Child of Twilight

by Margaret L. Carter

  “Oh?” Roger had tried to avoid thinking about those moments.

  “For a short time, we seemed to commune somehow. Not a full-fledged bond, but a definite link. Don’t you agree?”

  Roger mulled over his memory of the episode. He recalled the unsettling vividness of his perceptions, how Claude’s, Eloise’s, and Gillian’s emotions had been etched on his brain like the afterimage of a lightning bolt. “Granted, I briefly shared your experiences, as if our minds somehow merged.”

  “And you imposed yours on me to deflect me from killing Camille.”

  “I felt it, too,” said Eloise, “as if you’d temporarily tapped into our bond. I think that’s part of what shook me out of the pit I’d fallen into. I saw Claude’s love for me clearly again, sharing how strongly Roger believed in it.”

  Britt, caressing Roger’s hand, which she had captured while he was preoccupied, said, “I felt some of it, too. Thought I was imagining it, under stress.”

  “No, we actually did—involuntarily—form a sort of network among the four of us,” said Claude. “An interesting but not entirely comfortable experience.”

  “I endorse the last part of that!” Roger said. Merging his mind with Britt’s was one thing, both an ecstatic luxury and a fundamental necessity of his being, but even a hint of such contact with anyone else alarmed him.

  “Could be worth exploring, though,” said Claude.

  Again they sat in silence for some time, each assimilating the conversation at his or her own pace. Britt remarked telepathically, [This intrigues me. I wouldn’t mind exploring the possibility.]

  [Call me a coward if you like, but you know how I feel about that kind of intimacy.]

  [Yes, I know, and I’d never push you. Much, anyway.] She rubbed her head, catlike, against his chest. Roger felt himself blushing. Claude and Eloise didn’t seem to notice, though. Claude was nuzzling his lover’s earlobe as if he meant to seduce her on the spot.

  [Doesn’t look as if they’re planning to leave,] Roger said. [Perhaps we should propose adjourning to the bedrooms.]

  [Why?] Britt retorted. [Good grief, it’s just Claude and Eloise. Lighten up!] She relentlessly stroked his palm and nibbled at his neck.

  Across the room Eloise unbuttoned Claude’s shirt to slip a hand inside and massage his chest. They shifted from the love seat to the floor, where they reclined on the deep-piled carpet. Braced against the couch, he rubbed her back in languid, circular strokes, while she lay in his arms with her head on his shoulder.

  Roger felt his face growing hot, though not entirely from embarrassment. The sensuality radiating from the other two made him lightheaded. Britt projected tempting images into his mind and teased him with ineffectual nips of her blunt incisors. [Why aren’t we down there, too? The rug would be more comfortable than the love seat—more room to stretch out.]

  [I prefer privacy.] Roger was acutely conscious of how the words clashed with the desire he couldn’t hide from her.

  She assailed him with a vision of her nude body aglow in the firelight, undulating beneath his. Slipping onto the floor, she lay on her back and opened her arms in invitation. He burned with thirst, his pulse throbbing in sync with hers. The yearning to merge with her swept away all reluctance.

  He lay next to her, side by side for maximum face-to-face contact. He longed to feel the warmth of her skin without the barrier of clothing, but a shred of reticence wouldn’t let him go that far in the presence of other people. After a deep, lingering kiss, Britt guided his left hand to her mouth and bit into the flesh at the base of the thumb. Understanding what she wanted, he made a tiny incision in his hand with his razor-edged teeth. Britt’s mouth and tongue on the wound felt like the lapping of painless fire on his hyper-sensitized skin. His head whirled; he had the illusion of lying at the center of a huge, pulsing heart.

  Britt’s inner voice, incoherent with passion, commented, [It’s been so long—since it was this intense—and you aren’t even touching—]

  With no sense of voluntary movement, he found himself sipping from the sweet-scented valley between her breasts as from a chalice. All conscious thought drowned in their shared fulfillment. At the periphery of his awareness, he sensed Claude and Eloise’s passion like a distant echo reinforcing their own.

  When he opened his eyes, through the red mist that floated before them, he noticed Claude and Eloise moving closer. In Roger’s ears their heartbeats formed a counterpoint to the harmonious rhythm of his and Britt’s. Britt stirred in his arms.

  He felt a hand pressed to his mouth. An instant of disorientation gripped him as he tasted someone other than Britt. Eloise. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Claude wants us to.”

  Britt added her silent reassurance. [If that’s what you want, beloved,] he told her. He nibbled Eloise’s palm, licking a few drops of her unfamiliar but piquant life-essence. At the same time he was aware of Claude tasting Britt. Strangely Roger didn’t react with jealousy this time. The peace that enfolded him prevented that.

  He did feel a twinge of apprehension, though, when Eloise broke contact, and Claude reached over her body to offer his bared wrist. Claude greeted Roger’s instinctive withdrawal with a warm chuckle. “After all we endured together a few nights ago, you’re still afraid of this?”

  Half ashamed, Roger said, “It isn’t exactly fear.”

  “A bond between us won’t diminish the uniqueness of what you have with Britt. Nor what Eloise and I share. Haven’t you learned the difference between friendship and sex yet?”

  Bathed in Britt’s aura and savoring Eloise’s less overwhelming but pleasant flavor, Roger didn’t feel threatened by the question. “You may have a valid point.”

  “When Britt nourished Gillian, that didn’t encroach on your bond, did it? Gillian’s fear of bonding is natural. She’s only a child. By now, you should have outgrown that. If you’re going to act as mentor to her, shouldn’t you know the full depth of what that union can be?” Claude seemed content with Roger’s thoughtful silence as an answer. “And so should I, for the same reason. If you’re willing, mon frere, I would like to deepen our friendship.”

  In reply Roger extended his left hand, still trickling blood where Britt had sampled from the incision. Simultaneously he nipped the inside of Claude’s wrist. He felt none of the panic he’d barely been able to suppress when he’d made this exchange with Volnar over fourteen years before. Now Roger knew what to expect. The metallic flavor of Claude’s blood, the chill brush of his lips, the body heat of Britt and Eloise flowing over both of them like rich red wine on the palate, all blended with the radiance of the fire and the candle flames in a sensory gestalt of aching intensity.

  Roger opened himself to the clarity of his brother’s mind. Through Claude, like gazing through the surface of a pond, he saw the top layers of Eloise’s thoughts and touched their mutual love as well as her unsuspected tenderness toward him. And he sensed Claude tracing the threads of Britt’s consciousness through him in the same way.

  Roger saw himself through their eyes—not only Britt’s, as usual, but all three of them. He witnessed their amused, half-dismayed reaction to viewing themselves as he saw them. Thoughts and emotions sparked among them like fireflies flashing across the landscape of a summer night. Or like the fine-spun filaments of a net in which all four were intertwined. The scintillating web enmeshed them in a waking trance. They nourished one another, each fully himself or herself, yet in a sense new to all of them united as never before.

  Chapter Seventeen

  FROST-COATED GRASS crunched under Gillian’s feet. She ran across the dark field with a light wind lashing her face and ruffling her hair. She wore only jeans and a sweatshirt, no coat, for the thirty-five-degree night felt just pleasantly brisk to her. Two Irish wolfhounds loped beside her, one on each side like an escort. Though she could have outdistanced them instantly with a 60-mile-per-hour sprint, she paced her speed to theirs. The dogs’ uncomplicated joy in the exercise made them comfortable compa
nions. Gillian enjoyed the complex flavor of human donors’ blood but still found prolonged exposure to their emotions tiring.

  She reached the fence at the edge of her mother’s property and leaned on it to stare into the dark expanse of the nearest neighbor’s pasture. With Juliette’s blessing, she had stolen an occasional snack from the horses that grazed there, not enough to affect the animals’ health. At this time of night, though, the field was deserted.

  Tilting her head back, Gillian contemplated the stars visible in the cloudless December sky. If only she could stay here.

  If I wanted to stay a child. Vampires past early childhood didn’t live with their mothers. This interlude had to end soon.

  A stirring of air behind her broke into her reverie. Turning, she saw a black and silver shape glide to earth in the middle of the field. When he alighted and strode toward her, she recognized Volnar. His pale wings contrasted with the dark fur that covered his face, arms, and bare chest.

  She folded her arms and waited for him. Her stomach knotted, and her heartbeat accelerated. Impatient with this sign of her anxiety, she willed it to slow down. To her satisfaction her pulse obeyed her will.

  When Volnar got within a few feet of her, he reabsorbed the wings into his back and allowed the dark pelt to fade away and his fangs and pointed ears to return to normal. The dogs crouched and edged backward, whining.

  “Go home,” Gillian whispered to them with a dismissive gesture. They raced toward the house in the distance.

  “Good evening, Gillian,” Volnar said.

  “Good evening, sir.” Electricity from his aura crackled over her skin. As usual his mind felt like a sphere of cold metal with no emotions leaking out. She had no idea whether he was about to flay her with his wrath. She folded her arms again, wishing she could shield against him that easily.

  “Have you enjoyed your holiday?” His tone remained level, his expression bland.

  “Yes, sir.” She focused on keeping a tremor out of her voice. “Roger and Claude and their friends cared for me well. So did Juliette.”

  “I’m aware of that. Nevertheless, you know how foolishly you behaved.”

  She sensed the razor’s edge in that remark. Here it comes. “I know.” She clutched at the memory of drinking from Britt, thriving on the lifeblood and affection so freely shared. “I shouldn’t have run away from you. And I shouldn’t have let Camille seduce me. But I’m not tainted.”

  Volnar’s eyebrows arched at that word. “No, you are not. I have never implied such a thing.”

  “Other vampires have. Purebreds.”

  “Will you allow others to define you?”

  “No.” She hugged herself to keep from shaking. “Not even you.”

  A tinge of amusement crept into his voice. “So you’ve tasted human blood and now you think you’ve grown past the need for guidance?”

  She relaxed a degree. Maybe he wouldn’t flay her alive after all. “No, sir. Both my parents have made it clear to me that I still have a lot to learn.”

  He stepped closer to her. His metallic scent prickled her nose. “If you find it impossible to learn from me, young one, another advisor could be found. Someone whose teaching style, so to speak, suits you better.” The crimson gleam in his eyes challenged her.

  Was the offer sincere or some kind of test? Without a crack in his mental shell, he gave her no hint. She recalled how Roger had described his own initiation by Volnar as harrowing but worth the ordeal. She remembered hints dropped by others of her kind about how lucky she was to have the Prime Elder as her mentor. Volnar possessed power and knowledge few of their species attained. If she wanted the strength and skill to build an independent life for herself, his power would prove an invaluable asset.

  Camille had forced a bond on her. A wave of chill, far colder than the December night breeze, swept over her. No! That woman is dead! She has no control over me now. Gillian drew upon the warmth of more recent memories to dispel that cold. Her family’s blood-sharing had blotted out any stain left from Camille’s violation. Volnar wouldn’t violate her that way. His offer made that clear.

  If she could trust him. But without that trust, she realized, she would never finish growing up. “I don’t want another advisor,” she said. “I want you to teach me.”

  “You know what that involves.”

  “Yes.”

  She closed the last few inches between them. Volnar loomed over her, not moving. Gillian placed her open hand on his chest. He felt like a statue carved of ice. The cilia in her palms vibrated with the energy sparking in his aura. Yet he still made no move. He waited, testing her.

  Her throat tightened, and the hairs on her arms bristled. I can’t do it! Meeting his reptilian stare, though, she felt a surge of defiance. She wouldn’t justify his doubts by proving herself a coward.

  She rolled up her right sleeve and, inch by inch, forced her arm toward his mouth, wrist turned to expose the veins. At last she touched his lips, parted in a ghost of a smile. But he still did nothing.

  She clamped her other hand around his left forearm and lifted it to her own mouth. Shuddering, she pierced the skin. His blood trickled over her tongue. It scalded and froze at the same time. She fastened her lips to the incision and sucked hard to overcome the impulse to tear herself away. The fluid burned down her throat like brandy and ignited a flame in the pit of her stomach.

  Only then did Volnar nip her wrist and drink. Closing her eyes, she clung to awareness of herself while her life flowed into him. She felt as if she floated in a void with a cyclone swirling around her.

  Phantom hands gripped her and stopped her from falling into the abyss. In her mental landscape she saw a castle whose turrets towered out of sight into a scarlet-tinged mist. When the whirlwind deposited her outside the castle, she stood before a stone wall with a massive door. The portal swung open. An endless corridor stretched before her. As far as her vision reached, door after door lined the hallway, inviting her to explore the chambers they guarded. The chambers of Volnar’s ancient mind.

  She stepped inside.

  Margaret L. Carter

  Marked for life by reading DRACULA at the age of twelve, Margaret L. Carter has remained passionate about vampires. With degrees in English from the College of William and Mary, the University of Hawaii, and the University of Califonia (Irvine), she featured a chapter on DRACULA in her dissertation. Her nonfiction works include THE VAMPIRE IN LITERATURE: A CRITICAL BIBLIOGRAPHY and DIFFERENT BLOOD: THE VAMPIRE AS AN ALIEN. In addition to a werewolf story, SHADOW OF THE BEAST, she has had several vampire novels published, including DARK CHANGELING, to which CHILD OF TWILIGHT is the sequel. She and her husband, a retired Navy Captain, collaborated on a fantasy novel, WILD SORCERESS.