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

by Maria Isabel Pita

  She sprang to her feet, but as though invisibly attached to it the coffin remained level with her heart and she couldn’t look away... from own face… No, that other woman’s face. Caught in a fishnet veil studded with colorful gemstones all catching the light of dozens of candles, her black hair shimmered like a clear night sky. Her vision was snared by the jeweled web, beneath which her pale features loomed like soft, snow-covered hills... hills the long wedding procession followed to a small stone church at the foot of a jagged mountain... inside she knelt on a stool embroidered with vividly colored abstract patterns as the man kneeling beside her handed her a silver chalice. Accepting it from him, she glanced up into his bottomless black eyes before looking down at the wine it contained, transmuted by the priest standing before them into the blood of Christ, her Lord and Savior… until later that night when, quite unexpectedly, she found herself deep beneath her new husband’s remote castle. Somewhere high above their heads, men, women and dogs were all asleep in the great hall and she was glad of that, for if any of them had overheard what he told her they would surely have believed he had gone mad. The stone walls were illuminated by the candle she held in a trembling hand; she was wearing only a linen shift and the damp black dirt was cold beneath her feet. The tight circular space appeared empty, but then he knelt and she saw a small vial shining like a cut and polished gemstone generating its own source of illumination where it sat all by itself partially buried in the ground.

  “Eternal life,” he said. “This is my gift to you, Audrey.” Falkon was suddenly standing before her, the luminous little container resting on his open palm, its smooth surface faceted with shimmering violet highlights. The delicate vessel was shaped like the ancient Egyptian ankh hieroglyph but with both its arms cut off, and the tiny circular stopper sealing whatever it contained was made of a substance that glowed like molten gold.

  “No one knows where it originated,” he told her, his expression so reverent he almost looked mortal. “Some say it came from ancient Egypt, but I believe it to be much older than the pyramids. Perhaps it’s not even from this planet, although centuries ago I wouldn’t have thought so. After all, who I was back then believed the earth was the center of everything. I’m looking forward to the distant future, when I expect my consciousness will have continued expanding to include scenarios I can’t possibly imagine yet.”

  “Not even vampires will survive when the sun goes nova,” she pointed out, raising a sarcastic shield against his seductive tone.

  “My dear, Audrey, there are endless worlds out there no farther away than your heartbeats, if you can master the art and skill of traveling in the seemingly empty space between them. All it takes is one drop.”

  She couldn’t conceal her chagrin. “Just a drop?” She had already drunk more than just one drop of his blood.

  “Even if I let you suck my blood all night and drain me dry,” he smiled as though the prospect appealed to him, “you would still age and die, only a little more slowly, that’s all. Like your mother.”

  “You mean you haven’t-”

  “No. She’s not even remotely worthy of it.”

  “You’re lying to her?” She felt intensely distressed for Wilona, who had stated proudly, ‘I’ll never die’.

  “No, I am not lying. All these years she has simply kept hoping I will change my mind about sharing this with her. And now she hopes you’ll forget all about the fact that she abandoned you and convince me to let her have a sip. And I would, Audrey. I would let you empty this bottle. I would give it to you so you could offer eternal life to everyone you loved, your father, Consuelo, your friend Aapti, even your cat, because all I want is for you to be happy.”

  “Even Jonathan?”

  He trapped the shimmering violet bottle in his fist, and then opened his hand again. It was gone.

  “Oh! Where did it go?” The look in his eyes frightened her so she spoke quickly, pretending to be impressed by his little magic trick. “More importantly, where did it come from? And is it the only one? Did someone offer you a drop? How many vampires are there? Do you even know?”

  The only response she got was a groan followed by a whimper. She had forgotten all about the girl suspended from the invisible ceiling. Feeling guilty, she glanced at her. At once she realized it was a different young woman, and that she wasn’t alone. Three more attractive bodies hung with painfully strained grace a few feet apart, and one of them was male... The sight of them made her hungry... she was seeing them through Afanasiia's eyes and she couldn't look away... she longed to taste them everywhere her tongue could reach, to lick their smooth flesh and bite their sensitive, helpless nipples. She could hear the arousing drums of their hearts beating fast and hard with terror. She gravitated toward the young man. His pulse was disappointingly slow because he was unconscious. She loved what suspension did to the human body, revealing muscles and tendons that normally remained hidden as it stretched the flesh like fine silk over the much more enduring stones of the bones supporting it. She was very fond of this youth, he was different, not a mere peasant. Her new favorite plaything was of noble birth, a special and dangerous treat her loving husband had procured for her after she confessed to him how much she wanted him. And she still did. His pale, slender body was livid with bite marks but his blood was like the finest wine and the more she drank from him the better she felt and the more she wanted. She made sure he was always conscious when she was feeding on him. His awareness of what she was doing to him was vital; without it she couldn’t truly relish the warm fresh life rushing almost eagerly out of him into her mouth. The pain she gave him was sometimes laced with a tormenting pleasure because as she sucked blood straight from his groin her hand pumped his cock, forcing his erection and demanding he ejaculate and refresh her bloodstained mouth with his milky sweetness. When his chest heaved with sobs of anguish and self-pity, she pressed her naked body against his and whispered reassurances in his ear, careful not to let her husband hear. But nothing escaped her lord and master and one night he suddenly abandoned the young woman he had been languidly feeding on, drew his dagger and stepped behind her favorite victim. She watched as the young man’s eyes widened in disbelief as his throat was slit. A river of blood, freed from its fleshly vessel, spurted in lush spouts from his neck. “He was a mistake, Afanasiia,” her husband said, and those words marked the beginning of the end. A few months later, she found herself the lone passenger in a sled chased by a wolf that became a man who stabbed her to death.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Audrey had been awake for some time but she didn’t open her eyes. She concentrated on the feel of her seemingly solid physical body sinking into the soft but supportive mattress. She relished the warmth of the feather comforter cocooning and protecting her from the cold mist of the Dragon’s Breath, where she flitted uncontrollably from one experience to another. The dangers she faced in there were subtle but real—like a bird catching a butterfly in mid-flight, disturbing memories could suddenly grab hold of her emotions and devour her sense of who she was now, completely disorienting her. It was a relief just to be lying in bed in her room, nothing more, nothing less. Eventually, however, she would be compelled to open her eyes and make sure she actually was home. Stubbornly, she was clinging to the illusion that what she saw was truly there even though it seemed the only permanent thing was her consciousness; the mysterious organ of her perception. Which was precisely why not having a firm grasp on who she was made her feel as though the whole world was in upheaval.

  When she heard someone step quietly into the room, she opened her eyes hoping it was Jonathan. “Daddy?” He was the last person she had expected to see this morning; she had believed he was in London.

  “My dear.” Stuart seated himself on the edge of the bed. His eyes looked tired. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine… I didn’t expect you back so soon.” He looked so concerned she abruptly remembered what Wilona had written in her journal, Stuart is beginning to worry that I am
ill. “What were you researching? Find out anything interesting?”

  “Yes.” He looked away from her face as he tucked the comforter more securely around her, the way he had when she was little and preparing to tell her a bedtime story.

  Tears sprang into her eyes and the years flowed away as she demanded with impatient eagerness, “What?”

  “Vampires. They really exist, don’t they?”

  She was surprised, relieved and worried in equal measure, because no matter how much he loved her, he couldn’t protect her since she was fighting herself as much as Falkon.

  “I am so sorry, Audrey. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Whatever for?” She feasted on the sight of his familiar, beloved face, which was aging so elegantly, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth merely seeming to underscore how handsome he had been and still was.

  “For keeping the truth from you,” he confessed. “I thought I was protecting you. I realize now it would have been much better for you to be prepared.”

  “You’ve known all along that mother is…?” She suddenly felt so hot she wanted to throw the comforter off and sit up, but she was naked beneath it.

  “No.” Looking down he shook his head as though trying to rid himself of thoughts that had tormented him for decades. “It took me a foolishly long time to figure it out and to convince myself I wasn’t mad.”

  “You’re not. But vampires aren’t… they’re not what people think… I mean….” What did she mean? Was she defending Falkon and her not-so-loving mother?

  As he studied her expression his tired eyes seemed to sink just a little deeper into the skull cradling them, his drawn mouth a silent statement of anger at himself and grief for her.

  She tried a different approach, “What exactly do you think you know, father?” noticing but disregarding the fact that she was already questioning his opinion of the situation, certain it was completely negative.

  “I know,” his eyes closed for an instant, as if he hadn’t gotten much sleep and he had to struggle to keep them open, “that you won’t make the same mistake your mother did because you’re much wiser, Audrey!”

  It was a challenge, a plea and a compliment all rolled up into one and it struck her like a physical blow in the center of her chest, making it hard for her to catch her next breath. She knew then she wasn't well, that the little bit she had drunk of Falkon’s blood was blooming inside her; his cells dividing and mingling with hers rendering her increasingly vulnerable to his perspectives. Distinguishing between their seductiveness and their selfishness seemed irrelevant, an intellectual exercise at odds with her feelings... in which she sensed the love they had felt for each other still flowing deep and strong... like a powerful river washing away any obstacles on its journey to a sea of infinite possibilities they could sail across together forever free of death…

  “Audrey!” The voice stated her name like a command.

  She opened her eyes again. Jonathan was sitting on the edge of the bed where her father had been only a moment ago. All she had done was think about Falkon and her awareness of what was happening had slipped out of her grasp. She had no idea how much time had passed.

  “A car brought Aapti home last night at around three-o’clock,” he informed her. “All she remembers is the driver shaking her awake and telling her to get out. He said her fare was already paid, and she was too disoriented to question him or to get a good look at his face. The last thing she remembers before that is walking out of a childrens' clothing store in Chelmsford.”

  “Oh thank God!” Her father no longer appeared to be in the room so she she sat up, energized by the good news. “What time is it? I feel like I’ve been in bed for centuries!”

  He stood and pulled the covers all the way off her, remarking, “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “I’m not.” She followed him up. “Falkon said she was only a bridge we were meeting on. He promised me he wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “And naturally,” he caught her in his arms, “you believed him.”

  She defended herself hotly, “I knew he was telling the truth” but at the same time was unable to resist slipping her arms around his neck.

  “And how exactly,” clutching her buttocks he squeezed them painfully, “did you know that?”

  “Ouch! That hurt.”

  “It was meant to.”

  “Let go of me, please.”

  “Do you really want me to?”

  “No!” She kissed him, and when his lips failed to part beneath hers his resistance made her even hungrier for him. She attempted to thrust her tongue into his mouth but its tenderness was unyielding as stone and, humiliatingly enough, her passionate efforts got her nowhere.

  Yesterday afternoon he had once again carried her home from the burned out church, gallantly rescuing her from the mysterious demands of the Dragon’s Breath after relentlessly subjecting her to them. With a determined expression, Consuelo had silently fortified them with some hot soup, and afterward he had led her her upstairs to her room, where he undressed her before putting her to bed. He hadn’t ask her what had happened, what she had seen and experienced during her sojourn in the paranormal mist, and she still had no clue how much he knew. She wanted to ask him but she was afraid whatever he said would only add to her confusion, and exacerbate the defensive attitude she had awoken with. It was impossible to defend the terrible things she had done when she was Afanasiia. And yet this other woman’s intensity—her unbridled passions and total lack of fear and timidity when it came to extracting both the greatest and most subtle pleasures from life—these were aspects of her personality she couldn’t help but admire. In fact, she fervently embraced them now as she struggled to make Jonathan kiss her back. She couldn’t quite tell whether his failure to respond to her advances was upsetting, infuriating or arousing her, as though her emotions were like her body’s organs all depending on each other, all sustained by the same experience, the same intoxicating feeling of being alive! Moaning in frustration, she abandoned his uncooperative mouth and kissed the side of his neck instead. How delicious it tasted amazed her as she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his skin, the very essence, the perfume of life! A feral growl filled the room she realized a second later had emanated from her own throat as she opened her mouth intending to sink her teeth into his flesh and tear it open so she could really taste him, completely absorb and savor him. It seemed totally unreasonable he wouldn’t let her do this, that he was pushing her away.

  “Please!” she whispered, clutching the shirt over his chest. “I won’t hurt you, Jonathan! You’re practically immortal and I need you!”

  “You’re not even fighting it, Audrey.”

  “Fighting what? How much I want you? I love you. And I thought you loved me!”

  “I do love you.” He wrenched her hands off his shirt. “And that’s why I won’t indulge you. Do us both a favor and go take a cold shower. I’ll meet you downstairs in the kitchen. Consuelo is fixing us breakfast.”

  “That’s not what I’m hungry for!” If he walked away now what would she do with this overwhelming need? She would have to find something, someone else to fulfill it or she wouldn’t be able to think straight.

  “Falkon also told you he didn’t need blood to survive. Didn’t he, Audrey? Consider how you’re feeling now and tell me if you think he was telling you the truth.”

  “But he didn’t lie about Aapti…”

  “Because he wants you to trust him.”

  The overpowering need possessing her abruptly drained out of her, replaced by a physical weakness that frightened her as she sank to her knees and fell forward onto her hands, unable to support herself. As Jonathan pulled her gently to her feet, and then cradled her in his arms, she barely had the strength to hold on to him.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her, his voice as warm now as it had been cold a moment ago. “Remember what I told you. You’re in the full throes of the fever I warned you about, but you’ll be better soon. Y
ou’re strong. Your blood is fighting his and there’s no doubt you’ll win.”

  “How can you be so sure?” she said, and yet staring up into his eyes she knew he was right, and that instead of wasting her energy being ashamed, humor was her best defense. Because if there was one thing vampires did it was take themselves too seriously for much too long. “Several billion of my trillions of receptors,” she said, managing a smile, “feel like satellite dishes hit by a hurricane. They’re hanging on for dear life and facing in all sorts of directions I would never normally entertain. I’m glad you know that, Jonathan, and that you won’t hate me for it.”

  “I know, and I won’t. It would be like hating my own soul.”

  “How long have we known each other? Do you know?”

  “Yes.”

  She waited for him to tell her but all he said was, “Your father will worry if we don’t join him for breakfast.”

  “Then he was here this morning? I thought I might only have dreamed it.”

  “No, he was here.”

  “And he knows everything?”

  “No.” He set her down. “Not everything. Not yet.”

  ⊕

  “I didn’t suspect,” Stuart said as he absently buttered a slice of toasted bread, “until I actually met him in person, that the scholar I’d been corresponding with for more than two decades was the vampire who had made off with my wife.”

  Audrey stared at her father in reluctant fascination. Despite all the fantastic stories he had told her when she was growing up (culled from now technically extinct cultures) she never, in her wildest dreams, would have imagined she would one day hear him speak so casually about the undead.

  An oddly peaceful expression on her face (considering the subject under discussion at the kitchen table) Consuelo poured the master of the house a second cup of tea. The love shining in her dark eyes was so obvious it didn’t seem possible she had never seen it before. Was she really so foolishly young and opinionated? The complexions of women over fifty weren’t supposed to glow like that, or so she had subconsciously believed, hence her inability to perceive what had been staring her in the face for years. And here she thought she could boldly navigate the Dragon’s Breath when so many aspects of her own so-called normal daily life totally escaped her. But her mind was wandering and her boyfriend—it seemed very strange to give a shape-shifter such a casual label—had warned her this was dangerous.