Vincent painfully watched his daughter's agony for a moment. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but he could see she was afraid of him. He left the room and locked the door.
He went to the dining hall and poured himself a glass of wine laced with blood and waited for his mistresses to return.
The women returned a few hours later, laughing and in high spirits. They found their master brooding in the dining hall at one end of the long table. The girls quieted and seductively walked toward him.
"My dear Vincent," Jessenda said. "Why so melancholy?"
"It has not been a good night," he replied.
"It has been a very good night, my lord," Lucia said.
"The wolves have been put in their place," Helena said.
"The villagers are once again in submission," Jessenda laughed.
"And your daughter knows the truth," Tessa said, sitting on the table. "What more could you ask for?"
"She hates me," he said in a low voice.
"Oh, she doesn't hate you," Helena reassured. "She is just scared and confused."
"She will come around," Lucia said. "Just give her time."
"How much time?" he asked with a huff as he stood.
"Vincent," Jessenda said, approaching him. "Do not feel sorry for yourself. She had to find out eventually, and she cannot deny what she is. Let her sleep. Do not worry yourself. Talk to her in the morning. Things will look different then."
Vincent sighed with resignation. He did not want to push Victoria, and he knew Jessenda was right.
Jessenda kissed her master sweetly on the lips and removed his jacket. Her mouth was warm and sweet with the fresh taste of blood. He was sorry he was unable to join them in their revelries in the village. It had been too long since any of them had enjoyed a proper hunt. He kissed her more passionately as she undid the buttons on his shirt, which he quickly removed. He kissed down her neck as he reached up her gown, lifted her around his waist, and backed her into a wall. He quickly undid his belt and pants. She moaned in ecstasy. This time he waited until she climaxed before joining her in the pinnacles of delight. He lovingly held her and kissed her neck before removing himself and setting her feet on the floor.
"Vincent," she whispered. "I love you."
It was something he already knew, but he did not love her back. He certainly cared for her and wanted her to be happy. There was a time when he did love her, but after Hannah, he knew he could never love such a cold, soulless being like himself again. Not even Jessenda.
"Jessenda," he whispered back. "My dear, darling Jessenda." He kissed her lips and slowly pulled away from her as he straightened his pants, never saying the words she wanted to hear. He turned to find the other three giggling around the table watching him, begging to be picked next. He chuckled to himself, knowing there was one he had withheld affection from long enough.
"Tessa," he said, extending a hand toward her. "Are you feeling up to it?" he asked her.
"Of course, my lord," she said, taking his hand and leading him to his bedchamber.
After they had left, Helena approached Jessenda. "You are in high spirits this night."
"Why shouldn't I be?" Jessenda asked.
"Your plan to be rid of Victoria failed," she said.
"Indeed. But did you see the fear in her eyes? She is broken. She cannot accept what she is. She will never be what Vincent hopes. It is only a matter of time before he sees the truth and cuts her off." She laughed aloud as she headed to her own quarters, satiated in every sense of the word.
Helena thought about the look on Victoria's face when they transformed in front of her. She briefly remembered the fear she felt the first time she saw Vincent. He had not been seductive or gentle in bringing her to his way of life. One moment she was in that calm place between sleep and awake, safe in her own bed. The next moment, a horrid nightmare was standing over her. She had tried to scream, but a sharp pain in her neck prevented her. As she slowly felt her life force drain, she thought she would soon be in the welcoming arms of heaven. She had awoken in a cavernous castle with three other women watching her. Helena quickly adapted to her new life, but she was a pureblood, specially selected by Jessenda. The rose charm she wore around her neck was a symbol of the life she now enjoyed, a token she took from her first victim. But Victoria was not one of them – she never would be.
"I think I will go and check on Victoria," she told Lucia.
"Jessenda said to let her be, and the master agreed," she warned.
"I don't think she should be alone," Helena said. "Do you not remember your first night of transformation? How frightened you were?"
Lucia thoughtfully paused before replying. "Actually," she said, "I don't." She did not remember anything from her old life, life before being a pureblood. "But do what you must. I am going to rest."
Helena ascended the stairs to Victoria's room. The door was locked, but Vincent had left the key in the latch. She listened, trying to discern if Victoria was awake or asleep before entering the room. She only heard low breathing, so she quietly turned the lock and opened the door. The room was completely dark except for a sliver of moonlight shining in through the curtains. Victoria was nowhere to be seen.
"Victoria?" she gently called out. She heard a gasp and a low moan from the far corner of the room. She closed the door behind her. She walked around the bed and noticed that the nightstand drawer was open. She looked toward the sound of shallow breaths and saw Victoria sitting on the floor, her back in a corner, her knees pulled firmly to her chest. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders and her hands were tightly clasped together. Helena paused for a moment to look at the girl. She seemed so small, frail, and pitiful. "Victoria?" she asked again.
"Get back!" Victoria said as held up her own ruby amulet.
"Oh, Victoria," Helena said. "That amulet only prevents us from harming you. I have no intention of hurting you."
Victoria slowly lowered her arm and continued hugging her knees. "What do you want?" she asked.
"I came to see if you needed anything," she replied. "If you were all right."
Victoria scoffed. She was certainly not all right.
Helena realized it was a stupid thing to say as soon as she said it. She noticed that Victoria was very cold. Her pale toes sticking out from her chemise were almost blue. She looked around but did not see Victoria's clothes anywhere. She thought back and remembered that Victoria was only wearing her chemise when they arrived at the village.
"Victoria, where are your clothes?" she asked.
Victoria looked at herself and around the room. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I don't remember." The shock had not worn off. She could not remember anything before the werewolf transformation.
"Dear girl, what did those people do to you?" Helena asked in a whisper, fearing what kinds of torture the townsfolk may have subjected her to before feeding her to the wolves.
Victoria put her face in her hands and began to weep. Helena grabbed a blanket from the bed and pulled it over the exhausted girl. She wrapped her arms around Victoria and pulled her close. Victoria put an arm around Helena's waist and wept into her chest. Her tears were hot on Helena's skin. Victoria finally gave into the cool embrace of Helena and the warmth of the blanket and fell asleep.
Helena kept holding and rocking her master's daughter until she joined her in slumber, awaiting what new revelations Vincent would have for the girl upon the rising sun.
Ethan awoke in his dank cell to a cloudy sunrise. He had tightly wrapped the blanket around him to keep out both the cold and the screams of terror. He still grasped the amulet Victoria had given him in his hand. She promised it would keep him safe, and it had. But did she not need it to keep her safe, he wondered. Was she one of those things? The monster that had carried her away had the same dark features as Victoria, but he did not look old enough to be her father. Who was he?
He listened to the silence for a moment before finally standing and daring to look out through the bars. He did no
t see anyone. He was a little distance from town and there was a light mist in the air, so he couldn't see much. A very light layer of fresh snow covered the tracks from the events the night before. He looked at the pole that had held Victoria only a few hours before. A light breeze shook the chains that once bound her and he heard a gentle tinkling on the wind. A few snowbirds were singing, welcoming the day. He returned to his cot, wondering how many people had been killed, if anyone would free him, and if Victoria was all right. Just the thought of her name awakened his anger at Father James. He wondered if the old priest was even still alive. He then felt guilty. Had he fallen so far that he wished for the death of a priest? He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes, but then he heard the sound of footsteps running toward the jail. He stood and looked out the window to see Sara running toward him with the key to his cell.
"Sara!" he called. "You're all right! Thank goodness." He was so glad to see somebody, anybody.
"Ethan, Ethan!" Her cheeks were flush from running. "You must come quickly." She fumbled with the iron key in the lock.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's Father James," she said, opening the door. "You must come." His nostrils flared and he pressed his lips. She could see the anger in his face, and she could not blame him. "Ethan, please just come with me," she pleaded, grasping his hand.
Even after all Father James had put him through, if he needed help, he couldn't turn his back on him. Ethan decided to go with her. He also needed to get out of that horrid cell; his bare feet were nearly frozen.
As they walked toward town, faint cries of anguish grew more profound. After the wolves had attacked days earlier, the grief was only for one man. This time, the sorrow seemed to pierce the heart of every citizen. Mothers were crying for their children, men were crying for their wives, and children for their fathers. He looked about through so much sadness, all because Father James sought to rid the town of one girl.
He followed Sara to the church, where many people had congregated to find solace, comfort, and hope. There was none to be found. Father James was sitting on the floor in front of his pulpit with both of his friars dead, one on each side of him. Their bodies were desiccated and blood had seeped out from holes in their necks, pooling on the floor around them.
People were crowding around, calling to their spiritual leader.
"Father, what should we do?" one man asked.
"Father, come pray for my daughter," another begged.
"Father, how could this happen?" a woman cried.
Ethan looked at the priest. His head was in his hand and he was mumbling to himself. He was completely disheveled. Ethan could not help but pity him.
"All right," Ethan said loudly. "Everyone, get out. Go to your homes. There is much work to do. Prepare your loved ones for burial; Father James will pray for them when he has time. Repair your houses; board the windows. We do not have the time to be sad right now; we will all mourn together afterward."
The people begrudgingly began to file out of the church, though they scoffed and shot him looks of scorn.
"I guess it should be you taking the lead to repair the damage," one woman said, covered in the blood of some lost relative. "It is your fault this happened."
"I suppose so," Ethan humbly replied, looking at the tears welling up in her eyes. There was no point in arguing with her – she was obviously in pain.
Ethan stepped around the bodies and sat next to the priest, putting a kind hand on his shoulder. "Father," he said.
The priest looked up at him with a surprised look, as though he had not noticed him already there. "Ethan," he said. "Ethan, my son, what have I done?" His blue eyes were red with tears and pain.
Even though Ethan was still angry and he blamed the priest for everything that had happened, he felt the urge to comfort the old man. Perhaps Father James had seen how wrong he was. Maybe their relationship could still be salvaged.
"You were only doing what you thought was best," Ethan said.
"No, no, no, no," the priest said, rubbing his face. "No, no, I have done something awful." Ethan was relieved that the priest realized this. The conversation was heading in the right direction.
"She came right in through the window," the priest continued, looking up at the shattered stained-glass window of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus both arrayed with golden halos. "Joshua and Caleb tried to fight her off, but she was too quick, too powerful. They fell. I grabbed the golden cross from the altar and called on God, but she attacked me and I dropped it. I fell and she hovered over me. I thought I was going to die. I looked directly into those frozen eyes as her black hair fell around me. I saw Satan himself in those eyes. 'Thank you, Father,' she said. A servant of the devil, she thanked me. She spared my life and flew out of the window."
Ethan's heart was racing as Father James told the story. He had seen the woman he spoke of from his cell. One woman had curly blonde hair, one had full auburn hair, one had wavy brown hair, but there was another woman, one with long, straight black hair. She looked the fiercest of all, the most pleased to bring the village to its knees.
"I did his work, the devil's work," the priest kept mumbling.
"Stop it," Ethan said, turning Father James toward him. "If you did this, then you need to fix it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The people need you. And you need to atone."
Father James looked up at the boy, the boy who had defied him and brought that woman back into his village.
"I need to atone?" Father James asked. He slowly stood, with a look of defiance on his face. "I do not need to atone for anything. I am a willing soldier in God's war! No, that is not it. She was not thanking me for doing his work; she was thanking me for not killing the girl." He paced. "Yes, I unwittingly did Satan's work by allowing his child to live. After all, she is one of them."
Ethan stood. "Listen to me," he said, grasping the priest's shoulders. "Don't try to rationalize your sins. Confess, atone, and get on with your work. God is not going to cast aside your good works thus far, but do not think He will not hold you accountable for your actions last night."
"How dare you preach to me!" Father James said, pushing the boy away. "The only sin I committed last night was not disposing of that demon girl myself. I must clear away what is bad. That is my commission." His eyes were wild.
"Don't," Ethan said, walking away. "Do not think I am going to have this conversation with you." He walked out of the church and to the little parish house nearby. He put on clean clothes, warm socks, shoes, and a coat.
He went back outside to find the priest calling the people together. Father James had walked through the blood of the friars, slipped in it, and tracked it through the church and onto the snow. Ethan did not listen to what Father James was saying. He needed to find Victoria, make sure she was all right. He wanted to leave this place. He wanted to take her with him. Maybe they could leave together that very morning. They could ride away and never look back.
He walked to his house where he found poor Gregory, cold and hungry, still tied to the post in front of the house. He led the horse to the blacksmith shop where he fed him, watered him, and brushed him. He put several warm blankets on him before re-saddling him. He led him out of the stall where he was met by a large group of people led by the bloodstained priest.
"Ethan," Father James called out. "Ethan, we need you."
"Leave me alone," he said. "I don't want anything to do with you."
"Just listen," he continued. "I did not complete the job that was given me. You are young and strong and you know the ways of the Church. I need you to lead the people to cleanse our village, your village. Show them where she resides, so we can be rid of her once and for all."
The people cheered in agreement.
"You are all crazy," Ethan said. Looking around, though, he knew they were serious. "I will do no such thing," he firmly said.
"I am disappointed in you, Ethan," Father James said. "If you are not with us, with God, then you are again
st us."
"Very well, then," Ethan said, mounting the horse. "Allow me to excuse myself." Ethan rode out of the village in a self-imposed exile with only the clothes on his back.
9
Victoria woke a few hours later in her own bed. She opened her eyes and as her vision adjusted to the dark, she saw her father and his mistresses all surrounding her. She pulled her covers up over her nose, watching them, wondering what they wanted.
"Victoria," her father said. "Are you all right?"
She only nodded. She wondered how much of last night was real and how much she imagined. They certainly did not look evil now – they were the same people she had known all her life. She almost felt guilty about the way she acted the night before, screaming, crying, and carrying on.
She lowered her covers and sat up straight. "I'm fine," she said. "What can I do for you?"
"We need to talk," he said.
"That is what I was afraid of," she sighed.
The girls left the room as he sat on her bed.
"My girl, my beautiful girl," he began, as he reached out and took her hand. He did not seem quite as cold as usual, but she was very warm in her bed. "I want to apologize for how things happened last night. I meant to tell you everything before anything bad happened; I thought I had time. I did not want to rush your childhood or your adolescence. I just wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to enjoy life before you were married."
"I am to be married?" she asked. "I agreed to marry Ethan because I did not think you had plans for me to marry anyone. Why would you never tell me something so important?"
"Yes, in hindsight, I should have told you. However, we need to discuss other things first." He stood and paced, gathering his thoughts on how to continue. "Victoria, do you think I am evil?"
"No!" she quickly answered. "I know you are not!"
The Vampire's Daughter Page 9