Darkness In The Flames

by Kelly, Sahara

  “Of course, Sir Sidney.” The butler sounded a little put out. “Your orders were followed to the letter.”

  “As always. You are a treasure, Cheverly.” Sidney turned back to the two men. “Gentlemen, dawn approaches and we all must seek our rest. There is much to be discussed but now that you’re here, it can wait for tomorrow night.”

  Marcus opened his mouth but was stayed by a gesture from the older man. “Yes, you have questions, Sir Marcus. I fully understand. Please hold them in check for now? Be assured that your rooms are secure and you may sleep undisturbed until the sun sets.”

  He spun on his heel, cane tapping as he made his way back to the door. “Follow Cheverly. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. Your horses have been cared for and your bags already taken up.” He smiled. “Trust me, gentlemen. You are welcome here. I shall look forward to our next meeting.”

  Rowan and Marcus were left with little to say. They obediently followed Cheverly through long hallways to adjoining rooms that were dark and warm and where their meager belongings had already been laid out for them. One thought ran through both their minds and Marcus voiced it as they parted for their rest.

  “He knows.”

  Rowan looked somber as he prepared to close his door. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sidney’s excitement knew no bounds as he awaited the arrival of his new guests in his study the following evening.

  He’d sensed a bond of sorts between these two men, a strong something that went beyond friendship. Perhaps they were lovers. It was of no matter or concern to him if they were.

  But one thing was certain—Rowan Selkirk bore the mark of Thérèse as clearly as if he were branded with it across his forehead. His black eyes were identical to those of Sidney’s own son, Adrian. Eyes he’d also seen staring back at him from the face of the newest additions to his “family”, Nick Blaine and Verity Chandler. His daughter-in-law Katherine had the same mark, but her eyes had turned a deep blue.

  Now there were five—five people whose lives had been unimaginably altered by one red-haired demon from the pit of hell. But might there not be strength in numbers? And what of Sir Marcus?

  Sidney stared from his window at the ocean, not seeing the last rays of sunset or the clouds that built on the horizon signaling rough weather ahead. He saw instead a vision of Saint Chesswell, an elderly man like himself, who had resisted the temptation Thérèse had visited upon him. He saw the clue he’d been given and felt anew the heat of a ghostly touch upon his injured leg.

  Thanks to Saint Chesswell he could still walk, although not as fast as he used to and only with the aid of his cane.

  But thanks also to Saint Chesswell he had a clue to resolving the horror of Thérèse. A few words scrawled in an ancient grimoire…To Free the Made, the Maker must be Unmade.

  Sidney had hoped that the arrival of Nick and Verity signaled the beginnings of the end of Thérèse’s reign of terror. After all, could not four strong vampires defeat one of their own?

  But apparently Sidney’s earlier efforts to destroy her with holy water, assisted by Katherine and Adrian, had rendered the demon cautious now. She’d refused to answer their summons, failing to appear either in dreams or in visions to any of the parties now at St. Chesswell’s.

  But then again, the sword hadn’t glowed for any of them.

  It had glowed for Rowan Selkirk. He’d seen it quite distinctly when he’d silently entered the room and observed his guests earlier.

  Could that beautiful young man be the key? The one piece of the puzzle that would fall into place and free them all? These questions led to a place that Sidney wasn’t sure he wanted to visit. For certainly the world would be a better place without Thérèse—but what if her destruction also destroyed her “children”?

  Could Sidney survive losing the child of his heart? He’d waited too long to find Adrian and loved Katherine like a daughter. Would he sacrifice them to attain the goal of a world without the red-haired evil? Could he let that happen?

  He sighed. They were questions to which he had no answers at present. They joined the reams of other questions plaguing him. Ones that involved the constituents of blood, how it differed from one to another, how being savaged by Thérèse changed these constituents, reassembling them into something not-quite-human and doing the same thing to the once-mortal host.

  These vampires were not immortal, no matter what they believed. Sidney had detected subtle changes in Adrian’s blood over the past years they’d spent together. His son was aging, but in such a decelerated rate that it was barely noticeable.

  Sidney’s best estimate assumed that a year of his mortal life probably equaled mere days as measured by Adrian’s body.

  He turned over the implications in his mind, focusing on the matter of Thérèse and myriad unanswered questions they would need to face if they were to defeat her. How old was she? Who made her? Exactly how powerful was she and had she learned these powers or were they given to her in full flower?

  He sighed again. There was so little information and so much yet to be discovered. His books and his notes were a tiny treasure trove of inconsequential details that might prove to be of use. Yet they were as nothing next to what he didn’t know.

  Certainly his herbal preparations and concoctions had helped Adrian and Katherine. They hadn’t fed from a mortal in quite some time and were even able to withstand the early dawn hours, enjoying the moments before the sun burst fully upon the world.

  He was already encouraging Nick and Verity to try them, although Nick swore they’d been created from some foul pit in the depths of hell. Sidney made a mental note to add a few sprigs of mint next time. For a vampire with little sense of taste, Nick was damn picky about what he drank.

  And then there was Sir Marcus Camberley. Sidney vaguely recognized the name, but not how the man had come to be traveling with a vampire yet remain unbitten. Something else he would very much like to know.

  But always his thoughts returned to the one moment when something completely unexpected had occurred.

  The sword had shone for Rowan Selkirk.

  *~*~*~*

  Rowan couldn’t shake that fact from his head either as he and Marcus were shown into Sir Sidney’s study.

  The elderly man was already there, seated behind an imposing desk littered with papers and the odd vial and jar. “Gentlemen, good evening. You rested well?”

  Both nodded.

  “Indeed,” answered Rowan. “Your hospitality is remarkable, Sir Sidney. Especially given my nature, which we believe you have deduced.”

  There was nothing to be lost by beating around the bush with this man. Rowan knew that Sir Sidney was well aware of what Rowan was. Time to put his belief to the test.

  “You are correct.” Sidney gestured to chairs, leaned back and placed his fingertips together as both Rowan and Marcus seated themselves. “Your nature is not unknown to me. I have a son, Adrian. He too met Thérèse. He also became a victim.”

  Rowan leaned forward. “He lives here?”

  “Yes. Along with his wife Katherine and new friends, Nick and Verity. You’ll meet them soon. All have been touched—as you have—by the red-haired demon.” Sidney shifted his gaze to Marcus. “And yet there is one here who has apparently been spared her bite?”

  Marcus lifted one hand to his neck and pulled down his cravat, showing the two scars. “Not quite, Sir Sidney. Apparently the lady found me not to her taste.”

  Rowan couldn’t help but notice Sidney’s immediate fascination and found a grin creeping across his lips as Marcus was ruthlessly questioned. Truly this was a scientist of some knowledge, since his questions immediately elicited the facts about Marcus’ illness.

  Possibly Marcus didn’t even realize what he was revealing, but Sidney clearly did. “If you will permit it, Sir Marcus, I’d very much like to examine a drop of your blood.” The enthusiasm was evident. “If you are immune to this creature’s at
tacks, there’s got to be some fundamental feature manifest in your blood—probably from your condition—and isolating it would be of great value to our task.”

  Sidney recollected himself. “Of course, I do not minimize the nature of your illness. You have my sympathies, sir. I wish there was something I could do to help…”

  Rowan’s eyes stung as he remembered Marcus’ ongoing battle, something too easy to lay aside when faced with things like immortality, fangs and the taste of blood. His world was one of endless nights, of stolen feedings from the unwary and the unknowing.

  Marcus’ world was bound by the limits of his disease.

  Marcus waved the comments aside. “I thank you, Sir Sidney. But I have come to accept my situation. At the moment I’m blessed to have found my friend Rowan and to be able to assist him in whatever fashion I can. You may certainly have some of my blood—but I’d be obliged if you didn’t use leeches to remove it. I’ve had a bellyful of the damn things over the past year or so.” His lips curved into a wry smile.

  “I can well believe it. Useful creatures but I think we can forgo them in this instance.” Sidney grinned back.

  Rowan found himself under the scrutiny of the acute eyes of his host. “And you, Rowan. How long?”

  Rowan quickly succumbed to Sir Sidney’s charm and his tale was told without undue embellishment or any of the shocked responses he’d anticipated. Sidney merely nodded, as if the story confirmed what he already knew.

  “One or two things if I may…” Sidney tilted his head to one side and considered Rowan. “The sword in the small parlor. You saw it yesterday, I believe?”

  Rowan stilled. “Yes.”

  “And you had a—response—to its presence?”

  “You could call it that, I suppose.” Rowan wondered where this was going. If Sir Sidney had seen that odd light, then it certainly had happened. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination or a trick of the light. “It was more like it responded to me, though.”

  “Hmm. Yes, it did rather look like that, didn’t it?” Sidney’s voice was thoughtful.

  “What is that weapon, Sidney?” Marcus sounded curious. “Is it yours? A family heirloom?”

  “In a way.” Sidney rose slowly to his feet. “Let’s go and take another look, shall we? I believe Cheverly has some refreshments ready for us, Marcus. You will need some food even if Rowan doesn’t.”

  He led the way from the room down to the parlor where there were indeed trays laid out. Rowan was relieved to know he need not, for once, invent some excuse for not eating. The sense of comfort he derived from that knowledge was quite strong, forcing him into the realization of how great a burden he carried.

  Living in the mortal world and not being a part of it—well, there were issues he faced on a daily basis. Not having to face them was quite pleasant, he discovered.

  His mood quickly dissipated as he caught a glimpse of the sword on the mantel.

  It still felt—odd. As if something was radiating from it that rasped on his sixth sense, irritating him in a way he could not put into words.

  Sidney noticed his frown as he and Marcus ate and poured themselves some wine. “There is something about it, isn’t there?”

  Rowan nodded, absently circling the fireplace, his eyes focused on the weapon. “Yes, there is. And I cannot describe it. I’ve been trying to find some way to explain it…’tis as if a warmth of some kind is trying to reach out from it…”

  Sidney swallowed down a mouthful of ham and nodded in his turn. “Another hand sensed something like that. Nick’s fiancée, Verity. She mentioned a heat emanating from it. And Katherine used it in a recent abortive attempt to destroy Thérèse.”

  Rowan froze. “In this attempt to fight her…did you—did you by any chance use holy water?”

  Sidney blinked. “Yes, we did. In fact it was that water, coupled with a rise in the stream she stood in, that finally forced her to disappear and probably saved us all.” He stared intently at Rowan. “How did you know?”

  Rowan’s throat closed at the remembered agonies of his nightmare visions.

  “It was in your dreams yesterday, wasn’t it?” Marcus’ voice was gentle. “’Tis time to share them, Rowan. Tell us?”

  Rowan dropped into a chair and cradled his head in his hands for a few moments, finding solace in the pressure of his fingertips against his scalp. “Yes, it was in my dream.” He looked up at the two men.

  Rowan had no idea what they saw when they looked at him, but whatever it was it was sufficient to keep them from asking any questions. They simply waited silently for him to continue. “Thérèse summoned me last night, as she is wont to do. There’s nothing unusual in that. But this time—it was—different.”

  Rowan could see the questions trembling on Sidney’s lips, but he lifted his hand to prevent them. This was something he had to tell on his own terms—in his own words. If he could find them.

  “Firstly, we weren’t in Rogaška or the baths, or the forests—none of her usual haunts. It was nowhere I recognized and it was bare, a small hut perhaps, barren of all but the essential needs. A table—a chair. And of course a bed.” He stared down at his hands as the memories flooded back. “She had called me for one reason, of course. But before we-we loved, I saw…” He paused for a second or two, gathering his thoughts. “I saw terrible weals on her skin. Deep red burns, scars that looked as if she had been caught by acid or hot coals.”

  “Did you question her?” Marcus asked gently.

  “I did. They were disappearing, healing as I looked at them. As if she was hiding them from me. But she answered, all the same. She told me she hadn’t moved quickly enough and her enemies had attempted to destroy her with holy water.”

  Sidney was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “She answered you? That sounds unusual in itself.”

  “It was.” Rowan straightened in his chair. “You must know that she is always in control of my dreams.”

  Sidney nodded. “Everybody’s dreams, apparently.”

  “Well, this time, she wasn’t. I could talk to her, ask her questions, withhold—things—until a time of my choosing, not hers.” Rowan stopped. There were some matters he could not discuss with Marcus, let alone a stranger—albeit a friendly one like Sir Sidney.

  “Suffice it to say that I was surprised by last night’s visions.” Rowan continued on.

  “There is more, Rowan. Tell it all, my friend. Do not hold back—it could be important.” Brown eyes glowed at him, an unmistakable message of encouragement and support. Dear Marcus. He didn’t know what he was asking.

  But he was right. It all had to come out. Rowan took a breath. “At the end, I fed from Thérèse as usual. This produces a feeling I can only describe as euphoric. Coupled with the sex it is—well, beyond description. But this time—there was only pain.”

  Sidney leaned forward. “Pain? You mean she hurt you again?”

  “No, no.” Rowan shook his head. “The pain was hers. As I drank her blood, I drank something else too. Something I believe she’s kept buried for years. A screaming agony that is beyond my abilities to describe. As if one’s soul is being tortured for eternity…truly the most terrible of sensations. If she’s suffering like that every minute of every day of her immortal life…”

  Rowan knew the tears were standing in his eyes as he risked a glance at the other two men. Would they understand? Had he managed to convey the utter and complete devastation he’d felt within Thérèse?

  Two somber faces gazed back at him.

  Sidney broke the silence. “Lad, there’s one thing you omitted to tell me. You’re in love with her.”

  *~*~*~*

  Sounds from outside distracted all three men and the door opened to admit two newcomers.

  “Adrian.” Sidney’s voice rang with pleasure. “Welcome home, my son. Is Katherine well? And here’s Nick too. How’s Verity?”

  He watched his son cross the room and place an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “All is well, Father. We had
a pleasant voyage, two wonderful nights offshore and a peaceful rest in between.” Black eyes lifted to Marcus and Rowan. “I hear we have guests.”

  Sidney smiled as his cautious son took stock of the men, his grin turning into a chuckle as Nick moved to stand protectively beside Adrian. While not exactly overflowing with welcome, Sidney was pleased to see they both conducted themselves with appropriate courtesy.

  Marcus stood, followed immediately by Rowan and introductions were made.

  Within seconds the atmosphere in the room relaxed, as Nick and Adrian recognized a fellow in Rowan. Black eyes met black eyes, accepted and moved on.

  Marcus was another matter and it took some time to make his situation known. Adrian’s response was much as his father’s had been. Utter astonishment that Thérèse could have preyed upon Marcus yet left him almost unscathed.

  Nick whistled through his teeth. “Not that I’m unsympathetic to your plight, Sir Marcus, but in some ways your ailment saved you.” He blinked. “Of course, it will kill you, I suppose, but then again…” He stumbled and looked embarrassed. “I don’t think I put that very well, did I?”

  Marcus chuckled. “No matter, Nick. Actually we’ve met once before I believe…at Newmarket?” He mentioned times and places that obviously refreshed Nick’s memory and soon all the men were seated, exchanging bits and pieces of conversation.

  “Where are the ladies?” Sidney raised an eyebrow.

  “Refreshing themselves, I suppose.” Adrian looked quizzical. “Which probably means changing their dresses, bathing, doing their hair again—that sort of stuff.”

  “I look forward to meeting them.” Marcus stood and crossed to the fireplace, warming his hands at the cheerful blaze. “And although I confess to enjoying this gathering, there are matters we must discuss.”

  Rowan glanced at him. “Are you all right, Marcus?”

  Sidney followed Rowan’s gaze. “Yes, I second that question. Marcus, you must tell us if there is anything we can do—anything you need—”

  Marcus shook his head. “I am well. Just chilled a little. Probably more by the thought of what lies ahead of us than the temperature of the room.” He lifted his head and gazed at the sword. “I do not have Rowan’s ability to draw heat from this thing, unfortunately.”