Marked

by A.N. Meade

Marked (Book 1 in the Marked by the Vampire Series)

  Copyright 2012 A.N. Meade

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Bittersweet Dreams

  Chapter 2: C'est La Vie

  Chapter 3: Homecoming

  Chapter 4: Blood Red

  Chapter 5: Never Let Go

  Chapter 6: A New Day

  Chapter 7: Run Away

  Chapter 8: Princess and the Priestess

  Chapter 9: Just Walk Beside Me

  Chapter 10: Along Came a Spider

  Chapter 11: Friends in High Places

  Bonus Chapter 1: Something Borrowed

  Bonus Chapter 2: Life and Death are One

  About A.N. Meade

  Other Books by A.N. Meade

  Connect with A.N. Meade

  Bittersweet Dreams

  Marc wasn’t as relieved to hear her answer as he had hoped he would be. He wanted Kate with him more than anything, but he was unsure if he was asking her to do what was right. He had found her the night before, as she sat alone by the pond with the snow falling on her hair like hundreds of diamonds in the moonlight. She was twirling a blade in her hand, and he knew her intention. Life had pushed her too far, and she was staring directly into the pit of despair. He had chosen to step out from the shadows and take her. It was a selfish choice, but it was no more a choice to him than breathing is to a human. He loved her. He had always loved her. In his own life, he had sidestepped his destined death and he still carried guilt for that choice and the consequences it brought. Then, as he did now, his spirit needed to be near hers. He was unwilling for either of them to leave this life and enter the uncertainty of the next.

  Tenderly, his fingers brushed back the hair from the right side of her neck. He loved her, but above his love for her was a selfish need to have her again. He would kill her. He would bring her back, and he would never let her go again. The fangs as they pierced her skin were not nearly as painful as the pressure of his bite as she felt her life slipping away. Kate had no strength left, and her body fell limp and lifeless into his arms. He laid her down carefully on the floor and supported her head with his left arm. Then, he bit deep and fiercely into his right wrist. The blood poured steadily and he watched it stain her lips. A single tear fell from his eyes. He was damning her. Even still, he could not let her go. That night, the pleasure he felt at knowing that inside she was there sleeping finally in his bed, was bittersweet.

  The next day, her metamorphosis was well under way. He covered her up with a light satin sheet. In moments of partial consciousness, just the touch of the denim and cotton that she had over her tore across her flesh painfully. Her body ached and pained like a thousand tiny needles rested just below the surface of her skin. For now, she was resting. She was exhausted from her latest bout of agony. Marc sunk deep into the armchair, but could not let himself sleep. He needed to be there, alert, in case she needed him. Her screams had awoken Enric and Natasha who were sleeping down the hall.

  They tapped on the heavy mahogany door.

  “Enter.”

  Trying to be as quiet as possible, they knelt down near the bed. Kate looked so sick.

  “So it has begun?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you would be happier.” Marc had talked about this for years. All he lived for was to find her.

  “The change is not without risk. My blood is toxic to her body. See the veins beneath her skin? They’re rising, full, and fighting. Her body will submit to it and be reborn, or she will die.”

  Marc dipped a cloth lightly into a wash basin beside the bed, and used it to wet her brow with cool water. He had done this to her. He had lived for centuries with every intention of finding her. He meant to find her, and make it so they would never part again. He lied to himself when he tried to believe it was curiosity and a desire to make sure she was okay, that drove him to hunt her down time after time. It wasn’t about any of that really. He wanted her, and he waited for the chance to have her. He wrestled with these thoughts. His motives were questionable at best. She was suffering, and he had done this to her.

  Enric could see that Marc was struggling. He tried to find words that would be comforting. “She is strong Marc. She’ll fight through this.”

  “I don’t want to lose her, Enric. I cannot lose her, not again.”

  They watched her eyes moving. Violently, they darted from one side to the next. Her skin was quickly losing its pale flush of color. Pain was written in her expression. Her jaw clenched, and she threw her head back as if she could not get enough air.

  Marc continued expressing what he was feeling. This was such a rare occurrence that Enric and Natasha gave him their full attention. “I hate knowing that her spirit is there, caught in the middle and I cannot be with her.”

  “You are right here, touching her. How is it that you are not with her?”

  “Her body rests here, but her spirit is there. It won’t pass because of what I’ve done to her. Though she will be spared from Ifern, she must travel through the underworld alone. She has to find her way back to this body, this life.”

  She looked so small to him lying there on his bed. He wasn’t used to worrying about her strength in this way. Would she navigate this labyrinth? Marc was so close to having her back. It was almost more than he could bear, watching her in so much pain and torment.

  “Life is gone from her then?”

  “Yes. Her body is only a doorway now. It lives because my blood transforms it into a vessel for her when she finds her way back.”

  It made sense to Enric now that she looked so pale and ill. She was essentially dead. He had never contemplated how someone became a vampire. He had never dared to imagine what it was like to transform. It looked horrible and painful. It was slow, so slow and painful. One question was strong in his mind. “How long does she have to find her way back?”

  “The sun will raise twice more before the door is shut. It will be a difficult journey. I must stay vigilant. My words will guide her, if she can hear them.”

  The air was thick with tension, making the large bed chamber feel like a tiny, cramped closet. It was clear in Marc’s voice that the risks were profound. All he could offer was his presence if it was needed. “If there is anything we can do, call for us.”

  As Natasha and Enric walked out, they were full of concern for their friend. It was strange for them to see Marc like this. He was beginning to look weak. He sat over her, reopening his would and pouring his blood over her lips so carefully. Enric and Natasha began to wonder if Marc’s life was in as much danger as Kate’s.

  The next day was worse. Kate’s voice echoed through the halls of the house. Everyone it seemed was in a state of unrest. They had all watched Marc put everything he had into finding her. For hours, he would sit in his room beside the cedar chest at the foot of his bed. He searched for something unknown through the trinkets that he had kept from their time together. Inside the chest were pieces of breacan, taken from the tiretaine that he was wearing. There was one piece of cloth from a kerchief that belonged to his beloved Aimee. There was also a broach that she wore on special occasions, and a pewter hair pin that had a trinity knot with an eternity circle at the top. There were many belongings besides, all pieces of his history together with her. Marc refused to leave her side. He tended to her constantly as she slept.

  Natasha remembered how he had made many trips to New Orleans before he had at last found Kate. He would go down to New Orleans and see Elsie who was a voodoo high priestess. She was a vampire, like him, but she had a gift of foresight. Her knack for communicating with the spirit world was amazing, almost as strong as her affinity for dark magic. He would leave for days on end to go and consult with Elsie so that he would know where Kate was and what he could do to find a d
oor into her life once again. Natasha wished so much that Elsie was here to help Marc through this. She would know what to do.

  The pierce of Kate’s screams jolted Marc into action. He walked over to her and wiped her head, face, neck and shoulders with the cool cloth. He was careful and gentle. As dawn approached, Enric and Natasha returned to Marc’s room with a platter of food and a glass of cabernet franc.

  Enric knew from the intensity and frequency of her screams, that things were bad. “How is she today, Marc?”

  “She rests less and less now.”

  “You look weak. Here is some food, and if you need me I am here.” Natasha could no longer hide the worry in her eyes. Marc was so tired. She could see it in him.

  His answer was short. “I cannot feed until tomorrow morning.” He downed a piece of roast beef and the wine in seconds, obviously hungry for something more. “I can’t risk introducing her body to so much