Aris Rising: The Court of Vampires: AN INFINITY DIARIES NOVEL

by Morgan, Devin

  Sarah found Bonnie’s suggestion difficult to follow. She was restless at the thought of her appointment that evening. She felt she was doing something she wouldn’t want Aris to know about and she didn’t understand why. Why did she need to keep her dinner engagement a secret from him? There could never be a romance between them. She and Aris were just friends. It had been their mutual decision to allow their relationship to evolve slowly of its own accord. She was irritated with herself for feeling she was doing something behind his back. It wasn’t necessary for her to report in to him.

  “Would you like to do this on another day? You seem a bit agitated.”

  “No. No, just give me a minute to breathe and clear my mind.” Closing her eyes, she leaned against the cool leather. Focusing only on where she was in the moment, she began to relax.

  Bonnie watched her friend grow more calm and when she felt all was well began the induction into hypnosis.

  SARAH HAGAN, transcript, session 2

  Bonnie led her back in time, back to the manor house in Cotswold. “What’s happening today?”

  “It’s the morning of All Hallows Eve and the maids are scurrying around, lighting the huge fireplace in our chamber. My sister, Jane, and I share a bed. We are huddled close waiting until the fire warms the air before we open the bed curtains. We love to lie in bed eavesdropping on the gossip of the two girls who serve us. They always know exactly what is about in our household and speak in loud whispers. If we listen closely, we can hear every word.”

  “There are gypsies in the forest. Have ye’ heard?”

  “I did hear. Head cook told the footman as I gathered kindling this morning. The footman told her his wife went last night to find the sex of their unborn child. An old woman with an eye patch covering her evil eye told him it was a male child.”

  “When I heard they were here, I hoped there was someone who read fortunes. Let’s sneak out tonight. They might not be long in the forest.”

  “Nay. Tonight is All Hallows Eve. I wouldn’t go into the forest for all the gold in the King’s coffers.” They finished lighting the fire and left the bed chamber.

  “Elizabeth,” my sister whispered as she pulled the covers over our heads so no one might hear us. “Let us, you and I, go tonight.” While my sister was younger than I, she was more fearless and secretly craved dangerous excitement. “There will be fires and music and fortune telling. We shall ask when you will be married.” She giggled as she spoke the words.

  “We shall do nothing of the kind. Father would be mad with worry if he should find us missing.”

  “He will not find us missing. Rolled bedding under our covers will appear as two sleeping girls. Please, Elizabeth. It will be such a lark.”

  “No,” I said. But she could tell from the sound of my voice, I was intrigued. Gypsies. Never in my life had there been gypsies in our forest. I wondered if this would be our only hope of seeing them and I so wanted my fortune read.

  All during the day she pled to see the gypsies. She could see me weaken at each request. At last, at early twilight, I agreed. When the evening fire burned low, we would sneak through the kitchens to the stables. We would walk our horses until out of earshot of the inhabitants of the great house then ride like the wind to the forest.

  It seemed forever before the household was quiet. Silently we crept to the stables. The horses responded as if they were knowingly involved in our clandestine outing. They were calm as we walked them from the stable and through the great gates of the courtyard. Once on the outer road, we mounted and galloped toward the forest trail. It seemed just a short time before we heard music and saw the glow of the fire of the camp.

  Tying our horses to a tree, we crept through the remaining woods toward the sounds. As we approached the clearing we were mesmerized by the strange vision of these vagabonds in our country. Primitive wooden wagons formed a circle around a blazing campfire; the firelight danced on the colorful flowers painted on their outer walls. Overhanging roofs made tiny porches where some of the dark-skinned, dark-eyed women sat smoking pipes, tapping their bare feet in time to the drum and violins being played. The music was passionate and wild.

  Suddenly a man leaped from one of the porches to land whirling in a spirited dance. He was magnificent, golden and muscular, his tightfitting black pants tucked into tall boots, his long black hair swirling around his beautiful face. Hoops of gold suspended from his ears glittered as he spun.

  The tempo slowed, growing melancholy, dark. He stopped short, his arms raised above his head, wrists crossed. He appeared as a statue. His bare chest glistened with sweat as he seemed to halt even his breath. Then one foot stomped quietly into the soft earth. Then the other. His chin and chest raised high, he began to clap his uplifted hands in time with the drum. His feet met the tempo. His hips moved enticingly as the tempo increased until his steps were pounding the earth keeping pace with the increasing rhythm of the drumbeat. At the same moment the music ended, he leaped high in the air and landed on one knee, his chin tucked into his chest, his black hair wild around his shoulders. There wasn’t a sound from anywhere in the camp. Both Jane and I stood frozen, trance-like, unable to speak or move. Such raw beauty, such grace and power. Never in our young lives had either of us seen such a sight.

  At last he stood, laughing, pulling his damp hair away from his face, tying it with a scarf he drew from his pocket. His movement broke the spell and the camp came to life. The women applauded and began to chatter, the men clapped him on the back, handing him a huge goblet to ease his thirst. A dark-haired beauty moved from the shadows and placed a red rose in the belt of his trousers. He smiled, his perfect teeth white against his dark swarthy complexion.

  “Come, Elizabeth, let us explore. We must find the woman with the patch to have our fortunes read.”

  The sound of her voice startled me. I was lost in the beautiful man that stood in the clearing. She took my hand and led me into the camp. As we circled the edge of the clearing making for the largest of the wagons, I could see him follow us with just his eyes. I felt I was wearing only my chemise as we climbed the steps. My face glowed red. I could not ascertain if the flush was from the heat of the bonfire or the unfamiliar sultry flame that filled my belly.

  We paused at the doorway. There was no door; a simple embroidered shawl covered the entrance. “Come inside, my ladies.” Her voice was old yet sprightly. “Come in.”

  Jane moved the shawl aside as we crossed the threshold. The interior of the wagon was lit by one small lamp and there sat the woman with the eye patch in a beautifully carved chair behind a table laid with large cards. So large that I could see they were filled with strange markings.

  “Sit.” She motioned us toward two barrels drawn close to the table. “Which maiden shall be first to have her fortune read?”

  “I will,” Jane spoke quickly. The crone held out her palms. With a tentative motion, Jane reached to touch her hands. The gypsy closed her eyes and appeared to go into a trance. I watched her. She was enchanting. Old and wrinkled, a life of work without luxury etched upon her face. Her hair gray and wispy, yet she had a dignity that even my own mother was without, dignity that only living a life to its fullest could produce. Questions began in my mind. How was it possible that this poor woman without a home, her life lived moving from place to place, was able to find such obvious peace?I listened with only half an ear as she told my sister lovely things. A long life. A good marriage. Children. Jane glowed with her every prediction.

  She released Jane’s hands then reached for mine. When my palms touched hers, a jolt shook my body. I tried to pull away but could not. It was as if we had become one. Staring at her over the lamplight, I watched as she closed her good eye. Tension flew from my body as I became relaxed and passive. It seemed a very long time yet I knew it was only moments before she looked upon me once again. She was still silent as she watched me. When she spoke, her voice was clear, all the aged tremor gone.

  “My lady, your life will be wro
ught with mystery and danger, with love and death. Fear not, for in the end, all will bring you great joy.”

  With that she dropped my hands, rose and left the wagon. Jane and I sat, unable to move. The air around us seemed heavy, ominous.

  “Come Elizabeth, we must go. We must return before we are missed.” She laid a few coins on the table.

  My legs felt weak as I stood and descended the few stairs to the ground. As we hurried from the camp, I could feel the eyes of the beautiful dancer follow us into the trees.

  #

  “This is great stuff.” Bonnie shuffled in her chair as she adjusted her position. “I’m stiff as a board. I couldn’t move while you were talking. I didn’t want to miss a word.”

  “There are very clear pictures of what is happening to me. It’s like I really am right there. Wow, what an experience!”

  “Sarah, it appears you have already made the connection you hoped to make. Is there anything else you’d like to share about the session.”

  Dazed, Sarah sat for a silent moment as she mulled over what had just happened in her subconscious. “No Bon, I really feel as if I’m still a little out of it.”

  “Why don’t you just lie back and rest for a few more minutes. I don’t have another client for a half an hour so take your time.”

  She was glad for a moment to herself in the quiet of Bonnie’s office. She was amazed and delighted by the ease of the regression, the depth of the hypnotic state. She was anxious for the next session, hoping to see the bewitching man once again.

  #

  Performing her nightly grooming ritual, she allowed her mind to wander through her extraordinary day. Strange yet wonderful, overflowing with new experiences. Her missed breakfast, her amazing session with Bonnie. Cocktails with the Italian stallion. She wasn’t sure why she was becoming involved with a man who didn’t even live in the same country as she did but she couldn’t deny there was an overwhelming physical attraction she felt for him. They had spent a delightful evening together. Their conversation over a glass of wine had been refreshing. His questions caused her to rethink her theories and rephrase them many times. His mind was stimulating in a way that was new to her. They laughed and enjoyed each other’s company to such a degree that when he asked her to join him for dinner, it only seemed natural. He was a perfect gentleman, showing respect for her intellect as well as somehow making her feel like a desirable woman without putting any moves on her. When he asked if he could see her again, the only logical answer was yes.

  Yet now that she was home in familiar surroundings, the confusion set in once more. What was she doing? Should she tell Aris about DeMarco? Why was she even wondering if she was being deceptive? For God’s sake, Aris was a vampire and he could only ever be her friend. The only way she could have any kind of a romantic relationship with him was to give up her human life to become an Immortal. She couldn’t even imagine what that meant much less begin to contemplate doing it. Besides, DeMarco lived in Italy. Their relationship could never be more than a long distance friendship. Did she have to announce to Aris every new friend she met? That was out of the question.

  In addition, she couldn’t understand why she felt saddened at the thought of the good doctor returning to his home country? They had just met. Yet she did feel sad at the thought of never seeing him again. There couldn’t possibly be any connection between the two of them so soon, but she was drawn to DeMarco. At least he was human.

  What was happening to her well-ordered life? It was going to hell in a handbasket. She felt torn, yet exalted. And, somewhere, sandwiched in between the two, vampire and man, was the image of the fiery gypsy dancing around the fire. For the first time in a long time, Sarah was finding pleasure in the unfolding complexity of what had been a very staid life.

  She smiled as she crawled into bed, pulling the covers close against the chill of the night. “Just like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll think about it tomorrow.” She turned out the light as she closed her eyes.

  #

  A loud sound in her room woke her from a deep sleep. Sitting up quickly, her heart racing, she reached to turn on the light. Nothing had fallen and the room was empty except for her. “Must have been dreaming,” she thought, yawning as she stretched her arms over her head. She shook off the groggy feeling of being suddenly awakened at five o’clock in the morning.

  “I’ll never get back to sleep and it’s so close to time to get up, if I do, I’ll never wake up in time.” She mumbled under her breath. “Might as well do some journaling.”

  She reached in the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out her journal and a pen. She propped her pillows into a huge pile against the headboard, then went to the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee. When she was snuggled back in her warm bed, steaming black liquid resting on the table beside her, she bent her knees to make a desk to lean the notebook against.

  Where to begin? Sipping from the mug, she smiled. “I guess the session today is a good place to start.” She leaned her head against the makeshift head rest, closing her eyes. She could see the clearing and the fire just as vividly as she had during her session. She remembered the gypsy in complete detail down to the light sheen on his damp, nude, muscular chest. Allowing herself to drift in and out of a gentle state of self-hypnosis, she was in a netherworld between sleep and wakefulness when the vision changed. She saw herself as Elizabeth Wyatt in the clearing with him, her golden hair loose, hanging below her waist. She wore bangles on her wrists and ankles, a full, colorful skirt whirled about her as she enticed him to dance. Her feet were bare as were her shoulders beneath her thin cotton top. Her breasts were free, unbound, and as she moved, the soft fabric caressed them gently, causing her nipples to stand firm and erect. The fire blazed brightly as he moved toward her. His arms went above his head, his wrists crossed. As if on signal, the violin and a concertina began to play from the dark night just outside the circle of firelight.

  Turning, he caught her eyes with his, then slowly began side stepping closer to her, his hands clapping with each movement of his feet. He gazed down at her underneath his long, black lashes, his dark eyes flashing with passion.

  Grasping her skirt in her hands, she lifted it high, showing her beautiful legs as she danced. She began to match her movements to his. It was as if they had been dancing together for a lifetime. The music grew more provocative, their dancing more uninhibited. They whirled around each other, reaching out yet not quite touching. Her heart raced in her chest, her breath came in gasps. He stopped short, his large hands wrapping around her small waist. Lifting her high, he buried his face in her soft belly, breathing in the fragrance of her. She thought she would burst with desire. Slowly he slid her over his body until they were thigh to thigh, abdomen to abdomen. She could feel the hardness of his manhood straining against his tight black pants. Arching her back, she pressed herself into him. He held her tightly, supporting her back with his strong arms; he leaned her backwards, his lips resting on her throat. He felt the beat of her heart pounding in perfect rhythm with his. Dropping her head back, she exposed her long beautiful neck, vulnerable, seductive. The music stopped. Hands clapped and feet stamped from the darkness that surrounded them. They stayed still, their breaths panting as one.

  Suddenly he swept her into his arms, quickly carrying her through the camp and into his wagon. The only illumination was from a single candle burning on a small battered table. He laid her on a soft pallet on the floor.

  She watched him as he undressed, stripping his black pants from his perfect body. He stood above her nude. He was erect. Strong.

  When he stooped to her, the exotic male fragrance of him surrounded them. She reached her arms to him. Kneeling beside her, he began to undress her. First the skirt, then the lacy chemise that covered her breasts. Her body was pale in the candle light, enticing. His dark hands caressed her. Even in her desire, she noticed the deep contrast in their skin. It made him appear even more fascinating. He watched her as he began to stroke her body with his strong
fingers. His touch was gentle as he held his passion in check. He didn’t want to rush.

  The glow of the candle made a halo of light around his dark head as he bent to kiss her breasts. His lips were cool, his tongue warm, exploring. She felt him with every fiber of her being. Winding her fingers through his hair, a deep ardent moan escaped from her throat. The sound unleashed the great passion he held in check.

  Sliding his hands beneath her, he grasped her bottom lifting her legs to wrap them around his muscular back. She cried out with desire as he entered her.

  They moved together as they had in the dance by the fire; uninhibited, as if they had shared this fiery passion all of their lives. First one then the other led; he was the master, then she.

  As she sat astride him, he found his release. His back arched, his beautiful chest glistened in the candle light, moist from their effort. His chin raised, his eyes closed as his breath and movement halted; he looked like a perfect Greek statue frozen in time. After only seconds passed, an intense guttural sound escaped from his beautiful mouth. And then her name whispered over and over again. He raised up, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her lips, her throat, her breasts. Her body convulsed as he, once again, took control, rolling her on her back. His body responded instantly to her movements and he was once again hard, ready to deliver pleasure.

  And so he did. Such pleasure that tears of joy poured from her eyes as she cried out.

  The sound of her own voice in her Chicago bedroom and the sound of her breath coming in loud gasps brought her awareness back inside her body. She had been neither awake nor asleep but somewhere just in-between; a place where fantasy and reality joined in a perfect melody.

  She slowly opened her eyes and glanced at the time. Six o’clock. “I really have to re-think this provincial attitude I have. It isn’t working too well right now.” She laughed as she sipped her coffee. It was cold and bitter.

  CHAPTER 9