Darkness In The Flames

by Kelly, Sahara

  “She’s fighting us, Father. Her strength and her powers—” Adrian screamed past the thunder.

  The storm was breaking, every bit as powerful in its own right as the demon they were battling. Katherine and Verity held the sword aloft, a strange glow beginning to encompass the viciously sharp blade. But they could not keep it still, keep it balanced over the struggling body of Thérèse.

  She hissed and howled and screamed curses in languages none could understand. The fact that both Nick and Adrian together were having difficulty holding her still was astounding.

  Marcus knew at that moment what he must do.

  He leaped into the cave and flung himself on top of Thérèse, letting the full weight of his body pin her down.

  “Nooo…” The shout came from Rowan.

  “She cannot bite me, Rowan…” Marcus yelled the words back, seeing his friend for a brief instant as lightning flashed once more.

  “Do it…the sword…” He pressed harder, oblivious to the white skin, the red hair now clinging to his coat or the perfect face too near his. He was only aware of the snarling lips and the razor-sharp fangs.

  He’d lied. She could bite him, but not feed from him. And he knew something else too. They’d have to pierce his body all the way through to get to hers.

  So be it.

  Rowan shouted something incomprehensible as he saw his friend and lover put his body on Thérèse. He immediately knew why, understood the situation, but as Kat and Verity raised the sword once more, Rowan’s heart shattered into a million tiny pieces of glass that knifed through his breast and brought a scream of horror to his throat.

  The thunder roared around them all, Sir Sidney pale and soaked, the tableau within the cave frozen for all time in Rowan’s frantic brain.

  Still Thérèse fought, this time concentrating on the sword. Marcus’ weight was holding her down and his head moving to avoid her deadly kiss. But still the women could not control the sword.

  It wavered and shuddered, glowing with a greenish light, refusing to stay put in the one place it needed to be—over Thérèse and Marcus.

  “Rowan…” The hoarse old voice yelled roughly in his ear. “Help them. They cannot do it alone.” Sidney’s face was a mixture of horror and pain. “I know what I’m asking—but you must. There is no one else. I cannot—”

  Rowan shuddered but moved forward, knowing in his soul that Sidney spoke naught but the truth. As if in a dream he stepped through the rain, fiercely pounding on his head.

  He climbed into the cave and moved between Katherine and Verity, straddling Thérèse and Marcus where they lay and putting both hands over the women’s fingers on the sword.

  Time seemed to slow down—to almost stop as he felt Thérèse’s mind fight him for control. He ached, his heart screamed out in pain as he stared down at Marcus’ dark back where it lay over Thérèse’s white flesh.

  He loved them both—so much. And yet now their destinies lay in his hands.

  “Rowan—for God’s sake—” Nick screamed at him, clinging to Thérèse’s wrist with all his strength.

  He looked down and for an instant met the black gaze of the woman he loved.

  “It has to be you, Rowan.” He heard her so clearly, voice calm and steady.

  She knew. Even as she fought against it, she knew what he must do.

  And Marcus?

  “Damn it, Rowan. Don’t wait. ‘Twill be death for us all if you do…” His body heaved as Thérèse renewed her efforts to free herself.

  Rowan could not wait. The storm broke in all its fury, savage thunder and harsh lightning echoing the turmoil in Rowan’s heart.

  Slowly he added his strength to Verity’s and to Katherine’s, lifting the sword higher, holding it steady now as their combined efforts countered Thérèse’s powers.

  Rowan breathed in—and prayed. “May God forgive me…”

  With a mighty cry of anguish, he plunged the tip downward, down and farther down, through Marcus’ body and into Thérèse, not stopping until the rock beneath the cave halted the blade.

  The scream of agony was his own.

  The scream of pain was Marcus’s.

  The sigh he thought he heard—was Thérèse.

  A blinding flash of lightning filled the cave, a bolt that seared their skin with heat. It clashed into the blade of the sword, funneling powerfully through the impaled bodies and making the ground shake and shudder with its ferocity.

  It knocked them all off their feet, even Sir Sidney, and they tumbled onto the ground, sightless as the brilliance robbed their eyes of any capacity to function.

  It was explosively powerful and followed by a deafening crash of thunder that took away the rest of their senses.

  They fell to the earth, still and unmoving, as the storm raged around them. And the rain washed the blood streaming from the two bodies into rivulets of red fire.

  *~*~*~*

  “Then what happened?”

  Casey Chesswell stared at her grandmother, knowing her eyes were probably as wide as the proverbial saucers by now.

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  “Graaaaaan…”

  The old woman grinned. “Use your head, sweetie. What do you think happened?” She tapped a finger on Casey’s knee. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  Casey blinked. “Duh. Of course I’m here. So Katherine and Adrian survived at least.” She shivered. “Damn, it’s gotten cold. And dark too.” The day had ended as Casey lost herself in her grandmother’s tale. “But what about the others? Nick and Verity? Sir Sidney? Rowan? And—jeez, Gran—what about Thérèse?”

  Gran stood and turned on a couple of lamps. “Time for some dinner, I think. Fancy bangers and mash?”

  “If you think you’re going to end the story there, Gran, you are sooo wrong.” Casey refused to budge.

  Gran grinned. “Okay, scamp. You always were stubborn. But honestly there isn’t much more to tell.” She drew the curtains across the darkness outside. “Yes, Katherine and Adrian survived. You are their direct descendant. Sir Sidney also survived, living quite a few years contentedly at St. Chesswell’s. Nick and Verity? Also survived. I think they married not long after. Not sure.” Gran looked thoughtful.

  “And Rowan…and…and Thérèse?”

  Gran shrugged. “Honey, these are stories handed down over several generations. I’m sure they’ve undergone some serious dramatization in the telling. Don’t put too much faith in ‘em, all right?”

  Casey dismissed those words with a wave of the hand. “Look, I’ve seen their picture. Katherine and Adrian are certainly real.” She paused. “Okay, so the whole vampire thing is a bit of a stretch, but you say that’s real blood on that blade…” Her gaze went to the sword over the mantel.

  “If it is real blood, then there’s a definite possibility that Thérèse herself was real. I need to know, Gran. Please…tell me?”

  “If I knew, sweetheart, I would. Every time I’ve heard this tale, or versions of it from different people, it always stops there. Nothing more is ever said of Rowan or Thérèse.”

  Casey frowned. “That—that sucks.”

  “Live with it.” Gran sounded unconcerned. “I managed to.”

  Casey’s laugh followed her grandmother as she stood and headed to the kitchen. “Ooh, what about Marcus? The dishy dude with the—er—interestingly bisexual lifestyle and the terminal blood disease?”

  “Oh yes, Marcus Camberley. Forgot about him.” Gran busied herself pulling sausages from the fridge. “He went off and had a few adventures of his own, so I heard tell.”

  Casey blinked. “Good lord—he survived getting that broadsword through his chest? And being impaled on top of a vicious vampire?”

  “Hell of a story, isn’t it? You should write it down. Turn it into one of those novels women are always reading on the bus these days.”

  Casey chuckled. “Who’d believe it?”

  “Does anybody believe any of them?”

  “Good point.” Casey
stared thoughtfully at the kitchen table. “So Marcus survived too.”

  “If you’re that interested, you probably should go do some research—see what you can dig up.” Gran put the frying pan onto the burner and turned up the heat. “How many sausages?”

  Casey tried to yank her thoughts from the past into the present. It was difficult, since her brain reeled with images of long-ago times, vampires living in darkness and a love that could surpass anything Casey had ever imagined.

  She fought off the memories of torture and atrocities, preferring to focus on the incredible power Rowan’s love for Thérèse had given him—and the price it had extracted from him.

  Finally her grandmother cleared her throat and repeated her question.

  Casey settled back down to earth. She would, she decided, definitely do some research. Nothing to be lost by checking up on some historical facts, maybe chasing down a name or two, see where it all led.

  Filled with a growing enthusiasm for the project that would probably fill the rest of her vacation, Casey looked at her grandmother and smiled.

  “Three.”

  Epilogue

  What Grandmother Chesswell never knew

  Sidney was the first to recover from the shocking blow that had rendered them all unconscious—or worse.

  As the rain eased, he struggled to his feet and found his cane, limping to the cave with his heart in his throat. The fall had stunned him and jarred his injury but the pain was as nothing next to the sight that greeted him.

  Adrian, Katherine, Verity and Nick lay motionless where they’d dropped. Marcus, blood soaking his jacket and shirt, had rolled to one side of Thérèse’s body and Rowan was on the other.

  Thérèse herself lay still, a massive wound leaking black blood over her white skin. Her hair poured softly down over the lip of the cave, stirring in the rainwater, the only movement Sidney could detect.

  Tears ran down his cheeks as he looked at each of them. Was this how it ended? Was this the result of all their plans? The destruction of their maker had indeed unmade them, but it had freed them to heaven and to God, not to a mortal life.

  He rushed to his son. “Adrian—oh my God—Adrian?” He brushed the dark hair away from that beloved face. “Son? Oh please, speak to me. You cannot be dead, please—Lord hear my prayers—don’t be dead…”

  “I’m not.” It was a groan more than an answer, but Sidney nearly toppled over in relief. “Ohhh my head—”

  Adrian turned to one side and vomited. Sidney smiled, unable to prevent the joy from rising inside him even in spite of his son’s obvious distress.

  Other sounds, similar retching sounds, reached his ears. Apparently the experience had proved too much for their stomachs. Katherine, Nick, Verity and Rowan were all casting up their accounts.

  Sidney backed away and awkwardly clambered back out of the cave. They were alive. It was all that mattered.

  His thoughts turned to Marcus and he moved to the lip, avoiding Thérèse’s hair. She was as still and unmoving as one dead. Sidney sighed. Rowan would take it hard, he knew. But Marcus was moving, twitching a little, coughing and following that with a mighty groan.

  “Jesus God in heaven.” The oaths came quick and fast as Marcus lifted a hand weakly to his chest. “I feel like I took a cannonball in the ribs.”

  Sidney reached over and ripped Marcus’ bloody shirt away from his body, afraid of what wound he might find there. To his astonishment, there was none. Nothing, no gaping flesh, no seeping blood—nothing whatsoever to indicate that mere moments ago the man had been pierced with at least ten inches of sharp blade.

  “I’ll be damned…” He helped Marcus rise, lifting the other man’s shoulders as best he could. “It’s—inexplicable. You should be dead.”

  “I feel pretty much that way.” Marcus rubbed his chest with evident pain. “Eeeuuuw. What’s the matter with them?”

  The retching sounds were easing but still evident.

  “I do not know. They are alive. I cannot even think further at this moment.” Sidney felt laughter bubbling in his throat. “They are alive. You are alive. ‘Tis a miracle of…of…miraculous proportions, Marcus.”

  “Tell that to my gut.” Nick stumbled from the cave and scooped up some rainwater from a nearby rock puddle to rinse his mouth. He spat violently. “I’ve never felt so sick in my life.”

  Two groans answered him as Verity and Katherine followed Nick from the cave, Adrian bringing up the rear. They all found water, rinsing and spitting, then drinking to slake their thirsts.

  Rowan was the last to leave. He looked wan and weary and after following the others’ example and rinsing his mouth, he returned to stand by Thérèse. “I’ve lost her, haven’t I?”

  The others gathered around him, offering what comfort they could. Sidney’s heart ached. His son was still with him, but Rowan’s love—gone forever.

  Rowan reached a hand to Thérèse’s face, cupping it gently in his palm, brushing away the flecks of blood and pushing her wet hair from her cheeks. She too showed no evidence of the sword blow, just the dark liquid that covered her like a blanket, smeared by Marcus’ jacket into patterns that trailed across her breasts.

  Suddenly, Rowan froze, his hand on Thérèse’s neck. “Sidney?” His tone captured them all.

  “What?” Sidney came close to his side.

  “Here—touch here—” Rowan pulled the older man’s fingers with his and placed them on Thérèse’s skin just below the soft curve of her jaw. “Do you feel—that?”

  Sidney did indeed feel that. He stared blankly at the body, trying to reconcile what he saw with what he felt.

  A pulse.

  Almost beside himself, Sidney pulled his hand from Thérèse and lifted it to Adrian’s neck, touching the same place. “Ahhh—dear God, dear God—”

  Within moments they all discovered they now shared something simple and unique—for them.

  They were mortal! Their hearts beat steadily, their lungs filled with air at regular intervals—they drank water and relished it.

  Katherine moved silently to Adrian and snuggled into his arms as Nick found Verity and held her close. Marcus moved to Rowan’s side and spoke for them all.

  “Mortality. It’s yours now, yours and theirs, Rowan. You will live out your life as it was meant to be.” He put his arms around Rowan and—regardless of the others—hugged him hard. “You have given them all the greatest gift there can ever be. Life.”

  “But what of her?” Rowan seemed lost, unable to comprehend the change in their circumstances.

  “I don’t know, lad. And that’s the truth.” Sidney shook his head. “She has a pulse. Therefore there is life in her still. But whether she will awaken and what she will be when she does—’tis beyond my abilities to tell at this moment.”

  “Can we take her back to St. Chesswell’s? Safely take her into our home?”

  Adrian posed the question to his father, but Sidney knew they all must respond. Thérèse was still an unknown quantity. They might be mortal now—and that had yet to be validated—but she was unconscious. He could detect no fangs, but that didn’t mean she’d lost them.

  “I will stay with her.” Rowan looked at them. “Not here, not in this cave, but surely there are others?”

  Adrian nodded. “I would agree that is our safest course. Until we know more, Rowan, ‘tis a wise notion. What do you think?” He glanced around.

  Everybody nodded. “I will bring food and supplies for you, Rowan.” Marcus winced. “If my ribs survive.”

  Sidney thought rapidly. “Further upstream, nearer St. Chesswell’s as the crow flies, there’s a small cave. It should suffice for a brief time. Come, I’ll show you.”

  Then he paused. “The sword—it’s gone.”

  *~*~*~*

  Rowan sat quietly next to Thérèse in the little cave that sheltered them from the sharp winds. The others had returned to St. Chesswell’s and were probably even now giving Sidney droplets of their blood. He smiled at th
e thought of the old man’s joy and excitement, something he did share, in spite of his current concern.

  Thérèse. His love for all time.

  She lay still, only the delicate flutter of the pulse in her neck betraying that she lived. He’d covered her with his jacket but was glad to see Marcus striding near, the sky lighting with the oncoming dawn sufficiently to illuminate his figure.

  “Here.” Marcus bent and stepped into the cave. “Blankets and a little food and wine. ‘Twill suffice for tonight, I’m thinking, and tomorrow there will be more.”

  “Thanks, my friend.”

  “How is she?”

  “Still the same.” Rowan removed his jacket and tucked a warm blanket around her. “No movement.”

  Marcus dropped a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Will you risk the sunrise? The others intend to see it…sort of an ultimate test, I suppose.”

  Rowan took a breath. “Yes, I will. With her.”

  “I’ll stay if you wish it.”

  Rowan shook his head. “No, my friend. You must go back. Rest now and recover. This is something I would rather do on my own.”

  Marcus nodded. “I understand. I’ll be back in a few hours then, God willing.”

  Rowan smiled at him. “Sleep well.”

  Then he was gone, leaving the silence behind him. Silence that was broken only by the call of seabirds and the gentle hushing of the waves on the shore. The storm had long since gone and Rowan’s eyes turned to the horizon as the fingers of light heralded the day to come.

  Thérèse moved slightly, distracting him. Was that a sound? He leaned close, stroking her dear face gently with his fingers. “Thérèse, my love. I’m here. Wake up. Wake to your new life, sweetheart.”

  There was no response, but Rowan sensed her shiver a little, no more than a slight brush of goose bumps over her flesh. He gathered her close in his arms, lying beside her, tucking her into the curve of his body and covering them both with the blankets. She was chilled against him, but he knew that his own body was now providing warmth—a warmth he hoped would help her awaken.