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

by Maria Isabel Pita

  “Now you’re losing me, my lord.”

  “That is certainly not my intention. Quite the contrary.”

  Beneath her dress her thighs parted. She raised the glass to her lips like a shield but the champagne only made her sex feel even more vulnerably warm and wet. She was afraid again, this time of what she might easily be tempted to do. If he reached out and touched her, if he pulled her to him, she wouldn’t be able to resist; already it was impossible not to visualize wrapping her arms around his neck as he slipped his hands up her dress…

  When he spoke again his tone was breathtakingly insinuating, “You’re hungry, Audrey.”

  “Yes…”

  “So am I.”

  She held her breath.

  “Very soon, my lady, I hope to share with you a feast the likes of which you cannot yet begin to imagine. But tonight a cold roast chicken, chocolate ice cream and a bottle of Merlot must suffice.”

  Chapter Ten

  Whispers was lying on the bed but she wasn’t sleeping. She raised her head slightly but otherwise didn’t move as Audrey bent to pet her.

  “Whispies, you’re bleeding!” Her cat’s belly was slick with blood and one of her back legs was lying at an odd angle to the other. “Oh my God, you’re hurt! I have to get you to a hospital!”

  She hurried out of the room intending to run downstairs and find help. Her father had taken the car but she had to get Whispers to the vet! Her pussy cat was helpless and hurt and depending entirely on her!

  The house had never felt so big. The upstairs corridors seemed to go on forever and they all looked alike—white walls and doors and carpets, as though her beloved home had been horribly denigrated to a facility for the physically ill or mentally infirm.

  Suddenly finding herself in a spacious room, she noticed some magazines lying on a table and paused to glance at the covers. She was tempted to pick one up and relax for a moment but the thought of Whispers lying upstairs on her bed, possibly bleeding to death, made her feel ashamed of her lazy and selfish impulse.

  She fled from the room even though it seemed she might never find her way to ground level and the resources she needed to help her injured animal. Then she crossed yet another threshold and at the end of the hallway saw her little dead dog waiting for her.

  “Merlin!”

  He turned and started down an invisible flight of stairs.

  She ran after him, overjoyed to realize he was eagerly leading her down to where trees grew outside crystal-clear floor-to-ceiling windows, their leaves all a bright gold or green. At once she felt relieved of her fear and dread as nature’s beauty filled her with hope, so much so that how deeply she felt for her cat seemed a mysterious cure in itself. She could breathe easy now, Whispers would be all right…

  “Wake up, Audrey.”

  She had been about to follow Merlin into the sunlit garden but in reality her body was lying across the backseat of a dark limousine.

  “We’ve arrived,” Falkon informed her almost gently. “But don’t worry, you won’t have to face your mother until morning.”

  Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and sat up. She had no idea what time it was or how far they had traveled. It had only been a dream and yet she still felt guilty about the brief time she had considered flipping through a magazine while her pet lay bleeding. Her subconscious was telling her she was weaker and more selfish than she cared to admit. Falkon was difficult enough to deal with when she was wide awake and had all her wits about her. Vulnerably groggy and acutely missing Merlin, she was afraid to look at him. She had no idea what to make of him or of the strange—rather trite, really—vampire game he was playing with her. Fervently she hoped it had merely been his strange way of keeping her entertained during the long drive and that he would drop the whole thing now they had finally reached their destination.

  She ran her fingers self-consciously through her hair and then killed a few more seconds smoothing her wrinkled dress before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “Where are we, my lord?”

  “That is a question with no definite answer.” He didn’t appear to have slept but he didn’t look tired either. “We are where we choose to be.”

  She sighed and reached for her coat. “I’m too sleepy for a round of philosophical fencing right now.” Feeling as though she was donning protective armor, she wrapped herself up in the comfortingly familiar folds, slipped on her leather gloves and clutched her purse to her chest, vaguely aware she was pouting like a child holding onto her favorite toy in the inescapable company of a grown-up.

  “You’ll realize soon enough, Audrey, that everything I tell you is true, not just a theory.”

  She raised a hand to her mouth to hide a yawn.

  “Come!”

  No sooner had he spoken than he was gone; slipped out of the limo before she even had time to turn her head and notice the door was open.

  She followed him awkwardly, scooting across the long seat, and the cold night air felt like an invisible giant hand slapping her whole body. She tried to brace herself against it but she was bone-tired. All she wanted was a soft warm bed on which she could drift safely off into dreams of Merlin again. Bugger her stupid heartless mother. Bugger the conceited and pretentious lord Falkon.

  She looked up and all her thoughts dispersed like fireflies only faintly capable of reflecting the intense pulsing glory of a sky so crowded with stars it didn’t look real. Obviously they were nowhere near a major city. Her mind defined where she was as the middle of nowhere but her heart—beating exultantly—told her she was closer to the center of everything here in this unknown place than she had ever been.

  Then for a magical moment she suffered the impression a comet had suddenly fallen to earth, but in fact it was only a torch flaring to life behind her. The dancing light revealed a driveway composed of large stone blocks but not much more. The immense house before her was defined by how much of the sky it eclipsed. She was obliged to throw her head back to make out the tallest tower, beneath which countless wings sprawled. And to think she had always believed the house she grew up in was big. Her mother was living in a bloody castle! The first piece in the puzzle of why Wilona had abandoned her family fell into place with the cold click of a coin striking a profoundly disappointing financial note. There was no mystery to be solved; it was all about money, as always. No wonder her mother had left all her possessions behind in Ashbury; she didn’t need them.

  A frigid gust of wind sliced right through her coat, and judging by the vast expanse of unpopulated land she sensed stretching all around her, she concluded they were probably somewhere in Scotland.

  Her boot heels ticking loudly across the timeless stone, she walked quickly toward the torch, which looked at once welcoming and slightly threatening. The prospect of spending an indeterminate amount of time in a house without electricity was hardly appealing, but if Wilona had left her husband and child for a man who was land poor then at least it proved it wasn’t his money she had been drawn to. Audrey understood then how desperately she wanted her mother not to disappoint her; all the years of her life she had spent loving and missing her had to be redeemed somehow.

  “Wait, please,” she said, because the tall figure holding the torch was walking quickly ahead of her. She was able to discern a man’s silhouette but nothing more. Falkon was nowhere to be seen and she wasn’t inclined to think his behavior rude because his presence was so demanding it was a relief to be free of it for the time being. At once she regretted speaking; her voice had sounded so small, so insignificant, the cold wind also cut through her confidence now.

  What am I doing here? Where is here? Did Jonathan really follow me? Where is he? Is he really going to let me walk in here all by myself?

  Her brain was virtually hyperventilating anxious thoughts that streamed like distracting banners across her mysteriously much deeper awareness… which told her she wasn’t actually frightened, she just expected to be, but there was no need to surrender to reactions programmed into he
r if she didn’t want to… if they hindered her by getting in the way of what she was truly feeling…

  Silencing her brain like a radio station tuned to a totally uninteresting channel, she followed the passionately flickering light to a large wooden door crossed and studded with black wrought iron bars and bolts. It fell open slowly as they approached it and, perversely enough, the trite haunting effect made her smile. Falkon was going all out.

  This is fun! she forced herself to think and realized she trusted him, to a certain extent. He struck her as being a man of his word, even if his words tended to insinuate more than they explained. However, it wasn’t easy closing the door on her fears as she followed the torch into a low-ceilinged stone corridor. Almost immediately she heard the heavy wood slam closed behind her, but if she began wondering exactly how her host was accomplishing these classic haunted house special effects she would seriously start to worry about her circumstances and she was absolutely determined not to. There was no point. It was too late. She was in the bowels of the beast now and it was much more intriguing to view the experience in a positive light and transform anxiety into excitement.

  After her guide failed to respond to her she lost all desire to break the silence between them. If she asked him something and he once again chose not to reply she would lose the grip she had managed to get on her nerves.

  As long as he leads me safely to my room everything will be fine!

  There! Already her brain was responding to her determined optimism.

  The torch almost seemed to be floating of its own accord into a narrow stairwell. It was dark and dank and spiraled almost straight up. Soon she was feeling winded and had to struggle to catch her breath. She was glad the muffled crackling of the fire helped drown out her occasional gasps. It was disheartening to discover she wasn’t in as tip top physical condition as she had thought she was. Her guide’s pace didn’t let up for a second and even if she had believed he would listen, she was too proud to ask him to pause a moment so she could rest. The ascent felt very much like a test and failing it was not an option. She entertained and energized herself by picturing the luxurious red and black canopy bed glimmering with gold thread waiting for her—its plethora of pillows all stuffed with feathers and goose down—framed by tall copper braziers giving off a warm light that enhanced the golden glow emanating from the large stone fireplace…

  At long last they reached a small semi-circular landing flanked by three dark archways, including the one through which they passed, and before her loomed a narrow wooden door. Her guide had apparently left his torch burning in a sconce to the right of the door and then departed along one of the dark passages. She was alone and trembling as the anxiety she had been holding at bay hit her in an icy wave, cresting the metaphorical sandbags of the comforting thoughts erected by her willpower. A large black metal key sitting in the old-fashioned lock embodied her hope as she gripped it and turned it slowly to the left.

  She heard the decisive click of a bolt being thrown and her lungs seemed to open again as she crossed a physical threshold into herself, for there was no difference between the room spreading out before her and the one she had imagined. It wasn’t possible and yet it was, undeniably, a fact.

  ⊕

  Her vintage blue suitcase was lying open on a table just big enough to hold it. Her clothes were still neatly packed inside it. She set her purse on top of them, then removed her hat and gloves and also placed them securely on the one thing she could be sure was real. The table her possessions sat on seemed solid enough, although the wood was so old and dark, and its slender legs so intricately carved, it was hard to look at directly; it made her dizzy to try. She couldn’t decide if those were elaborate grape vines or dragon-like serpents and her uncertainty seemed to affect the furniture’s actual shape. The illusion—for surely it was only a trick being played on her eyes by the flickering firelight—was intensely disturbing. She moved toward the bed, which looked more reassuringly solid. Heavy dark-red curtains embroidered with a simple pattern of gilt edged black triangles hung from a black wrought iron frame forged in the shape of leafing tree branches. The bed dominated the large space, looming over the room from a wooden platform accessible on two sides by four narrow steps. She was glad the curtains had been drawn so she wasn’t tempted to fear what they might be hiding. Nevertheless, the last thing she felt like doing was sleeping. She didn’t trust this magnificent bed or anything else in the room because she couldn’t rid herself of the impression everything she saw might exist only in her head. It seemed entirely possible she was still asleep in the limousine dreaming.

  Feeling self-consciously like Sleeping Beauty, she reached out and lightly touched the point of a black wrought iron leaf with a fingertip. Like the spindle in the fairytale it was sharp, but nothing happened except that she felt slightly less on edge. It was surprising to realize she didn’t have much faith in her imaginative powers. She had no desire to be responsible for everything around her; she wasn’t even remotely ready for that. She had not daydreamed this room into existence; it was merely a coincidence it looked so much like the one she had entertained herself picturing. She refused to let it worry her that in whatever direction she turned she saw pretty much what she expected to. She simply shared remarkably similar tastes with whomever had decorated this space. Clinging to this reasonable explanation, she quickly and eagerly elaborated upon it—perhaps her mother had made this room up especially for her. Yes, that made excellent sense! She and Wilona shared the same DNA, they were bound to have things in common, and for the first eight years of her life she had been very close to her mother.

  Feeling more at ease, Audrey slipped off her coat. The room was pleasantly warm. Old-fashioned braziers were surprisingly efficient. She found herself lingering beside one, gazing down at the smoldering coals licked by an occasional restless flame… like the forked tongue of a coiled black snake… she couldn’t look away… a subtle yet extreme shift in her vision was causing her to perceive the copper bowl as a sunlit valley, in the center of which rose dark mountains where she discerned hundreds of fire lit dwellings… she might have been seeing a small part of the world as it looked many thousands of years ago, and her awareness hovering above the landscape was the atmosphere in which camp fires alternately burned passionately, flickered weakly, flared stubbornly or faded peacefully into darkness…

  She took a step back, with a supreme effort pulling her attention away from the fascinating hallucination triggered by a bowl of hot coals. For timeless moments her eyes and her mind had become perfectly allied and transformed her imagination into an all-encompassing force observing a world affected by how gently or forcefully she pursed her lips and blew on it…

  “I’m tripping!” she whispered. What Falkon had given her to drink hadn’t worn off. The possibility was alarming; it meant she couldn’t trust her perceptions at all. Or was she seeing more clearly than ever?

  Possessed by a conflicting blend of curiosity and trepidation, she gravitated toward the stone hearth and the flames ravenously consuming an enormous quantity of wood. She was about to kneel on the black rug spread before it when she abruptly discerned the shape of a dragon embroidered in dark-red and gilded thread. The letter she had received from her mother had been sealed by a circle of red wax stamped with a miniature version of this same dragon.

  Instinctively recoiling from it, she spotted a window and ran to it. The stone ledge was made welcomingly comfortable by a sky-blue cushion she quickly knelt on. The double windows were as tall as she was and their old beveled glass made the congregation of stars they framed seem to burn even more intently. She was awestruck by their beauty, it didn’t matter that her brain explained them away as unimaginably vast and powerful balls of gas raging for millions of years before eventually dying just like everything else.

  Resting both hands gently over the scarab amulet her father had given her, she said out loud, “Stars are the eyes of Re. God’s eyes!” It was the closest she had come to pray
ing since Merlin’s death. For most of her adult life she had shied away from using the term “God” which in her eyes had come to represent so many things she didn’t believe in. But the grief and hope that ignited in her heart when her precious little dog died—and would burn steadily there for the rest of her life—had made meaningless ashes of semantics, blown away by the force of her emotions which could have only one source, one end, one solace and one eternal hope—God.

  Pressing her forehead against the glass and looking down, she saw woodland spreading across a vast undulating landscape… and something moving quickly between the castle and the trees… a wolf!

  “Jonathan!” she cried, and then clamped a hand over her mouth in astonishment. She had just glimpsed a dangerous wild animal and experienced a thrill of hope and joy.

  He had followed her as he had promised he would! She wasn’t alone!

  ⊕

  Here comes the sun, it’s all right… little darling…

  A refrain from a Beatle’s song woke Audrey. Before she opened her eyes she believed the music was coming from her alarm clock. Then she saw the dark-red folds of the bed curtains surrounding her, uncomfortably evocative of a womb in which she lay curled in a fetal position. She was cold and hugging herself for warmth. As far as she could tell the fire and the braziers had all burned out. She moaned. It was hard to believe she was going to see her mother again today. She had no idea what they could possibly say to each other. For all intents and purposes Wilona was a complete stranger she could not truly respect, much less admire.

  Eventually, the need to pee asserted itself over all other more subtle concerns. Sighing, she flung off the heavy dark blankets. Last night, as she slipped reluctantly into bed, it had pleased her the sheets that actually came into contact with her skin were made of violet silk, her favorite color. The most comforting discovery, however, had been the totally modern bathroom hidden behind a narrow door blending discreetly with the paneling in a far corner of the room. Apparently, her room was merely a romantic stage set because the castle did indeed boast electricity, flush toilets and hot running water, three of modern life’s most precious amenities. The porcelain tub and sink, the floor and fixtures, were all a pristine white. There was no dimmer for the overhead light and the contrast between the dark bedroom, flickering with firelight and shadows, and the bright steady illumination of the bathroom was extreme to the point of making her feel slightly schizophrenic.