Too what?”

  “I do not know but he has a bad effect on the appetite. You did not eat last night, your father almost ate nothing as well and it is the fault of this man.”

  “Or it could be a coincidence.”

  “There is no such thing as coinceedence.” She made it sound like a bad word as she slapped the dough over onto its other side. “God and his angels always knows what they are doing. Some people, like this man, are not healthy.”

  Audrey mumbled to herself, “He looks perfectly fit to me” but her stomach suddenly hurt. She watched Consuelo’s strong hands at work feeling as though her powers of perception were like a ball of dough, and the feelings burning in her heart were akin to the oven where every day they grew and rose to new heights. The thought gave a whole new meaning to the words Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses… Help us understand ourselves better and behave less foolishly? As we forgive those who trespass against us… She resented her mother for trespassing on the happiness she had managed to reap for herself these last twenty-two years, during which the sadness she still always felt in the back of her heart acted as a mysterious yeast stimulating her mental and spiritual growth.

  “Okay, I ate everything,” she said, setting her plate in the sink and kissing Consuelo on the cheek.

  She went upstairs to retrieve her scarab and as she slipped the protective amulet around her neck, she made her decision. It was the only one she could make. The ancient Egyptians had represented the concept of Truth and Order as a goddess who always wore an ostrich feather in her hair sensitive to the slightest breeze. The only way to restore order to her life and free herself from an unproductive chaos of emotions was to learn the truth.

  She almost hoped her father’s guest had already left but he was still there, sitting in the same chair by the fire (which had gone out) as though he hadn’t moved all night. There were dark circles under Stuart’s eyes and some of his hair was standing on end the way it did when he ran his hands through it over and over as he worried over a particularly difficult chapter in whatever book he was writing at the time. If anything, their guest looked more strikingly handsome than he had the day before. The contrast between the two men’s appearances was sinister. Audrey clutched the scarab in her right hand as Falkon rose to his full considerable height, a polite social gesture that felt like anything but.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said brightly. “Father, I insist you put an end to this study group immediately. Whatever it is you’re discussing, it’s not going anywhere.” She rested her hands gently on his shoulders, urging him up out of the chair in which he was slumped.

  “Audrey…” His eyes fell on the scarab and he grabbed hold of it as though it was literally a strong rope hauling him up out of the chair. “Yes, you’re quite right, of course. I’m knackered.”

  “I’ll show our guest out. You go get some rest now. We’ll have
tea together later.” She had never seen her father looking so haggard. She was appalled and furious with herself for leaving him alone all night with… she didn’t even know how to describe the being standing there with a polite smile on its lips as it watched them from somewhere deep inside those Medieval eyes… Abruptly, she suffered the nauseating impression that the tall, broad-shouldered man’s body she was seeing was only a facade, a screen over a force so concentrated it would have killed her to look directly at it.

  She waited until she heard the study door close behind her father’s distressingly hunched shoulders before turning to face the presence. She would have liked nothing better than to walk across the room and put some distance between them, but her body wouldn’t obey her. When she had made the decision to let him take her to her mother she had chosen to forget the effect he had on her physiology. She knew electrical synapses traveled up and down the conduit of her spine from her brain to every part of her body, receiving information and relaying commands, and she could almost sense them being uncomfortably interfered with. The closer she got to this person the more she sensed functions she normally wasn’t aware of beginning to go dangerously awry… the more she felt as though her sensorial perceptions were only part of who she was and that, if she wanted to, she could play with them, rearrange them at will and, without seeming to move a muscle, find herself in a whole different room, a whole other time, place and space…

  “Mm, very good, Audrey. You learn quickly.”

  Had he heard her thoughts? It didn’t matter. His approval tasted as good as the darkest, sweetest chocolate.

  She was aware of her body standing perfectly motionless as he moved behind her and gathered her hair up with both hands, lifting it to expose the livid love bite decorating the back of her neck. She too could see it, as though she was suddenly hovering just above herself…

  “You like it rough.” His words were a caress she felt everywhere at once, in her sex, across her nipples and deep in her belly; there was nowhere the perfect pitch of his voice didn’t have the power to touch her. “That’s good. However, a little more finesse would not be amiss. Tell me, Audrey, have you decided to come with me?”

  She breathed, “Yes, my lord!” and slipped fully back into the envelop of her flesh as he let her hair fall softly between her shoulder blades again.

  “Good. A car will pick you up at six o’clock this evening. Tell whomever you need to that you’re going to London. You don’t know when you’ll be back.”

  As far as she could tell, it took her at least five minutes to realize she was alone. She hadn’t felt him step around her on his way to the door, she hadn’t heard it open or close, but eventually the quality of the silence, and the normal, indiscernible functioning of her autonomic system told her he was gone.

  ⊕

  Of course she wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t a fool. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to everyone she loved for the sake of finding out the truth about her mother’s disappearance. It was not only unethical, it was dangerous. She had no way of proving the letter in her purse had really been written by Wilona. It was even conceivable she too had been lured away from home one evening by a similarly elaborate ruse. No, she was staying put and, come tea time, she would tell her father all she knew.

  Consciously, those were her intentions but a few minutes later she found herself up in the attic where all her numerous suitcases were stored. The gloom felt as impenetrable as her subconscious, where impulses and feelings in direct opposition to her reason were at work, and were so powerful they had taken control of her legs and brought her up there for no reason, because if she wasn’t going anywhere she didn’t need a suitcase.

  The unearthly howl that abruptly rose from a dark corner made her stiffen in dread. Even when, an instant later, her brain recognized its source she still felt unnerved.

  “Whispers, leave that poor mouse or whatever it is you’re hunting alone!”

  Her cat appeared, walking around a pile of boxes toward her, and in her slow heavy gait Audrey read a struggle between intense frustration and mild curiosity, as if her feline was a mysteriously living hieroglyph. It reminded her of something… long legs clad in tight black jeans and black leather boots… Falkon moved like a big cat… like a predator… You experience the world differently after you know what it’s like to be prey. Why had Jonathan told her that? It was an odd conversation to have with a man on a date, a man that, for a period of time impossible to deny, she had mistaken for a wolf…

  Whispers rubbed against her ankles, letting her know what an unexpected pleasure it was that her favorite person had chosen to join her in her favorite place in the house.

  “I don’t know what to do, Whispers!” She crouched down and stroked her pussy’s soothingly soft and supple body. “I feel like that helpless creature you were hunting just now except I’ve no place to hide because I can’t run from what I feel.” Caressing an animal usually helped calm her and as Whispers purred contentedly she decided it couldn’t hurt to pick out an overnight bag and take it downstairs with her just in case.

  Darlene kept the attic as neatly organized as possible, meaning all the newer stuff was arranged in one area. As she was sorting through her suitcases, many of which she had forgotten she owned, it occurred to Audrey there were no books anywhere near them and yet this was the corner her father had been rummaging through when she discovered him in the attic yesterday afternoon. It chilled her to realize he must have been searching for something hidden somewhere amidst Wilona’s old luggage, purses, assorted shoe boxes, garment bags, etc. Stuart had refused to donate any of it to charity just in case his wife miraculously came home one day. Well, wherever she was now—if Wilona really had written that letter—she didn’t seemed to miss any of her things.

  Sitting comfortably cross-legged on the floor, for the first time in her life Audrey immersed herself in her mother’s abandoned treasures, which included a small fortune in seductive lingerie, always in style. She had never thought of her father as a sexual person but of course he was, or at least he had been; she doubted his wife had worn all these sexy teddies, diaphanous nightgowns, stockings, garter belts and lacy panties strictly for her own pleasure. Wilona had also apparently been fond of vintage suitcases and a particularly fine sky-blue leather one caught Audrey’s eye. It was worth the struggle to get all the other suitcases and boxes out of the way so she could get a better look at it. It also occurred to her it would deliver a gratifying reprimand to the woman who abandoned her if she entered her presence carrying it. Wilona’s compelling reason for behaving so inexcusably had to be a man. Falkon’s father or his uncle perhaps?

  The blue suitcase was empty except for a thin leather-bound volume the color of dried blood. Still on her knees, she sat back on her heels and lifted the stiff cover. At once she recognized the handwriting and understood—with a sickening sensation like her heart plunging into her belly for a second—that the letter in her purse had indeed come from her mother.

  January 21,

  I’ve never kept a journal but when I’m alone I suffer such an intensity of doubt, such pangs of guilt and fear, if I do not write about my feelings, get them all out, they will tear me apart before I dare act on the decision I have already made in my heart, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say in my soul, for my heart is close to breaking!

  January 22,

  I saw the black wolf again. It seems to be watching the place, guarding it, but I can’t let it stop me! Every evening I will go back in search of him! The church where we first met burned down centuries ago and the fire that destroyed it seems still to be raging in my soul.

  January 23,

  Stuart is beginning to worry I am ill and insists I get some rest. Rest! The stories are everywhere in his precious history books but would he believe it if I told him they’re much more than myths? I doubt it. Audrey would believe me but she’s still much too young to understand what a man who is more than a man can do to you. I saw the wolf prowl
ing beneath my balcony again last night. I’m terrified I won’t be able to escape! I must have faith my Lord will deliver me safely into his arms. It is vital my faith not waiver. Faith is the key to all we desire!

  The rest of the journal was blank. It contained only these three brief entries written on consecutive sheets followed by one blank page after the other after the other after the other, until she reached the very last one and snapped the book closed in the grip of a disappointment indistinguishable from fear. If she had found her mother’s aborted journal last week she might easily have convinced herself Wilona had gone mad, but she knew now her mother had been in full possession of all her faculties.

  Chapter Seven

  Whenever she was feeling out of sorts, it was Audrey’s habit to take refuge in the kitchen. Consuelo’s long, engrossed silences as she went about the daily business of baking bread, simmering broths and chopping fresh ingredients was in itself a mysterious recipe for contentment. She always felt at peace with herself and the world sitting at the large wooden table watching the chef’s knowledgeable hands at work. It made her aware of the unnatural amount of time she herself spent exercising only her thumbs reading e-books, dialing phone numbers and sending text messages.

  On this particular morning, however, her inner turmoil poisoned the kitchen’s healing atmosphere like an off smell. Consuelo abandoned her work and sat down at the table beside her. “Niña, tell me what is the matter,” she requested quietly, her fingers tightly interlaced where they rested on the scarred oak surface, like people huddling together for safety.