“You will leave at once and marry the Roman,” he said as if it were a question.
“Yes.” She didn’t see Constantine, who stood behind her father, but could sense his eyes on her nevertheless.
Is this how you want it? he asked.
This is how I make sure you both live.
Very well then, you leave me no choice.
Constantine?
You’ll never reach Rome. You won’t even cross the border to France. I’ll kidnap you along the way, he said.
His thoughts in her mind were like caresses, and she felt ill at breaking her promise to her father, but she didn’t say no to Constantine. I’ll wait for you.
“You have my word.” Her father pulled her on her feet. “Let’s go home then. You must get ready.”
Chapter Six
It had stopped raining and the winds had dispersed the clouds, but Constantine shivered as fatigue enveloped him with cold tendrils.
At first, he didn’t recognize the symptoms. Shifters were a healthy species, and alphas, thanks to their ability to shift outside of a full moon, were seldom sick. Moreover, Constantine was a born werewolf, and he couldn’t know what mortals experienced in their daily lives.
Pushing himself off the fence, he brought both hands to his mouth, and breathed warm air on his fingertips, then resorted to folding his arms over his leather trench coat, hiding his cold hands under his armpits. He soon regretted not having his leather fedora with him, because the rain had plastered his hair to his head, and wearing the helmet would be uncomfortable.
With a frown, he turned toward his bike, trying to decide what to do next. The tempest had erased Camelia’s scent, and she could be anywhere in Seattle by now. Durango would cover the whole city center in a matter of minutes, but he would miss any recent sign of her passage, however faint it might be.
His heart missed a beat. Its absence created a vacuum in his chest cavity, making him gasp, until the next beat came, and it echoed too loud for his ears.
Time was of the essence.
He mounted his Harley, but didn’t put on his black skull cap, and rode away from Seattle Center. His intention was to cross the city in a grid, until he found her scent again. Once or twice, he pressed his hand over his heart to assuage the sense of loneliness spreading from it. The shiny Christmas lights flickered as he drove by, as if his grieving sucked the energy out of everything.
Two drunks waved at him from under the Pioneer Square Pergola as he passed by Seattle’s oldest neighborhood. Constantine remembered the wooden structures that burned in the Great Seattle Fire, a few decades after he settled in what was now Bremerton. When the weather permitted travelling, every two or three months, he would visit the budding city to restock his supplies. After the disaster, Romanesque architecture replaced the previous pioneers’ buildings. He didn’t like the change at first, because the bricks and the multi-storied constructions reminded him too much of Spain, and by association Camelia.
He knew it was the last time he would see the neighborhood, and that made him look at the façades illuminated by the sun with a new longing. Facing imminent death changed his perspective. In a strange way, since settling in the States, Constantine had never felt more alive, and at the same time more in pain. It was as if Camelia was leaving him behind once again, when in fact he was leaving her this time.
****
Santa Marta de Tormes, Spain, Late Spring 1856
Constantine had been staring at the cottage ceiling for several hours, planning Camelia’s rescue. Her wedding party would travel along the Roman road that connected Salamanca to Valladolid, then from there they would deviate toward Logroño, continue to Pamplona, and finally cross the border soon after Roncesvalles. Since Medieval times, pilgrims had used that route to reach Santiago de Compostela, and it was the safest when travelling with slow convoys.
Although he wanted to be on the move already, he would give the party a week to arrive at the French border, then he would whisk Camelia away. It had taken all his willpower not to call her since the scene of the night before, but it would only make both of them miserable. She would be in his arms soon enough. He only needed to be patient.
A timid knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Who is it?” Constantine sat on the bed, then hastily tucked his shirt inside his riding trousers he had been wearing for two days.
“Don De La Vega?” a man answered.
Constantine didn’t recognize the voice, but went to open the door. “What do you want?” he asked the frightened servant who shoved at him a scroll of parchment. The man’s hand shook so hard, Constantine grabbed it by the wrist to stop the tremor. “What is it?”
“I’mmm… I’mm so… sorry,” the servant stuttered.
At a second glance, Constantine noted the De La Vega’s banner of arms on the man’s jacket sleeve. “What are you sorry for?” With a heavy presentiment, he snatched the scroll and broke his House’s wax seal, while the man ran away on foot. His father’s notary’s elegant handwriting filled the parchment that made Constantine a destitute man.
Don Armando De La Vega had shunned his only son and divested him of all his possessions. Every single parcel of land and properties Constantine had inherited went back to his father. It didn’t matter that Santa Marta de Tormes had been nothing more than rocks and burned down stables when Constantine took possession of it. The hacienda had flourished under his management and sustained more than forty families manning the orchards and the cattle ranch.
A loud roar escaped his mouth, and he tore the notarized document in several pieces. Spring breeze picked up the fragments of expensive paper from the ground and scattered them around. For a long time, Constantine stood at the entrance of his cottage, his back to the fields, his eyes on the ivory and black confetti dancing around his now scuffed Hessian boots. After his first reaction to the news, his rage had given way to apathy.
When he heard the galloping pace of a horse from afar, he came alive again. He knew it was Estrella speeding through the chestnut trees, several seconds before he could see the mare. In the last two years, he had learned to recognize Camelia’s horse’s bound, and he sprinted toward her, sure that she had found a way to escape her family.
Dozens of scenarios played for him, but when Estrella and her mount rounded the bend of the ridge and came into full view, he had convinced himself Camelia couldn’t wait and wanted to run away with him that same night. On the road, he would make their bond official under the full moon. With every push of his legs, he left the life he knew behind, eager to start the new chapter with his soulmate. Nothing else mattered. They would build a new life together, away from a society that had only caused them grief and disappointment.
Then he saw that Estrella’s gait was off, as if Camelia couldn’t control her, which alarmed Constantine. Usually, mare and rider were one single entity, and he had seen them clear obstacles with an ease that spoke of their synergy. Yet, Estrella tried her best to buck Camelia off the sidesaddle.
To his surprise, Constantine saw her lower the riding crop to the flank of the horse. Camelia never whipped her mare. She only needed a pat to steer Estrella where she wanted. She also hated the sidesaddle, but she must have been in a hurry to reach him. All those thoughts filled his mind as he kept calling her and received no response. Straining his lungs and muscles, he pushed his legs to run faster, watching as Camelia hit Estrella one more time, and the horse forcefully kicked her hind legs upward.
Camelia lost the reins and she was almost thrown off, but she grabbed the pommel, managing to lead the mare to a trot and finally to a walk. During the wild ride, her hat fell, and her long braid had come loose.
Only, it wasn’t the silk blond Constantine expected to see, but a black mane, resembling a raven’s sleek plumage.
Petrified, he stopped his mad run a few meters from the woman whose scent was as dark as her hair. A Del Rei, but the wrong sister. His heart in his throat, he reached her. “Doña Iris,” he
said, with a slight bow, then he placed a hand over Estrella’s flank to calm her. Once the horse submitted to his will, he turned his attention on the woman and found her studying him with cold eyes, as if he were an insect pinned on a board.
“Don De La Vega—” In Iris Del Rei’s mouth, his name sounded like a curse, and she emanated an evil vibe, which Estrella’s animal senses must have caught.
The horse resumed pawing at the ground while she snorted.
Constantine resented the woman for her part in the events of the night before, and he disliked her immensely for abusing Camelia’s mare, but waited for her to explain the reason for her visit.
Jerking the reins to the side to gain control of Estrella, Iris reached down into a bag hanging from one of the sidesaddle’s pommels, and extracted a creamy envelope. “My sister has finally regained her senses.” She extended her gloved hand in Constantine’s direction. “I hope you won’t cause a scene and will have the decency to leave her alone.”
Constantine took the envelope. “What is it?” he heard himself ask for the second time that day.
“A letter from my sister,” she answered, a satisfied tone in her voice, as she pointed at the envelope in Constantine’s hands.
The stationary showed Camelia’s monograms printed in golden letters, and her scent was smeared all over it. “Where is she?” He disliked that Iris had ridden Estrella, but didn’t comment on it.
“Loading her bridal carriage.”
“She’s supposed to leave tomorrow.”
“Not anymore.” Iris spurred Estrella with a vicious kick of her pointy boots and a lash on her rump, forcing the mare to turn around and break into a gallop. This time, the horse obeyed her orders, and they were soon gone behind the slope.
Unable to open the envelope, Constantine sat under a tree, tossing it from one hand to the other. Finally, he broke the Del Rei’s seal and removed the note from within. With a painful pang, he recognized Camelia’s elegant longhand. Her curlicues and dots looked like bearers of bad news. Yet, he flattened the letter in his palm and scanned its contents.
His heart broke in millions pieces, but his eyes remained dry as his life crumbled to dust.
Constantine,
We received a visit from your father earlier this morning. He told us that you are no longer a De La Vega, and that you are presently without recourses. You deceived me in offering a future you won’t be able to afford. I gave my affections to Constantine De La Vega, but you are not that man anymore. Do not seek me again. I am on my way to marry a man worthy of my status.
Regrettably,
Doña Camelia Del Rei
Camelia! he called her, but she didn’t answer. Rage and hurt made him shake.
Durango sensed his agitation and cantered to his side, then kept nudging at his face until Constantine stirred from his haze.
Despite her handwriting and her scent were proof enough Camelia had written that note, he still couldn’t believe she had rejected him. You owe me an explanation, he sent to Camelia, mounting Durango. Reading his mind, his stallion sprinted into a gallop and headed toward Salamanca and the Del Rei’s villa.
After a tumultuous bareback ride, he stormed through the house’s courtyard and snarled at the servants attending their daily chores. “Where is she?” He hadn’t shaved in two days, his long black hair was all tangled, his shirt had come undone, and his trousers weren’t tucked in his scuffed Hessians. He smelled like wolf, and his fangs were down.
The servants regarded him fearfully, and after snatching the kids from the ground, ran inside the house, closing the door behind. Constantine jumped off Durango and landed on the porch a moment later. He pounded on the solid wooden panel until it splintered. “Let me talk to her,” he bellowed.
Boots stomped the floors and were followed by a roar, then the door exploded forward, hitting Constantine who was thrown to the floor, but he got back on his feet immediately.
Don Del Rei burst outside and pointed his finger at Constantine. “If you have any dignity left, you’ll go away.”
“Not before I speak with Camelia.” Constantine kept his temper in check, because as much as he wanted to fight the werewolf, the hidalgo was his soulmate’s father. Even in the case of a duel with the hidalgo, he would have never raised his sword against him.
Don Del Rei stepped forward. “I made a promise to my daughter I would not kill you, but—”
“Alejandro—” Emerging from the shadow, an older version of Camelia appeared at the door. “Let him see her, so we can all move on.”
“Emma, go back inside,” Del Rei commanded his wife without looking at her, keeping his eyes on Constantine.
“Give me a moment with Camelia—” Biting back his pride, Constantine went down to his knees. “Please, Don Alejandro, let me say goodbye to her.”
The hidalgo seemed to ponder upon his request, then gave his wife a sharp stare, to which she responded with an elegant nod. “A minute,” he said to Constantine.
“It’s all I ask.”
“Afterwards, you’ll disappear from our lives.”
“You won’t see me again.”
Don Alejandro gestured for Constantine to stand up. “To the stables.”
Following the couple a few steps back, Constantine crossed the courtyard, then passed under a gated arch and entered a vast enclosure. Four black carriages with the Del Rei’s golden family crest were being loaded with trunks, while a small army of domestics surrounded a fifth. Camelia’s lady’s maid and also her lady’s companion were being helped inside that carriage.
Fresh from her ride, Iris stood nearby, her eyes on a ledger, while she supervised the servants. When she looked up and saw Constantine, a cold smile graced her face.
“Where is Camelia?” Don Alejandro asked his daughter.
“Inside.” Iris tilted her head toward the carriage to her right.
Don Alejandro turned to Constantine, then raised one finger. “You don’t get into the carriage. Whatever you want to say, you say it before us.”
Constantine nodded and headed to the cluster of servants who stepped to the side as he advanced. Camelia, answer me. He was begging now. If you ever held any affection for me, please tell me the truth.
At the carriage door, he knocked on the door and said, “Camelia?” From the glass window, he could see her, sitting beside her lady’s companion who squeezed her hand in hers, as if to give her support.
Camelia was turned away from Constantine, facing the opposite window. Her chest rose and fell hard, but she didn’t give any other sign she was going to acknowledge his presence.
“Tell me you don’t love me anymore,” he whispered, with a crowd witnessing his final demise.
In the complete silence that followed, Camelia shifted in her seat, angling her body further away from him. Her hoop skirt invaded the rest of the bench, and her lady’s maid fussed with the rigid crinoline as if he weren’t even there.
Desperate, he broke his oath not to invade her privacy, and prodded her mind, looking for an answer, but found a blank shield. Still, he waited for Camelia to say something.
A few seconds later, from behind him, Camelia’s mother said, “I think my daughter’s silence answers your question.” She then walked past him and tapped on the glass. “Close the curtain,” she ordered.
The lady’s maid obeyed and pulled the dark drapery across the pane.
Constantine didn’t move but stared at the shut window, still hoping beyond hope Camelia would answer him. He felt Don Alejandro’s wolf bristle, but commanded his wolf not to react.
“I’ll escort him out.” Iris was at Constantine’s side, her hand on his arm feeling like a silver shackle, pressuring him to turn. When he didn’t react to her prodding, she released his arm and called two of the servants.
A couple of burly men armed with silver sabres aimed the sharp edges at Constantine’s throat.
“This way.” Iris pointed at the arched gate.
Finally, Constantine turned
his back to the carriage and walked toward the entrance. He didn’t stop until he reached the courtyard and Durango.
Before he mounted his horse, Iris gave him one malevolent stare, then asked, “Was it worth it to lose everything and humiliate yourself for my sister?”
Chapter Seven
Without a precise set of directions, Camelia marched ahead, fueled by her desire to find Constantine and warmed by the white light of the sun that changed Seattle’s landscape into shiny glass turrets and black monoliths. The torrential rain had erased his scent, but she didn’t let despair enter her heart. She would walk up and down Seattle until she finally met him again.
Where are you? She called him. In the astral plane, her wolf ran through the grain fields of Santa Marta, howling at the moon. Her wolf had always been a romantic.
Camelia?
Her heart stopped for a moment. Constantine! Tears of joy blinded her and she slowed her running pace to a walk. Tell me where you are. She looked right and left, as if he would materialize before her just because she wanted so.
I’m driving Durango around Seattle, looking for you. Constantine laughed in her head, and she had never heard a more beautiful sound.
I’m running around Seattle, looking for you. She shook her head, laughter bubbling in her chest. Wait—Durango?
My Harley. After what sounded like a sigh, he said, I’ll drive to you. Where are you?
On Queen Anne Avenue… she turned, searching for landmarks. There’s a Starbucks on my left.
Constantine snorted. This is Seattle. There are as many Starbucks as there are churches in Rome. You must be more specific. Go to the next crossroad.
Okay. Camelia hurried to the intersection and read the name of the road. It says Harrison Street.
Good, you aren’t too far away from me. Turn left and walk toward Key Arena. I’ll be there in minutes.
Constantine?
Yes?
She sped her pace once again and headed toward the arena. I’ve missed you so much…
Her words were met by several seconds of silence that stretched to hours in her mind, then he said, I’ve missed you.
An Immortal Christmas Page 6