Men and Monsters (Nightfall, Book 2)

by Elena May

  “I think it’s obvious why I’m here,” Myra said. “I promised Vlad I’d help you escape, and you’re still too weak. You need to feed again.”

  “Not on you,” he said.

  “Do you see anyone else around?” she asked. “This is the only way.”

  “You cannot lose any more blood so soon,” he said. “It is unhealthy, even if you feel no ill effects yet.”

  Her gaze traveled from the tip of his golden head to the bottom of his feet. Neither his injuries from the cave nor Thomas’s handiwork were showing any visible signs of healing, which likely meant the vampire was still blood-deprived. “Then you claim you’re strong enough to escape?”

  “I am not strong enough to fight, but I can still walk part of the way and crawl the rest.”

  “We both know that’s not good enough.”

  “Then you need to find another food source. You cannot spare any more blood.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I know better than you what I can spare.”

  He stared at her for a moment before a wide smile spread across his face. “Oh, I see. You liked it so much that you want to do it again.”

  Myra rolled her eyes. These were exactly the kind of comments that would make her walk out of the door and never try to help him again. And yet, she could not deny there was some truth to his words. She wanted to do it again. But why? Was she actually attracted to Tristan? Or… to vampirism? Was that it?

  Myra took a deep breath. If it was so, she was no better than Sissi. At least Sissi was honest about it, while she was a self-righteous hypocrite. But it can’t be, can it? I’m simply confused. That’s all.

  “How insightful you are,” she said. “Sorry to disappoint, but you’re really overestimating the appeal of your bite. I’m simply being reasonable. I can easily recover from a second bite, and you need the blood to regain your strength.”

  “There is a way, you know,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Last time you used that phrase, you suggested the Prince should feed off you. Should I assume this new idea is any less insane?”

  “It is not insane,” he said. “It makes perfect sense.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m listening.”

  “I could turn you if you like. As a vampire, you could spare a lot of blood without risking any long-lasting harm.”

  Tristan’s face had been priceless when Myra had suggested serving as his food, but right now, she had no desire to imagine what her own face looked like. “Have you lost your mind? If you knew me at all, you’d know that’s the last thing I want. I’d rather die.”

  “That was before,” Tristan said. “But now you have tasted darkness. Now you know what it feels like.”

  “And now I want to be a vampire even less,” she said.

  “Pity.” Tristan leaned his head against the wall, a lazy smile on his lips. “You’d make a good one. You are not like other humans.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment? Well, it’s not. Humans are amazing. And why are you trying to sell me on the idea? Almost like you want me to be a vampire.”

  He smirked. “You got me. I do want this, indeed.”

  She frowned. That’s unexpected. “Why?”

  He shrugged, making his chains rattle. “Many reasons. You’d be a fresh new addition to our family. Better than Armida in any case.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What’s your problem with Armida?”

  “Nothing personal,” Tristan said. “I dislike pretty much everyone. And, in any case, she dislikes me, and I tend to hate people who hate me.”

  “Why would she dislike you?”

  He smiled. “I know, right? No person in their right mind could possibly dislike me, and yet, she does. I guess she feels threatened by me. She knows that she is not my lord’s first lover, and she will not be the last. She is replaceable. I am not.”

  “I noticed how she manipulated you into making the sacrifice while you were at the cave,” Myra said. “She used your pride to make you volunteer, and she didn’t even try to be subtle. She played you like a fiddle. I’m surprised you fell for it.”

  “I didn’t ‘fall for it,’” Tristan said. “I knew what she was doing. I am not blind. I let her do it because I did not mind making the sacrifice, and my priority was to get my lord out of there, before he had done something stupid. If we argued and played games, we would have lost precious time. I had to step back and let her win before it became too late.”

  “How noble of you,” Myra said.

  “My noble deeds should have stopped surprising you by now,” he said. “And I offer you one more. Let me turn you. You know that this is what you want.”

  “You’re crazy,” she said.

  He tilted his head to the side and looked at her quizzically. “You are afraid. You think he will not be interested in you once you are turned.”

  “This is not why—” she protested, but he interrupted her.

  “You think my lord only talks to you because you can write, and if you are turned, you’ll lose that. And then, he will lose all interest in you.”

  Myra bit her lip and glared at him. The thought had indeed occurred to her—that to Vlad she was nothing more than an instrument to finish his work.

  “If you believe this,” Tristan continued, “then you do not know him at all. I can help you know him better. Then perhaps you will not make the same mistake I made.”

  Myra stared at him. “You’ll tell me the story of his human life?”

  “No,” Tristan said. “That tale is not mine to tell, and is filled with too much pain. But I can tell you the story of mine.”

  The story of Tristan’s life… Myra remembered the tale he had started back in the Palace. The arrogant hermit poet, dreaming of something bigger and latching onto the mysterious worldly vampire who had arrived in his life. She often wondered how the story ended. Tristan had refused the Prince’s offer to turn him, terrified that if he lost his ability to write, Vlad would abandon him.

  I had always been alone, his words echoed in her mind, but I had never been lonely. I had always enjoyed solitude, sought it, even. This was the first time I knew what it was like to be lonely. This was the first time I enjoyed someone else’s company more than my own, and the thought of losing it filled my heart with terror.

  Tristan had hidden the true source of his doubts from the Prince, claiming that he was not ready to give up his poetry. Vlad had agreed to wait until Tristan asked to be turned. What had happened to make one of them change his mind?

  Her heart raced. For a long time she had wished to learn more about Vlad, but now, looking at Tristan’s mischievous smile, at his pale chiseled face framed by messy golden hair, she wondered if she was more eager to hear his story instead. “Tell me,” she said.

  “You remember where I left off last time?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Vlad offered to turn you, but you refused, and he promised not to push you.”

  “Precisely. Indeed, he kept his word.” Tristan fell quiet. “But now my fancy vampire hearing is telling me someone is approaching.”

  Myra reacted fast. She took a step back and placed her hands on her waist. “If you want to live, you’ll work with me,” she said sternly. “The Prince is more likely to listen if we deliver a letter from you. You’ll write the letter and tell him how badly you’re feeling here and how much you want to return home.” She threw the door a brief glance as Lidia stepped in, carrying a bucket.

  “Trying to make him help himself, huh?” she said. “I bet it’s a lost cause.”

  “As expected,” Myra said. “What’s this?”

  Lidia wrinkled her nose. “Freshly killed rats. Zack said we can’t let him starve.”

  Myra suppressed a grin. She could almost hear Tristan’s mental groan at the announcement.

  “Zack was looking for you, by the way,” Lidia said. “I think it has something to do with our mission.”

  “Yes, of course, I
’ll go right away,” Myra said, hiding her disappointment. She had waited to hear this story for so long, and now she had to wait even longer. “Don’t let him bite you.”

  Lidia laughed. “I’d like to see him try.” Myra smiled, and with a last glance at the chained vampire, she left the cell.

  Chapter Seven

  Explorers

  Myra opened the door and stopped in her tracks. Zack was not the only one waiting for her at the Headquarters. Other Resistance members and Sissi were also there, all silent and looking at her.

  “Good afternoon, Captain Andersen,” Zack said solemnly. “We have summoned you here to discuss our upcoming negations with Prince Vladimir. As previously agreed, you will go together with Andre and Lidia.”

  Myra liked the arrangement—she was happy with the company, and she was certain Vlad would find a way to talk to her in private anyway. “And I’m glad to accept.”

  Zack’s face softened. “Myra… I’m not asking this of you if you’re not up to it. You are free to let someone else take your place. I said I’d only send volunteers, and this includes you.”

  Myra shook her head. “This was my plan. I started it. I’d like to see it through the end.”

  Zack nodded. “Good. You will travel to the Palace tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll compose a letter with the terms. They are simple—we demand that the Prince destroy the WeatherWizard and release all humans. If he meets our terms, we release our prisoner and give him enough time to return to the Palace. After that, there is no further agreement between us, and each side will be free to attack the other. If he refuses, we kill the prisoner. Slowly. We sent body parts to the Prince regularly, giving him the chance to reconsider.” He stood up from his chair. “Thank you all for attending. You are dismissed for now.”

  The gathered Warriors left the hall, and Myra tried to hide her eagerness to get out. She hoped Lidia would be done with Tristan by now, and he would be alone and able to share his story. Once the distance between her and the Headquarters was large enough, her steps quickened, but a light touch on her elbow made her stop.

  “I need to speak to you,” Sissi whispered, and the two girls sneaked into a small, unoccupied cell.

  Sissi waited for a moment, making sure there no one else was around. “I’ve been trying to learn more about the Prince,” she said breathlessly. “I went to your library—you do have a wonderful collection, do you know that? And your history encyclopedias are brilliant. Anyway, I found a very extensive encyclopedia on world religions. I think the key to unveiling his past is to find out his beliefs.”

  Myra suppressed a smile. Their collection was wonderful? What would Sissi say if she could see the Palace’s libraries? “I agree,” she said. “Unfortunately, we have no systematic way to search. We would need to read about each religion one by one, and I imagine there are many.”

  “Still, we already know some key points we could look for. You mentioned you believe his religion is pagan, with animal sacrifices to predict the future, but also monotheistic. You also said the Prince has a tattoo, but we don’t know if it was a tribal custom or done later. Anything else that might be relevant?”

  “Tristan mentioned something about a sky god,” said Myra. “‘God of the blue sky’ were his exact words, I believe.”

  Sissi’s eyes brightened. “Brilliant! I’ll look through the book and see if there are any matches. Any idea what continent the Prince originally comes from? That would narrow it down.”

  “Hard to say for sure,” Myra mused. “We know he was turned by a Greek vampire around the ninth century, which rules out quite a few places. Combined with his appearance, I’d say Southern Europe, or western or central Asia.”

  “That’s a start,” said Sissi. “At the time lots of tribes were moving around and mixing. I think we should look for religions that originated anywhere in Eurasia.”

  “Yes, we should look into that,” Myra agreed. “But first, I must go to Tristan.” She hesitated. “Do you want to join me? He promised to tell me the story of his human days.”

  “Oh, so tempting,” Sissi said. “But we’ll raise suspicions if we both spend too much time in his cell. At least, we shouldn’t go together. Once he escapes, Zack will investigate, and then we could confirm each other’s alibis. We shouldn’t give him any reason to believe that we might be conspiring together.”

  “Yes, of course,” Myra said. Sissi’s self-restraint surprised her; perhaps she had to learn it herself. “I’ll go alone, then, but I’ll tell you all about it,” Myra promised and left the small cell.

  Her feet moved fast over the stones, and she fought hard to restrain her pace. Finally. After more than two months, she would learn how Tristan had become the monster he was today.

  Myra entered Tristan’s cell and grinned, seeing a trace of blood smeared on his cheek. “So, you did drink the rats after all?”

  “I did,” Tristan grumbled. He was once again standing up, with his back to the wall, his arms stretched upwards and chained. A hint of color had returned to his face—the rat blood had done some good. “But I only did it for you, so that you would stop making those brainless offers to serve as my breakfast. I hope you appreciate my selfless sacrifice.”

  She laughed. “Thanks. I do.”

  “Good. And you can start showing your appreciation by not breathing a word about the rats to anyone.” He grimaced. “Definitely not to the Prince. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Speaking of,” Myra said, “I’m leaving for the Palace tomorrow.”

  Tristan looked up, his grey eyes bright, but his voice was casual and disinterested as he spoke. “I see. In case he asks about me, make sure you skip the part about the whipping. It is nothing, really, but he tends to overreact. Must be the savage blood.”

  “Of course,” Myra said. “I wasn’t planning to tell him anyway. But now, unless you’re tired, would you tell me the story you promised? I can’t wait to hear how you became a vampire, and how the stag skin from your peasant hut ended up in your study in the Palace.”

  He frowned. “How did you know it’s the same one?”

  “I noticed the white spot on its neck, and I took a guess. You kept it all these centuries?”

  “Of course,” he said. “It is a precious memento.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

  He moved his chained arms and threw his head back against the wall. “You always seem awfully surprised every time you discover I have any kind of feelings,” he said, his voice bored. “You must have learned by now that I am a deeply sensitive and emotional vampire.”

  “Yes, remarkably sensitive and emotional,” she said with a snort. “So, would you tell me the story? Though I admit the ending is predictable.”

  “Oh, is it?” Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should let you tell it instead.”

  “I can only make a guess,” said Myra. “You were afraid the Prince wouldn’t be interested in you once you lost your ability to write. Still, in the end, he turned you, and you couldn’t write anymore, and yet you two are still inseparable. You claim that my case would be the same—I think he wouldn’t talk to me if I couldn’t write, but in truth he would.”

  “In a nutshell, yes,” the vampire said. “But it was a bit more complicated than that, and I still suffer the consequences of my fear.”

  Myra sat cross-legged on the dirty floor, resting her hands in her lap. “Then I’d like to hear all the messy details.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Price of Fear

  Tristan smiled wistfully. “And messy they were. In any case, my lord never showed any disappointment in my refusal. He kept up his nightly visits, and now that I knew what he was, he often stayed in my hut during the day as well, and I closed all shutters to keep him from the light. I went on writing my poems and talking to him about them, and I was content to live like that forever.

  “Now that my lord had revealed to me he was centuries old, we could talk about his past.
He told me of strange places and ages, of adventures, explorations, and great discoveries. I listened to him, drinking in every word. This was when I learned that the world was a wondrous place, and I yearned to see and experience all of it. One day he told me how he had been turned. He told me of his family and their deaths and his decades-long grief, and I felt humbled he would share with me a part of his soul.

  “He taught me history and geography, and brought me books. You cannot imagine how rare and expensive they were—before the invention of the printing press, each book was handwritten and painstakingly crafted. I stayed up late reading, and we talked about the stories for long hours.

  “I saw sketches in some books, and they captured my imagination. My lord told me I could create these myself, with a piece of cooled charcoal over my paper. As a vampire, he could no longer paint, unless reproducing a picture already drawn, but he knew the techniques in theory and taught me all of it. I followed his guidance and sketched everything—the table and chair, trees and vegetables in the garden, the fireplace, my small hut. Sometimes, he amused himself by copying my drawings, but I saw his frustration that he could not create new artwork.

  “Writing. Drawing. Talking. My life was perfect. I was reborn into a new person, not the reclusive village boy, but someone with an understanding of the world, and curiosity to keep learning and growing. And then, on a clear spring night, she came.”

  “Callisto?” Myra asked.

  “Callisto.” He nodded, his gaze faraway. “She was a fairy tale come to life. She was quick-witted and knowledgeable about music, art, literature. I could talk to her for hours. Honestly, I have no idea how my lord would look at Armida twice after he had known Callisto.”

  “You’re being unfair,” Myra said. “Armida was from a small village when she was turned, as were you. Naturally, she wasn’t familiar with art and culture at first, and neither were you.”