A cold hand reached out and gripped me by my neck from behind, as Gabriel had done only moments earlier, abruptly cutting off my scream. This time, the hold was far rougher than my brother’s grip had been.
My captor yanked me around. It was Anara, but I felt no relief at the sight of her; her eyes were ferocious and filled with the promise of violence.
She dropped her hand from my throat. Her gaze remained trained on mine as my body lifted from the ground, and I was slammed hard against a nearby tree. Unable to move, terror flooded me as Anara stalked towards me like a wolf approaching fresh prey. When she reached me, her hand again went to my throat, her eyes burning like fire. Her hand tightened around my throat and I panicked as I struggled to breathe.
We were completely alone in the clearing, and her face showed no hint of mercy as she continued to squeeze the air from my lungs. I had no way to defend myself, no way to fight back.
I did not know why Anara hated me so, but even with her hand on my throat, I knew instinctively that she wasn’t evil. There was more to her, a pain and humanity that was absent from the mindless ferals I had encountered. I raised my eyes to hers in desperation, pleading with my eyes for her to release me. But when my eyes locked with hers . . . something strange happened. I saw something. Felt something.
I was a young girl, my reed thin arms wrapped around my legs as I wept and rocked myself back and forth, seated in the center of the splintered wooden floor of a tiny cottage that had been ransacked; furniture and scraps of food were scattered about. In front of me, a man and a woman—my parents?—were being dragged away by a group of men.
“Please! Don’t harm my little girl!” the woman screamed. Her pain was palpable; her body wracked with grief and terror. “Leave my Anara be! Please, she has done nothing! I beg you!”
“Take me, please!” the man begged. “Leave my wife and child alone. Kill me, not them! Please!”
“Mama!” I screamed. The word was thin and my throat was strained, as if I had been crying for days. I scrambled to my feet and raced towards my parents. “Papa!”
One of the men stepped forward and backhanded me, sending me sailing across the room, and I hit the wall with such force that I slipped from consciousness.
And then the scene was gone. I was back in the present, crouched on my hands and knees on the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. Anara had stumbled away from me, her hands pressed to the sides of her head, looking dazed.
I was disoriented by what I had seen, but my self-preservation kept me focused, and I reached for the kukri that had dropped to the ground, holding it out defensively should she try to attack me again.
But Anara made no move towards me, her eyes clouded with confusion as she looked at me, her breathing ragged. We stood at a stalemate for several moments, until I dimly heard multiple footfalls approach the clearing.
“Mina!” Abe shouted as he raced into the clearing, his eyes sweeping over me with fretfulness. “I heard you scream. Are you—”
“I’m . . . I’m all right,” I said hastily, as other humans and vampires began to file into the clearing.
Gabriel hurried into the clearing, pushing past the others, his gaze straying suspiciously from me to Anara. When he saw my throat, he grabbed Anara and pinned her to a tree, his lips curled back in a ferocious snarl.
“Did you harm my sister?” he roared.
But Anara was unfazed by Gabriel’s fury. She was still focused on me, her confused expression shifting to one of suspicion.
“How did you do that?” she demanded, ignoring Gabriel. “You were in my mind. You did something to me!”
“You are far stronger and she’s the one who is bruised! Answer me!” Gabriel shouted.
“What is happening?” Szabina asked sharply. She and Radu entered the clearing, moving past the cluster of humans and vampires who had gathered.
“She attacked my sister!” Gabriel snapped.
“Anara. I already warned you—” Radu began, looking furious.
“I–I wasn’t going to kill her! She was able to release herself from the thrall, which is impossible!” Anara cried, pointing a quivering finger at me. “She was in my mind. I felt her!”
Szabina stiffened at her words, and I saw alarm flicker in her eyes.
“Harming the humans is forbidden,” Szabina said, disregarding Anara’s words, her voice strained.
“You are dismissed from the training,” Radu added. “I will discuss this with you later. Please escort her back to the village,” he quietly ordered two hovering vampires, who approached Anara.
“Listen to me! She looked at me, I felt something in my mind, and I could no longer hold her in thrall. No human has ever done that to me before!” Anara cried fervently, as the two vampires gripped her arms to lead her away.
But Radu and Szabina didn’t look at her, and once she was gone, Szabina approached, studying me closely.
“Is that true?” she asked. “You released yourself from the thrall?”
A hush fell as Abe, and all the others who were gathered, turned curious and awestruck looks towards me. I flushed, suddenly feeling oddly defensive, as if I had done something wrong.
“I–I just looked into her eyes, and I saw—I think I saw something from Anara’s childhood. It was like a dream. Or a memory. Her parents were being dragged away.”
Radu went rigid at my words, frowning. The silence stretched.
“Perhaps it was my desperation,” I said hastily, unable to bear the silence or the strange looks the others were giving me. “If one of you can put me into another thrall, I can show you all what I did, and then—”
“No,” Gabriel interjected. “It is too dangerous, and there’s no guarantee you will be able to release yourself again.”
“We need to learn to defend ourselves against the thrall! It’s one of your most powerful weapons,” I protested. “If I can teach others to do what I just did, our chances against Vlad and his followers are even greater.”
“I agree with Gabriel,” Abe said, looking worried. “It is far too dangerous.”
“My daughter was right,” Radu spoke up, looking at me intently. “We are not aware of any other human who has been able to release themselves from the thrall. Others here may not be able to do the same.”
Tendrils of unease curled around me as everyone continued to look at me like I was a newly discovered specimen. What did it mean that I was able to break the thrall? Yet another question to add to the mountain of unknowns.
“We are losing time. Let us take a break from the training,” Szabina said. “We meet back in the courtyard.”
Everyone began to scatter, casting curious glances at me as they did so. Abe, Seward, and Gabriel approached me, and beneath their polite urgings for me to get some rest, I could see the inquisitiveness in their eyes at this newly discovered ability of mine.
I barely listened to their words. My focus was on Szabina, who remained at the edge of the clearing, watching me with turbulent eyes, before she turned to head back towards the village.
“Are you listening?” Abe asked impatiently. “I want to examine your neck to see if there—”
“Wait here,” I said shortly, leaving them behind as I hurried after Szabina. I was determined to find out the cause of her frequent looks.
She seemed to sense that I was following her, as she picked up her pace. Worried that she would use her vampiric speed to evade me, I quickly jogged forward to move in front of her, blocking her path.
“You keep looking at me. Why?” I demanded.
When Szabina stiffened, averting her eyes, I knew that my inkling was correct. She knew something, and for whatever reason, she was hiding it from me.
“Szabina, please. Do you know something about me?” I pressed. “There is so much that I don’t know about my own past, my own life. If you know something, please . . .” my voice broke, and I had to blink back my tears.
Compassion flared in her eyes, and she expelled a long breath.
<
br /> “I did not want to believe it at first . . . I still cannot,” she said. “But I have only seen one human break the thrall of a vampire, and I have lived many years. Do you know the name Ghyslaine?”
I froze as my heart began to pummel against my ribcage. Ghyslaine. It did mean something—something vital. I could see it in her eyes. And she knew my connection to it.
I felt a sudden and strange sense of stillness; like the calm right before a violent storm. I had felt it right before Gabriel revealed his identity, and the night that I stumbled into that clearing to find my father’s dead body. It was the sense that everything would soon change, and my world would not be the same.
Szabina’s vivid eyes were now shimmering with blood tears. She stepped forward, placing cold trembling hands on the side of my face, gazing at me with a look of near reverence.
“Wilhelmina Murray,” Szabina whispered. “I know who you are.”
4
Ghyslaine
“Once upon a time, there lived a little girl,” my mother whispered.
I was five years old, seated with my legs tucked beneath me on my bed. It was night, long past my bedtime, but I was wide awake. My mother sat next to me, her eyes distant as she lovingly stroked my hair. The moonlight that filtered in my bedroom window gave her face an eerie glow.
“What was her name?” I asked eagerly.
“Isabel,” Mother replied, after a long pause. “Isabel was the youngest daughter of a family that killed monsters.”
“Monsters?” I whispered, my hands flying to my mouth. “What kind of monsters?”
“Monsters that look like us. Only they take blood. They take life,” Mother replied, her eyes going dark. “But Isabel’s family realized that not all these monsters are evil.”
“But monsters are evil!” I objected.
“Not so, poppet,” Mother said, with a small smile that was more sad than amused. “Many of them could not help that they were monsters. They never harmed humans . . . they only wanted to live in peace. Isabel’s family stopped hunting them, and much time passed. But many of the bad monsters remembered the family. They hunted them down. One by one, all the family members were killed, until there was only one left alive.”
I drew my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. I usually liked Mother’s stories, but this one was frightening. Yet I still wanted to know more.
“Who was left?” I asked nervously.
“A little girl named Wilhelmina,” Mother replied, pinching my nose affectionately. I giggled, turning my head away. Mother fell silent once more, her hand dropping to the blanket, her eyes growing distant once more. “Wilhelmina was the only one left, but she did not know it. It was best that she did not know, because if the monsters knew about her, they would come after her. But they will not,” she added reassuringly, noticing my alarm. “Because she was hidden away in the biggest city of the human world with a different name; impossible to find. She was . . . she was safe. She lived a long and happy life, away from the monsters and darkness.”
In the faint light, I thought I saw a shimmer of tears in her troubled brown eyes.
“Mama, is this just a story?” I asked.
“Of course, poppet,” she swiftly replied, reaching out to gently cup my chin with a consoling smile. But there was a strain to the smile, and her hand trembled slightly on my face. “Just a story.”
I now recalled the story as I stumbled through the forest outside of the village, hot tears staining my cheeks. Behind me, I could feel both Abe and Gabriel’s concerned gazes on my back as they trailed me. I stopped to lean heavily against a tree, closing my eyes against a fresh rush of tears.
The story my mother told me all those years ago had not been a mere bedtime story.
In the stunned wake that followed Szabina’s words, she gently led me back to the church, sitting me down in the front pew. I was still reeling, and barely noticed as she politely ushered out the few humans who were congregated inside until we were alone. She must have sent for the others, because Gabriel, Abe, Seward, and Radu soon joined us. Szabina moved to the altar, gesturing for Gabriel to sit next to me in the front pew.
“Ghyslaine is your mother’s family name,” she said somberly, her eyes trained on the both of us.
I blinked at her in confusion. I did not quite know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “My mother’s maiden name was Smith.”
“That was the name she took when she left France for England,” Szabina replied. “Eva Smith. She changed it to protect her identity. Her name was Isabel Ghyslaine.”
The blood drained from my face. Aside from Abe’s sharp intake of breath behind me, the church was still and silent.
“The Ghyslaines were once a noble family who learned of vampires before most humans,” Szabina spoke slowly and softly, as if keenly aware of the weight of each word. “They were already brutal and efficient witch hunters. They were often ordered by royalty to lead the hunts. But there are no witches . . . there have not been for ages. They discovered vampires through their hunts, and the Ghyslaine family massacred scores of vampires. They soon stopped—no one knows why—but they were so hated by our kind that when they began to lose their lands and decline in power, their descendants were hunted down and killed. Many changed their names and went into hiding. Your mother belonged to possibly the last family of descendants. But her family . . . they were good. They were ashamed of the family’s legacy and protected vampires rather than hunt them. Your grandfather was a member of the Order of the Dragon. When he died, your mother took his place. I was a member as well; that is how I came to know her. She was a good person.”
I couldn’t move nor speak, and I was forced into a shocked stillness for several moments.
“She . . . she was ill. She died at sea when she left to get treatment,” I whispered when I was able to find words. I was still struggling to hold on to some threads of truth that I had always known, threads that were now slipping through my fingers. “I–I saw her sick in her bed. Father showed me the headline about the boat sinking; the ticket she purchased. I . . . we held a funeral.”
“She needed to use deceit in order to leave. She was very involved in the fight against Vlad. She was one of the members who attempted to kill him. She hoped that she could kill Vlad and return home to her children. She did not want you to know any of this—not even your father knew,” Szabina whispered, guilt darting across her expression. “She made me vow to never tell of her fate should she be killed in the fight. I never thought I would meet you. I still cannot believe I stand opposite her children.”
“What of my father?” Gabriel bit out. “Who was he?”
“I do not know. She kept that secret. She insisted that he was dead.”
“How did she die?” I whispered.
“She was one of the members of the Order killed in retaliation for his death. I am so sorry,” she said mournfully, her eyes once again glistening with a sheen of blood tears. “We tried to protect the ones who fought Vlad, but his followers were fiercely loyal, angry, and determined. They got to her before we could stop them.”
Gabriel buried his face in his hands and began to weep. I suspected my mother’s death had been a great burden for him; he’d known and remembered her more than I did, and he’d been forced to mourn her death from afar, to shoulder it all on his own. My hand seemed to reach out of its own accord to grip one of his hands, and his hand tightened over mine as he continued to weep.
Grief felt somewhat lighter when it was shared, and I felt a sense of solidarity with Gabriel because of it. Any lingering doubt or unease about what he was had completely dissipated. In that moment, we were just two orphaned children, sharing the heavy weight of parental loss. Everyone else in the church was silent, allowing us this moment to grieve.
In the long silence, memories seized my thoughts. I was once again a five-year-old child, hovering in the doorway of Mother’s bedroom while a nurse
tended to her, her sad eyes trained on me. And then she was hovering above me as I tried to sleep, her anguished face glowing in the moonlight, making her appear ethereal and dream like. I must leave. But never forget my love for you, poppet. I love you always. Father was kneeling down next to me, brushing my hair back from my face, his voice wavering as he spoke. Your mother has gone away to get well. She will be better when she returns. The solemn funeral on that rainy October day, Father’s hand clutching mine, the rain mingling with the tears on my cheeks.
“How did they kill her?” I asked suddenly, forcing the ugly question past my lips.
“Mina,” Abe’s concerned voice was behind me, close to my ear, his hand reaching out to rest on my shoulder. “There’s no need—”
“I’ve been kept in the dark for too long,” I interrupted. “I need to know.”
“As do I,” Gabriel whispered, looking pained.
“Mina,” Szabina said, shaking her head. “I do not think—”
“Tell us. We are her children. We deserve to know.”
“She was in hiding in a house in the German countryside,” Szabina said, hesitant. “It was a brief stay . . . just until it was safe for her to return home. She did not want to risk vengeful vampires following her back to London. But Vlad’s followers found her. When we got to her, it was too late. She looked . . . she looked as if she had been tortured. Her body had been drained of blood. We knew we could not send her body back to England, Robert would know that she had not died natural. On the day your mother left England, a ship sank in the Channel; many bodies were lost at sea. We . . . we arranged—” Szabina faltered, lowering her eyes, guilt lurking in their depths, “a forged ticket in her name, and sent a letter to your father telling him that she was on the boat—and her body was lost at sea. We buried her in France with others of her family.”
Fortress of Blood (Mina Murray Book 2) Page 3
