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

by Maria Isabel Pita

  “I thought I might be losing my mind,” Stuart was saying, “when I found it impossible to accept the fact that Wilona was most likely dead and buried in the woods somewhere. And if the other scenario was true, if she had left me for another man and heartlessly abandoned her daughter, she would have taken at least some of her things with her. I knew something I couldn’t understand was happening, something even more sinister, if not as tragic, as your standard abduction, rape and murder scenario. I walked for miles every day in every direction looking for any sign the coppers might have missed, and that’s how I discovered there was a spell around the Eckart estate.”

  Audrey coughed as the sip of tea she swallowed took a wrong turn down her throat. Consuelo called it el camino viejo, which she had thought was very funny when she was a little girl. It seemed less amusing now; an appropriate way of describing her old way of thinking vs. the new one so rudely thrust upon her. “A spell?” She coughed again as Jonathan gently stroked her upper back.

  “Yes.” Stuart was staring down at the two fried eggs on his plate as though determining whether or not to eat them. “No Hunting signs were posted everywhere.”

  “And? No Hunting signs are posted on our property as well, father.” She ignored her own eggs; they were too high in cholesterol anyway. Bread and tea was all she could stomach at the moment. Like a prisoner. Which in fact she was, a prisoner of the power Falkon had over her—of the influence his blood cells were exerting on her blood cells and on the trillions of unique receptors receiving and processing the information of her self from the environment. Wow, it was all beginning to sound believable.

  “I obtained an aerial map of the area, initially in an effort to determine if there were any particularly good hiding places for a body.” With a quick, guilty glance at Consuelo—who had her back to them as she prepared another pot of tea—Stuart pushed his plate away. “Then it struck me. I’m not sure why. It’s one of the many wonders of the human mind. Our brain processes our thoughts, but I’ve come to believe thought itself exists outside or beyond us.”

  “What struck you, father?”

  “The No Hunting signs were all nailed to the trunks of very old trees in geometric patterns, like crop circles that don’t look like anything much when you walk across them but which form clear and definite shapes when viewed from above.”

  In the corner of her eye, she saw Consuelo turn to face them.

  Audrey breathed, “Magic!” and gasped when Whispers abruptly jumped heavily onto the table. Her feline barely weighed seven pounds but, in complete defiance of the laws of gravity, she made almost as much of an impression as a cat three times her size whenever she jumped on or off anything.

  “Vampires are manifestations of a civilization that’s been dying for centuries because it’s based on unsustainable principles,” Stuart stated as though concluding a lecture he had just given in his head. “In the West, the concept of an immortal spirit battling to transcend our mortal flesh has murdered the Goddess, who in ancient Egypt and other enlightened cultures was revered as God’s Hand. Hence the subjugation of women, and the violence still perpetrated against them and on the body of our planet. When sensuality and spirituality are unnaturally divorced from each other, death becomes something to be feared instead of merely one side of a Divine currency.”

  For a moment, Audrey didn’t care he had apparently changed the subject; she was filled with such love and admiration for the man who had engendered her it made her eyes water. “But daddy,” quietly, gently urging him back to the subject at hand, she said, “what about the spell you discovered around the Eckart estate?”

  “All spiritual truths,” Jonathan spoke abruptly, “can be best expressed through geometrical shapes which, when arranged in specific patterns, constitute a language that is what it means.”

  Whispers was sitting at the edge of the table, alternately staring fixedly over at the chef—who normally shooed her away—and at the slices of sausage resting on Audrey's plate.

  “And what,” she gazed at her lover, a much better label for him than boyfriend, “did you write with the geometric shapes created by the specific placement of the No Hunting signs all over your property?”

  Smiling, he helped himself to a piece of sausage. “I wrote Keep Out.” He tossed the meat onto the floor.

  A loud thud resounded through the kitchen as Whispers jumped off the table.

  “That's it? Just Keep Out? But then why was father able to wander freely through your woods?”

  Stuart pointed out, “All I saw were No Hunting signs.” His eyes still looked distressingly tired. He had been dealing with the unpalatable reality of vampires, and the possibility his wife had become one, for decades. And to think she had been wondering how she could break the impossible news to him. In the future she would try and remember it wasn’t necessarily a good thing to be overprotective of those she loved. The truth was more important than anything, and was as threatened by timidity as by any other overriding emotion.

  “Ever since I was a boy,” he went on, “I knew the Eckarts owned the land adjoining ours, but it wasn’t until I was studying the aerial photos that it occurred to me I had never met them, or even seen the great house they supposedly lived in. Everyone knows about the Eckart estate, but I guarantee you that if you ask anyone around here whether or not they’ve ever been there for tea, or to make a delivery, or for any other reason, they’ll tell you they haven’t.”

  “But before I even met Jonathan, Aapti called me and told me Colby Eckart's son had just returned home from Afghanistan. How did she-”

  “She probably heard the rumor in the village,” Jonathan replied. “I asked Darlene to mention to various shopkeepers she had heard the news somewhere. When I met you at the church, you were, in a sense, already expecting me. You were more prepared to trust me and to let me into your life as the proverbial boy next door in need of some serious TLC.”

  “You manipulated me like that so calculatingly?”

  “It saved time, and we didn’t have much of it. I’d lingered too long in the Middle East. I should have returned sooner, before you turned thirty and Falkon came for you, as I knew he would.”

  A high-pitched wail made her jump, but it was only the tea kettle reaching the boiling point.

  Whispers thumped back onto the table, licking her chops.

  “I shouldn’t have left you alone here, Audrey,” Stuart stated abruptly, “knowing Falkon was hovering, but once I realized he was a colleague of mine, I thought I might be able to discover his lair, so to speak. He must be vulnerable somehow and, foolishly, I believed I might be able to get to him before he… before he got to you.”

  “It’s okay, daddy, I understand.”

  “At least,” he glanced at Jonathan, “I knew you were in good hands.”

  Her eyes widened. “So you already know about Jonathan?”

  “Yes. I found out shortly after his mother came to work for us two years after Wilona disappeared. Jonathan was fourteen-years-old at the time, you had just turned ten. I had been trespassing on their property a great deal in my desperate search for clues and more than once I’d been frightened away by the sight of a large black wolf. Then, one misty evening, where the animal had been there was suddenly a young man staring back at me from between the trees with those same shining and uncanny yellow eyes. After that, I was sure I was losing my mind. Darlene took pity on me and explained everything, including why they were here.”

  “Which was?”

  “To protect you, Audrey. I think you know that already.”

  A sudden suspicion struck her. “What were you doing in the attic a few afternoons ago, daddy?”

  “I had every intention of burning Wilona’s self-indulgent little journal,” he replied bitterly. “It was cursedly foolish of me to keep it, and all her other things. I should have disposed of them years ago. I suppose I led you straight to it instead of protecting you from it?”

  “It’s not your fault, daddy, none of this i
s.” She hated to see him looking so guilty.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Darlene spoke abruptly from the doorway. “My apologies for interrupting your breakfast but you have a visitor.”

  Stuart said very quietly, “Please tell me it's not Falkon.”

  “It's not Falkon.”

  “Then tell whoever it is,” sighing, he rubbed his features vigorously with both hands, “that I’m indisposed. I’m in no mood-”

  “It’s your wife.”

  Consuelo yelled, “¡No lo creo!”

  Audrey had to admit that pretty much covered it; she suddenly couldn’t believe any of it either. Then she saw her father’s face. “Daddy?!” She rose and hurried around the table to him.

  “I’m…” His voice broke. “I'm fine.”

  She had no idea what to say to him. Wilona had casually walked back into the house, and into his life, after twenty-two years without a word of any kind. The fact that she was now half vampire and hadn’t aged a day since she left added insult to injury to such a degree, she didn’t see how anyone could reasonably deflect, much less emotionally survive, such a blow. She had already spent time with her mother (what was left of her) but Stuart hadn’t seen his wife in decades.

  “Daddy, you don’t have to…”

  He stood abruptly. “Oh yes I do.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, Audrey. You’ve already suffered enough exposure to these… these vortexes of selfishness!”

  That was such an excellent way to describe vampires, she found herself smiling. She was so proud of her father, it almost hurt.

  Darlene stepped aside for him even as Consuelo wailed “¡No!” and sank to her knees, her hands crossed against her heart as she stared over at him beseechingly.

  “No te preocupes,” he said tenderly, pausing too look back at her. “Dios está con migo. Te quiero mucho.”

  Consuelo closed her eyes.

  Audrey was pretty sure he had just said I love you very much, but now wasn’t the time to wonder about that. As Jonathan firmly took hold of her arm, she whispered, “What are we going to do? We should stay close to him and make sure-”

  “It’s not necessary. Wilona has no power over him any more.”

  “Then why is she here? What does she want?”

  “You know what she wants. It’s you she wants to reconnect with. You’re her only hope.”

  Of course, Falkon had told her as much. Wilona was aging so slowly, the inevitable decay of her physical body was barely perceptible to the naked eye, but no matter how much of his blood Falkon indulged her with, she would eventually die just like everyone else. Had her mother spent the last twenty-two years begging him for just one drop from that little violet flask? Did she spend her every waking moment trying to figure out where he kept it? She had admitted she never dreamed anymore but she was living a nightmare. Wilona was like the big beautiful moth she had seen perch on Falkon’s outstretched hand, and then flutter helplessly around him again as though his black clothes were akin to an old-fashioned photographic negative and he was, in truth, the brightest object in the room. Or had she actually been the moth, unable to think at all in a human sense as she became a pure, mindless need? The possibility sickened her. She was very glad Stuart didn’t have any heart problems she knew about, because if his wife suddenly transformed from a woman into something else right before his eyes, the shock could potentially send him into cardiac arrest no matter how prepared he believed he was to face her.

  It gave her a moment’s relief to turn to Consuelo, whom she had the power to comfort as she helped her up. “He’ll be fine, don’t worry,” she murmured, attempting to reassure herself as well.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stuart was alone with Wilona in his study. It was a far cry from the joyful reunions Audrey had pictured hundreds of times when she was little, before the hope her mother would return slowly faded along with the naïve innocence of childhood. It was costing her dearly to be patient and respect their privacy. She was waiting in the drawing room across the hall accompanied by Jonathan and Darlene, and their silent rapport was also, she realized, getting on her nerves.

  The housekeeper stood abruptly. “I'll go get us some tea,” she declared, and left the room.

  Not sure whether to feel guilty or relieved, she took the easy road. It was nice to finally be alone with Jonathan again, her boyfriend, her lover… her murderer…

  She moved closer to the fire, too restless to sit down.

  “Jonathan, why did you let me drink Falkon’s blood?” She couldn’t help resenting how relaxed he looked in the leather chair, his left ankle resting on his right knee and his silver earring catching the light as it had on their first evening together, before she discovered he was a shape-shifter and the world as she knew it blew up in her face.

  “I told you, Audrey, I can’t fight your battles for you.”

  “Well what can you do then? Besides stab me in the heart, that is.”

  He uncrossed his legs and sat up. “Come here, sweetheart.” He patted the tops of his thighs.

  She frowned, annoyed he was treating her like a pussy cat he could easily stroke into contentment, but she obeyed him anyway, she wanted to.

  He settled her on his lap but she kept her arms crossed defensively against her chest and her eyes on the fire. She was still angry with him. He had killed her, for Christ’s sake! Well, not her, but her feelings had a hard time making this distinction.

  “Audrey,” he whispered, reaching up and turning her face toward him. “Try and forget about it.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Shall I tell you the whole story? Haven’t you wondered how I knew where you were and who you were?”

  She hadn’t. She hadn’t been able to think beyond those painfully pleasurable moments beneath the tree he had pinned her back against. It didn’t seem possible she could have forgotten everything he did to her, everything he made her feel, her memory washed blessedly clean by the waters of all the wombs she had inhabited since then.

  “The young man Afanasiia was so deathly fond of was my nephew.”

  She repeated in a small voice, “Your nephew?” scarcely able to comprehend what he had just told her.

  “Yes, my nephew. My sister’s only son.”

  He spoke gently but he was stabbing her with this fact now just as he had remorselessly thrust a dagger into her heart centuries ago.

  “But I knew who Afanasiia was,” he added even more quietly, “before that. Her beauty was legendary.”

  The compliment scalded her, and then the possessive way he held her down when she attempted to get up seriously annoyed her. “Let go of me, please. I’m too restless to sit down right now.”

  He obliged her as Darlene returned carrying a formal tea tray.

  Standing as close to the fire as she could without getting burned, she watched the older woman set the heavy tray down. She was reminded of her mother and what had happened after she bent over and temptingly displayed her cleavage to Falkon. Wilona was so incredibly beautiful, she was worried her father wouldn’t be able to resist falling disastrously in love with her all over again. Consuelo was a wonderful person and a superlative cook but she was hardly in Stuart's league, intellectually or in any other sense. It was an ugly thought but it was too late to kill it now; it had flown like a big black bug through her mind and existed whether she liked it or not. Her arms still crossed defensively against her chest, she pretended not to be affected by Jonathan’s unwavering regard. For the moment, he was ignoring Darlene as she poured three separate cups of tea. The housekeeper didn’t ask him whether he took cream and sugar, she didn’t need to; her family had been serving him for centuries, or so they had told her. But was it true? Another unpleasant negative thought buzzing between her ears and making her feel disgusted with herself. In contrast, the crackling of the fire was mysteriously clean—the relatively simple, straightforward interaction of pure elements. She felt like the fire, dependent on Jonathan Eckart, un
yielding as an oak tree, for everything. His understanding of what was happening around and to her was the oxygen sustaining her even as her emotions kept flaring uncontrollably in response to his aggravatingly calm wisdom.

  Darlene smiled as she said, “Some tea, dear?”

  The heat was close to cooking her back but she still felt chilled by the thought of Falkon’s blood flowing through her. She shook her head. “No thank you.” She wondered if the essence, the nucleus of who she was—her soul—was sweating protons and neutrons in the process of transforming her into something, someone else?

  “No.” Jonathan leaned forward and dutifully took a sip of tea, but then he set the delicate porcelain cup back down on its saucer with such force she was surprised it didn't crack. “Stop scaring yourself with thoughts you can’t fully understand, Audrey. Intellectual specters are the last thing you need right now.”

  He had a point. She had received only average marks in her science courses and yet suddenly she had felt she understood how atoms worked well enough to compare their structure with her own emotional and perceptual make-up. Falkon. His receptors. Or the receptors of someone whose blood he had recently drunk? She met Jonathan’s eyes. “What’s in Falkon's little purple vial? I assume you know about it?”

  “Yes, I know about it.” He sat back abruptly; he almost looked tired. “But I don’t know where it came from or how it works, exactly.”