“Yes. Milestones are irresistible to the undead. They need and cling to them like spiders because it’s impossible to spin a web in empty space.” He let go of her hand abruptly. “But please don’t keep asking me questions to which you already know the answers in your heart.”
Too proud to reach for his hand again, or to ask him why he no longer felt like holding it, she pulled her gloves out of her coat pocket and slipped them on. She could almost literally feel hot emotions swirling in her chest like storm clouds. She was over-reacting but it was costing her dearly not to be worried, upset and even angry that he was expecting so much from her so fast. The last thing she felt like doing today was walking to a ruined old church. Her body was like a horse she was leading out of its warm and comfortable stable, very much against its will. But Aapti was missing and she had to search for her. It didn’t matter a part of her insisted on believing she didn’t have a clue how or where to look; her heart knew better. She supposed Jonathan was referring to the mysterious intelligence of her intuition which, she grudgingly realized, did indeed know the answer to the two questions she had asked him out loud because she didn’t trust this knowledge which required no empirical evidence; no solid proof of any kind. She just knew. Yet how was she supposed to distinguish a mysteriously profound certainty from desperate wishful thinking? She didn’t dare ask him and they kept walking without talking, at a brisk pace she had to make an effort to sustain.
By the time they reached the church it was drizzling but there was no mist, no Dragon’s Breath. She was torn between relief and despair since her best friend was out there, somewhere. Yet perhaps it was more accurate to think of her as being in there, somewhere.
Jonathan stepped over half buried rocks with an ease she proudly sought to emulate, walking behind him now. She wasn’t surprised—but she was suddenly frightened—when he led her to the front of the church and the spot where the altar had probably once stood. There was nothing there now, only dark earth and the fire-blackened skeleton of three stone arches open to the slate-grey sky.
Turning to face her, he genuflected. His hands resting on his upraised knee, he lowered his head and said, “I am your sword, my lady!”
His passion caught her by surprise. The resentment and dread she had been fighting transformed into determination, which was in itself indistinguishable from a strength which she sensed was to her soul what her spine was to her physical body. She rested her right hand gently on his head, tempted to confess, “I’m really scared, Jonathan” but a deeper part of her refused to indulge the urge. A sword wasn’t a cane you leaned on. She had to stop depending on him for everything by erroneously continuing to believe she was weak and confused. She wasn’t, not really. She was strong enough to grasp the incredible situation by the metaphorical hilt and to begin fighting for what was right. It was easy, actually. She loved Aapti. She had to make every effort in her power to help her. She even loved Wilona, her beautiful, misguided mother. She wanted to help her as well. And she loved her father, who thankfully remained unaware of the paranormal storm raging around his ancestral home. And she loved Consuelo, who would be devastated if anything happened to her “baby”. She even loved Darlene, who was so much more interesting than she had seemed. And she loved the man kneeling before her, Jonathan Eckart, whose name meant firm-hearted and unyielding as an oak tree.
He looked up at her.
She gasped. His eyes were shining like molten gold.
When he spoke, his voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade, “Use me wisely!” and his words seemed to slice her heart wide open.
She thought How?! but she said, “I swear I will do my best, Jonathan.”
He stood. “Take off your gloves,” he commanded.
She obeyed him and shoved them back into her coat pocket.
He grasped both her naked hands in his.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of his fingers entwined with hers, woven together in a fleshly tapestry… on which she could already discern images, figures and dimly colorful landscapes forming out of the darkness, which was always flowing and swirling in the space behind her eyelids where light was only a memory, a ghost of itself…
“I’m always with you, Audrey. Never doubt it, or yourself.”
“I won’t,” she promised with a conviction she refused to question.
“Think of your friend. The dream she shared with you is a door you can use now.”
She hesitated. It was cold and raining but at least she knew where she was. She was standing on solid ground not trapped in an illusion like the bird in her dream, its open wings caught in a frighteningly strong web… Then suddenly she recalled the way Aapti had looked up after describing her dream from where she sat cross-legged on the divan, her eyes troubled but hopeful …
Aapti! I love you, Aapti! Where are you?! Show me!
In her mind’s eye a room opened before her. It was like dreaming without being asleep. She was conscious of her closed eyes and of her feet planted on the ground but she wasn’t imagining, or in any way controlling with her will, the waves of darkness cresting and breaking into the scene before her. She saw Aapti surrounded by beautiful colors swiftly coalescing into a large round bed crowded with pillows and framed by diaphanous drapes all the hues of a rainbow, and the mythical pots of gold were already forged into lamps and tables, spent on every conceivable luxury, including the clothes and jewels adorning her friend from head to toe. Nothing cast a shadow. Aapti seemed to be starring in her own personal Bollywood movie.
She’s alive! She thought.
But where is her body?
The room was so crowded with gilded objects it verged on the oppressively gaudy. Bowls of exotic fruits and platters of sinful looking pastries all boasted a fake, inedible sheen. And Aapti didn’t appear to be hungry. She didn’t look frightened only somewhat bemused and sad where she sat supported by a plethora of pillows. Both her hands were resting against her womb and she kept glancing down at it. There was regret and a touch of grief in the gesture which belied the hopeful way she looked up and around her… almost as though she expected to see her baby, already born and fully grown, walking toward her…
She thinks she’s dead. She imagines she’s had a fatal miscarriage and that the spirit of the child she was carrying will soon arrive to escort her into paradise… She believes her soul is a bride waiting either to be joined with her Divine husband, who is also her father and her son, or to be reborn… But she doesn’t want to be reborn, not until she’s had a chance to meet her baby…
The spell she’s under is locked at every angle.
But there is a key. Me. Falkon will let me in if I ask him to.
She ceased to be aware of her hands held securely in Jonathan’s and even of her closed eyelids. They were replaced by another sensation akin to a current of electrified water rushing straight up out of her skull, and then she was there, in another world as real as the one she had left but infinitely more exciting. She was conscious of herself, and of a body a hundred times more sensitive than her corporeal form even though it also felt invulnerable. The combination was irresistible and filled her with a sense of exaltation that made it difficult to concentrate on the reason she was there. It was easy to forget about her physical body standing unprotected out in the cold and the rain. She was still young and strong and healthy; she could handle it. And it was for a good cause. She had to help Aapti find her way out of the web spun around her with her own psychological thought patterns, and the haunting secretion of emotions she couldn’t detach herself from.
The space where Aapti sat had no visible walls or doors. It resembled a stage set illuminated by a large and perfectly spherical pool of light with no discernable source and surrounded by a darkness with no perceivable dimensions. Only her presence in it defined the sense of up and down, left and right. For timeless moments, Audrey stood where she had appeared staring at her friend, who remained unaware of her.
She stepped into the pool of l
ight, a single luminous cell in an endless darkness that felt mysteriously alive to her, brimming with a boundless potential.
Aapti looked up from her hands and her womb. “Audrey?!” Surprise flashed in her eyes and disappointment rang in her voice.
She paused beside the bed and gazed down at her friend not sure what to say, how to begin to explain.
“Am I a ghost?” Aapti demanded, fear quickly overwhelming all her other emotions. “Are you seeing my ghost?!”
“No. You’re not dead. Get that thought out of your head.”
“But-”
“You’re dreaming, Aapti, and you have to wake up, but not until you tell me where you really are.”
“I’m right here.” She glanced around her again. “This doesn’t feel like a dream…”
“Forget what it feels like. Just do as I tell you.”
“But if this is a dream, then you’re not even real…”
“It’s not a normal dream, Aapti, it’s like a dream… you’re having an out of body experience.”
“I’m still alive?” She shot her womb a tragic look. “I’ve had a miscarriage and I’m in hospital?!”
“No, probably not.” Audrey discovered it was impossible to lie in the Dragon’s Breath when that was the best she could come up with to comfort her friend. “I’m sure you’re fine… except for the fact that you’re unconscious and we need to find you. It’s vital you remember where you were before you suddenly found yourself here.”
“What I can’t understand,” Falkon said as he stepped into the circle of light, “is why you’ve chosen to trust the man who killed you in another life instead of the man who loved you, and who still loves you, more than anything else.”
She stared at him, unable to speak or to care about what Aapti might be thinking. The sight of him literally stunned her. His black clothes were soft and rich, shadows woven of infinite potential, of dark energy. His complexion was flawless as moonlight, and his lips were a sinuous crack running the length of her heart. She suffered a terrible, nearly overwhelming desire to kiss him. My lord!
He replied out loud, his eyes riveted on her face, “Yes, Afanasiia?”
“Audrey,” Aapti said, sounding confused yet curious, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“This is Lord Falkon, my husband.”
“Your husband?”
“My ex husband…” It didn’t feel right but she knew she had to make this distinction, that it was vital she do so.
He said patiently, “Why do you keep fighting yourself? I have all the time in the world and no intention of letting you go. I’ve waited centuries. A few more hours, days, weeks, even years won’t make a difference to me, but you can’t spend all that time fighting what you really feel, you know you can’t.”
She felt as though she’d been staring at his face since the beginning of time, his features were the very shape of space, his eyes portals opening onto a universe they ruled together, master and mistress of whatever world they chose to inhabit…
Distracted by an odd buzzing sound, she turned her head and discovered it was coming from Aapti, who had wrapped her arms around her bent legs and with her forehead pressed against her knees was muttering unintelligible words… some sort of Hindu prayer?
In the corner of her eye, she saw Falkon take a step back.
“You’re crippling yourself with compassion,” he spoke less patiently but his tone remained respectful, and the almost desperate affection in his voice struck her as genuine.
He doesn’t just want me, he needs me…
Somewhere, she and Jonathan were still holding hands, sharing their warmth as their coats and hats glistened with icy drops of rain and a thickening fog swirled around them…
“Audrey-Afanasiia!” Falkon spoke with an urgency that reverberated around her like thunder. “I command you to remember!”
Abruptly she was sitting down. It was dark and she was freezing. Her costly silk undergarments, wool dress and fur cloak were not enough protection when the wind blew with such force, in violent rhythmic gusts like an enraged bull, the scratching of the sled’s blades across the ice the scraping of its angry hoof. She didn’t deserve to live. She didn’t even deserve to die. How was it possible to fear nothing and yet to live in terror? It made no sense. Nothing made sense except her hunger for blood. Nothing else could satisfy her anymore. Only the moment of death fulfilled her. In the beginning each sacrifice had left her feeling sated, perversely at peace, but no longer. She desired human blood now as she had once craved expensive wine. The mysterious power contained in life and unleashed by death was her constant intoxication. It was the reason she found herself the lone passenger in a sled racing across a landscape embalmed in snow. No stars were visible; the world appeared lifeless. Then she heard her driver curse and an instant later she spotted the source of his concern. They were traveling fast but the large wolf running parallel to them at the edge of the forest was keeping up.
The man she had hired at the last village stopped whipping the dogs, turned in his seat and yelled at her over the roar of the wind, “Throw out your trunk!”
Before she fled the castle, she had crammed all her jewels and all the dresses she could fit into the largest chest she owned, which rested on the seat beside her now. It was all she had until her lord came for her. Wrapping her cloak more tightly around her neck, she pretended not to have heard him.
Moments later, he turned his head and visibly started at the sight of her trunk still looming beside her on the seat. “Do you wish to die, woman?!” He sounded more astonished than angry.
She smiled and refused to address him, a mere peasant. She had left the one servant remaining to her behind in the village because there had not been enough room for two people and her trunk in the sled.
“My lady, there are wolves after us!” His tone was desperately cajoling now. “If we do not lighten our load, we will both be eaten alive!”
She could see only one lone wolf, not the entire pack he feared. Most people were such pathetic cowards. What did it matter how death came when it was sure to come anyway?
She wasn’t prepared for the speed or agility with which he leaned back, grabbed one of the trunk’s metal handles, and with a strength fed by terror succeeded in lifting it just far enough to propel it over the edge of the sled.
“No!” she cried as all her worldly possessions tumbled away into the darkness. “Oh no! Stop! Go back! Go back!”
“You are mad!”
Even through the veil of fury and despair threatening to suffocate her, she remained aware of the great wolf pursuing them. It had fallen slightly behind but it was running toward them now, a huge shadow with eyes as bright, and shimmering with an intensity of purpose, as the stars missing from the overcast sky. She stared at it in fascination, hypnotized by a dread married to an irrational longing. Every time its teeth sank into her body she would feel it. With every bloody mouthful of flesh it ripped from her bones she would suffer an agony no normal person would remain conscious long enough to endure. In the end there would be nothing recognizably left of her and yet she would still be there, her awareness cowering in the marrow of her bones like a besieged queen seeking refuge in the towers of her castle. She would still exist but her lord would no longer desire her, no longer love her. Eventually the snow would melt, the days would grow warmer and she would slowly but inexorably rot, the haunting Keep of her identity picked clean by vultures.
Lost in morbid thoughts as the wolf inexorably gained on them, she was surprised to feel a hand clutching her arm through her cloak. One look at the driver’s face revealed his intention and it was so shocking yet so inevitable that she laughed out loud before she began fighting him. The struggle seemed to last a brief eternity and then all at once she was flying, her cloak flapping like crippled wings around her as she fell facedown in the snow with such force all the breath was knocked out of her. But she could still think and she was afraid to look up—she didn’t want the wolf attacking
her face before any other part of her—yet she couldn’t resist, she had to look up in the vain hope it had chosen to ignore her and followed the sled instead. When a tall man knelt before her and offered her his gloved hand, she was unable to take it. She still couldn’t breathe and her heart was beating so fast she was paralyzed, a prisoner in the beautiful body she was so proud of, the body she had committed so many heinous sins to pleasure and preserve for all eternity…
“Rise!” he commanded.
She gasped, “I cannot!”
He yanked her to her feet and restored her breath to her through a kiss with a ferocity not even her lord and master had ever subjected her to. She was being devoured and only imagining a handsome nobleman biting the side of her neck, and growling with a hunger she recognized and admired despite the pain it caused her. Not pausing to assist her when she stumbled, he dragged her by the arm across the snow, and then shoved her harshly back against a tree. She moaned submissively, not in protest. Much better to be raped in the cold and the dark by a strong man clad in rich furs than to be eaten alive by a wild animal. Perhaps she was dreaming, but if her body was in fact lying out in the middle of an icy field nourishing a wolf it didn’t matter because she was here, where her skirts were being impatiently lifted. She knew from experience that fear, shock and hope were the ultimate aphrodisiacs—she had watched both men and women run the gauntlet of these emotions more times than she could remember—and now she was their willing victim.
She whispered, “Who are you?” then cried out in an agony of pleasure as he thrust gloved fingers up inside her.
He replied coldly, “I am your death.”
There was no moon, it was impenetrably dark beneath the leafless tree, yet she could discern the glimmer of his eyes, focused intently on her face as she climaxed once, then again and—upon his violent insistence as his other hand clutched her throat—a third and final time.
Eternal Blood - Books 1-3 Wolf Shield, Sword of the Blood, Vampire Bride Page 16
