He looked back at the manor where Haven remained, hopeless and weak, tied to Henri’s bed like some kind of animal. His fists clenched, rage replacing his initial shock. He had left her there. Like a coward, he had walked out of the room, leaving her for Henri to finish off. He was pitiful.
And now he was second-in-command to the monster, that very creature that had created him in his image. Avrum thought back to the necklace and bracelet he found on Birmingham’s city streets. It was no wonder Haven ripped her jewelry off and left it behind. He wanted to do the same—tear off his satin vest, the ivory shirt with silver buttons, throw his polished shoes and tailored slacks into the brush. It reminded him all of Henri, and he wanted nothing more to do with it.
Avrum held up his hands and looked at the pale, smooth skin on his palms. He could still see the scars from his human life as a farmer there, faint now but still there. They were marks of hard labor, of spending hours tending to horses and sowing fields of hard ground that hadn’t seen water for weeks. Those marks were his. Everything else was Henri’s. Disgust made his skin crawl. He wanted to claw at his face, chest, arms—everywhere—to peel away all that Lord Henri had brought to life again.
Haven did not deserve this. Her life couldn’t have been worse than the horrors she was living now. He shouldn’t have left her alone with Henri. He had to go back and—
And what? Henri was older than him by hundreds of years. He was stronger. He was smarter. He had the power to create and to destroy them. He had followers.
The thought made him pause. Avrum was sure Keagan and Cornelius knew about what Haven was to Henri, but did anyone else? Had he been the only ignorant one to Henri’s intentions? No one had tried to help Haven. Were they all so cruel and coldhearted? Would that mean one day he would be the same?
A shadow passed through the trees in front of him, making his senses focus onto the moving darkness. When Avrum saw blond hair and the familiar pointed profile of his friend, Lysander, he rushed forward.
“Lysander!” he called out. To Avrum’s surprise, he did not slow his pace or even glance his way. Avrum hurried his steps to keep up. “Lysander!”
Still Lysander did not acknowledge him.
“My friend?”
Lysander spun around and faced Avrum with fierce, cold eyes. “Friend?” he barked, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his sword at his hip. “I advise you to rethink your words.”
Avrum searched Lysander’s expression for an answer, but saw nothing.
“Do not act like you don’t know what you’ve done.” He spoke through clenched teeth. Avrum’s blood pumped faster through his veins.
When he did not reply, Lysander rolled his gray eyes and shook his head. “How ignorant can you be?”
“I’m sorry, but―”
“Someone told Henri about the bet I made with Cornelius,” he said as he unsheathed his sword and held up the sharp blade between them. Avrum’s own wide eyes stared back at him from its mirrored face. “You did it,” Lysander’s lips barely moved when he spoke. “You threw me to the lions. I know it.”
Avrum’s voice became lodged in his throat, knowing the truth. He had been the one who told Henri, but not with the intentions of harming Lysander. He had only answered a question. Avrum took a quick step back, remembering Lysander’s terrifying quickness with a weapon during the duel with Cornelius.
Spinning the sword in his hand, Lysander took a step forward. “What kind of friend are you?”
Avrum swallowed, his words finding his tongue again. “Lysander, please,” he began in a quick whisper, “I had found Keagan and Cornelius bothering Haven out by the lake… and I told Henri―”
“Haven?” Something passed over Lysander’s face, breaking the stone-carved indifference. His top lip twitched and his brows knitted together. “Haven!” he repeated with more vigor. “That worthless putain! How did I know she was the reason for this!”
“Lysander―”
Lysander pointed the tip of the sword at Avrum’s throat, and he froze. “I’ve been removed from my position as head of the guard because of your infatuation with a human wench?”
Avrum did not move. He stared into Lysander’s eyes as they faded to black. His chest heaved and his fangs peeked between his lips with each ragged intake of breath.
“Please, my friend,” muttered Avrum, “it is not what it seems.”
Lysander lowered his weapon, but his heated stare showed no sympathy. “You have one minute to explain yourself,” he said.
Avrum held up both his hands in surrender. “What I have done is worth your rage,” he started, “but I swear to you that my intentions were pure. I never meant to harm you in any way.”
When he saw Lysander’s eyes begin to lighten to their natural smoky color, he knew it was safe to continue. “I had no idea of Henri’s intentions. As I said, I left the library and came to the lake to find Keagan and Cornelius making advances toward Haven. I stopped them, but when I came to face Henri and told him of how I found her, he demanded to know why Cornelius was doing rounds. I could not lie to him. You must believe me.”
The muscles in Lysander’s jaw relaxed and his expression cooled. “I do.”
With those two words, relief washed over Avrum.
“It isn’t hard to believe that you would give Henri anything he asked for without a second thought,” he said. Coldness still lingered in his voice. “Even at the expense of your friends.”
Avrum’s gaze drifted to the ground at their feet. “Never again.” He shook his head as thoughts of Haven, battered and naked, flooded his mind. “Not after tonight.”
“What has happened?” Lysander asked with a sigh.
Avrum’s eyes burned, and his temples throbbed. He didn’t know where to start. He worried that the more he thought of it, the truer it became.
But no one deserved to be held against their will. That was enough to make Avrum fill his lungs with air and tell Lysander all he had seen and learned that night. When he had finished, he ran a trembling hand over his face. “I didn’t want to leave her that way, but what other choice did I have?”
Lysander, who had remained silent the entire time, sheathed his weapon again before he said, “I cannot say I’m surprised.”
“You aren’t?”
He shook his head. “Avrum, you must understand. You and I— and Henri—we aren’t human anymore,” he said, glancing up at the dark sky. “The night we are changed, we die. Our human lives end, and we are turned into something else, something greater than what we were before. You are still young and new to all this, but you will eventually see. The older you become, the more godlike you become. You no longer age. Food and drink cannot sustain you. Things like death, pain, and love mean nothing.” He paused for a moment, and his eyes closed. “Some of us lose our human selves entirely.”
“That cannot happen to all of us...” Avrum whispered.
“I wish I could tell you it didn’t.”
“But it did not happen to you.”
Lysander’s gaze gripped his. Sadness engraved his porcelain features. He said nothing.
“What are we?” Avrum asked but then wondered if he even wanted the answer.
“I have pondered this question for many years. You could say I became obsessed with it,” Lysander replied. He placed his hands behind his back and began to walk along the forest’s edge. Avrum followed, listening. “It has never been explained to you—what you are now?”
“Henri told me nothing of names.”
“Have you ever taken blood from a human?”
Avrum's stomach cramped at the thought. “No,” he forced himself to say.
“It seems Henri has kept you in the dark with a many more things. Our kind has been around for centuries before Christ, and we have been called many things. Devils, demons, gods. More recently, literature and lore has given us a yet another name—vampire.”
“Vampire.” Avrum rolled the word around on his tongue.
“Resurrecting a
fter death. The need to drink living blood to keep our own hearts beating. The unnatural beauty and nocturnal nature. The predator-like instincts.”
The more truths Lysander listed, the more Avrum realized he was right. They weren’t human anymore. Still, for Avrum, that didn’t seem like a proper reason to hold someone against their will and torment them. He stopped walking, halting Lysander.
“I would tell you to take your sword and dispatch me now if I was destined to become like Henri,” he said, and he meant it. “We should use this new power to protect those who cannot help themselves. Not to destroy them.”
“I never said it was moral or just,” Lysander said with strain in his voice “Unfortunately, my friend, this world is full of men yearning for greatness, who are willing kill for just a taste of it.”
“I need to help Haven,” he told him. “I cannot help but feel like this is my fault...”
Lysander nodded, as if coming to a decision. “If you feel like this is something you must do, I will help you any way I can.”
“Please,” muttered Avrum, “tell me what to do.”
“Do what you believe is right.”
Avrum hesitated. What he thought to be right was impossible. “No one deserves what I saw Haven go through tonight…” he said. “I have to help her. I just don’t know how.”
A frigid gust of autumn wind passed over them and upwards, whistling through the branches of trees. Avrum glanced at Lysander’s slender fingers, which tapped a rhythm against the sword’s bronze handle. If he knew anything about Lysander, it was that he knew how to manipulate the weapon like it was just an extension of his arm.
An idea came to him.
Lysander followed his gaze, and a sly smile tugged at the down-turned corners of his lips.
“Lysander,” Avrum said, “maybe you could show me how to wield a sword like you?”
He pulled out his sword again, twirling it in his hand and slicing it through the air with great speed and little effort. He let out a quick, excited laugh.
“Avrum,” he replied, “I can do even better than that.”
* * *
Avrum strolled into the manor with Lysander at his side. He could hear his blood rushing through his veins and feel the skin on his arms tingling from excitement. He was ready to learn all his friend had to teach him about dueling. Lysander had offered his daylight hours during his guard. Although Avrum was hesitant to practice inside the manor, Lysander had assured him that only men that would be awake at that time would be the youngest of the guards―novices and humans who barely knew how to pick up a sword correctly, let alone fight with one.
“So, when you learn all you can from me,” said Lysander, slowing his pace, “what will you do? Stand against Henri?”
“Lysander, not so loud,” he whispered harshly. “I am sure Henri won’t take treason lightly.”
“And that is why you, of everyone under his roof, would be the ideal man to do it.” Lysander leaned back against the burgundy painted wall. The light flicking from the gas lamp nearby illuminated only half of his pale face. “You are the closest one to him. You know his weaknesses better than I or anyone else.”
Avrum thought about this. For whatever reason, he had been the one Henri had taken under his wing and kept by his side. Avrum sighed. “He did honor me as his second-in-command.”
“Oh, did he?” Lysander’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms about his chest. “He made you his second, but my position went to Keagan―that Irish bâtard.”
Avrum glanced away. “I didn’t know…”
“I expected as much.” He pushed himself off the wall and began down the hallway again.
Avrum followed silently.
When they reached the foyer, they paused at the bottom of the main staircase. Soft footsteps came from the landing above them, making their chins lift.
The moment Avrum saw the familiar round face and green eyes of the young maid, Emma, his thoughts went back to Haven. She descended the stairs carefully, her eyes watching her tiny feet as they went and her hands steadily holding a tray of china cups and bowls.
“Emma,” he called out and hurried up to meet her. His voice echoed throughout the spacious room. “I’m glad I found you.”
She appeared surprised by his sudden presence. She stood very still on the stair as he gazed down at her. “Mr. Brenin?”
“It’s Haven…” Her name felt heavy on his tongue.
Terror flashed across her features. “Is she all right?” she gasped. “Sir? Sir! Is she all right?” Her hands began to tremble, causing the things on the tray to rattle.
“Emma, please,” he said, trying to prevent his voice from shaking and scaring her more. He touched one of her hands and her quivering ceased. Her skin was very warm under his fingertips, and he pulled away.
“Oh no,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He’s killed her, hasn’t he? He’s done it this time, I just know it.” Her green eyes glistened with impending tears as she looked up at him.
“I-I haven’t seen Haven for about an hour or so,” he said. “She was alive, but very weak then.” He heard the waver in his own voice, and he wondered if Emma heard it as well.
The color in her cheeks only faded more.
But then Avrum realized what Emma was even asking him. “Emma, you know about what has been happening to Haven?”
She gave him a stiff nod. “I always have. Haven’t you?”
Avrum’s weakening knees forced him a step down. She thought that he had known? For all this time? Colors began to blur in front of his eyes. His skin prickled as her stare searched his face.
“You didn’t know…”
Although her voice came out in a breathy gasp, the words seemed to fly about him, springing off the walls and hitting him again and again like violent blows.
“We always assumed you had known.”
We. She meant her and Haven. Haven really thought that he was capable of such a thing? She thought he was like Henri?
“Don’t you see his face?” It was Lysander’s sharp tone that made his mind focus again. “Of course he didn’t know.”
Avrum glanced over his shoulder to where Lysander stood, still at the bottom of the stairs, now mumbling something in French that he did not understand.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Emma, lowering her head in shame. “I did not mean to offend you.”
Avrum shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “No, no need to be sorry, Emma.”
This is my fault. He had had so many opportunities to stop it.
“I have to see her.” Emma turned and began up the stairs again.
“Are you sure you’ll be allowed?”
“Yes, it is my chore to change the dressings on the lord’s bed.” Avrum noticed the muscles in her throat working to swallow, as if she was trying to suppress a disturbing memory.
“Please, Emma, find me after you see her.” He felt as if his insides were trembling. “I need to know how she is.”
She gave him a solemn nod. “I will, sir,” she said before walking back up the stairs and disappearing from sight.
* * *
There was a gentle knock on the door, followed by the high-pitched whine of the hinges as it opened. Haven’s heavy eyelids lifted just enough for her to see Emma’s petite frame and straw-colored hair come into the room. She was carrying a silver tray in her hands with a teapot and a few china cups on it. Relief washed over Haven as the maid hurried to the side of the bed and placed the tray on the table there. She reached up to turn the small knob of the gas lamp above the bed. Golden light flooded the dark space, causing Haven to groan and shut her eyes again.
Haven wondered how long she had been asleep. Her bones felt heavy, and whenever air would enter her lungs, a sharp pain invaded her chest. She wiggled of her fingers. They still laid above her head, her wrists wrapped together by rope and tied to the bed’s headboard.
Emma placed her hand on Haven’s right cheek, being careful not to touch the healing cut t
here. “You’re alive…” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Oh, thank God you’re alive…”
Haven attempted a smile for her.
Emma leaned forward and draped herself over Haven’s limp body. She wrapped her skinny arms around her middle and squeezed. “I came up here as soon as I was told,” she whispered, “but the lord’s guards were still watching the door, and I had to wait until they left. I thought Lord Henri had…”
Emma’s body was warm against hers. Emma buried her face into the thin fabric of the dress Haven still wore. The amount of love in her touch was enough to make tears come to her eyes. She pressed them shut for a long moment to prevent them from escaping, and then looked down at the top of Emma’s blond head.
“I’m just glad you came,” she told her. Her own voice sounded strange to her. It was breathy and it cracked at the end. She tried to swallow, but as the muscles of her throat worked, a sharp pain shot from her shoulder, up her neck to her jaw.
When Emma spoke, her warm breath tickled Haven’s stomach through the cloth and her words were muffled. “When Mr. Brenin told me that he found you here, I was sure you were dead. I was sure he finally killed you.”
Gooseflesh crawled over Haven’s skin at the mention of Avrum. She remembered seeing him some time during the night. She remembered his deep brown eyes shining gold as he knelt in front of her and touched the ropes around her wrists, and again when he left the room. Anger and disgust turned her stomach and made hot bile rise.
“He didn’t know, miss,” said Emma, tilting her chin up and studying Haven’s face. “Mr. Brenin didn’t know about the lord and what has been happening.” Her green eyes sparkled with innocence. “I saw his face, miss. He didn’t know―”
“I saw his face too,” Haven snapped, causing Emma to jump off her and move away from the bed. The young maid pressed her lips together in shame as Haven continued, “I saw his face when he found me lying in the corner there half naked and practically dead. Again when he watched Henri’s men tie me to his bed!”
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 208