by Jackie Ivie
She gripped Wystan’s hand a bit tighter, and grabbed his arm with her free hand as he started up the steps. She couldn’t tell how many steps he climbed, or how many floors they passed. She kept her eyes on him, ignoring the whorl of stone about them that confused and dazed. Her senses should have been reeling. They weren’t. She actually felt like she was vibrating.
The steps ended at a landing of more stone, backed by a large, unadorned wooden door. With what looked like ancient hinges. An enormous plank of wood was across it, bolting it shut. Wystan lifted the bolt with his free hand, secured it into a hook on the side, and pulled the door open.
Fresh air assailed her. It carried a chill. A light sprinkling of snowflakes. And a brisk breeze that blew out the torch almost instantly. They didn’t need the light. It was definitely late afternoon. Even with the cloud cover she had no trouble seeing Wystan. The breeze pulled some of his hair loose from his queue. He truly was gorgeous. Massive. Strong.
And like nothing dead.
The sudden squeezing sensation about her heart was almost painful. Rachel sucked in a breath with surprise. It wasn’t remotely possible. Or probable. Or even plausible. She’d just met him. She wasn’t even sure there was such a thing as love anymore. She’d seen too much. Experienced worse. She couldn’t possibly be feeling anything like love. Not this soon.
He stepped toward the stone encircling the parapet, taking her with him. Rachel wasn’t fond of heights, but she didn’t feel remotely scared. Emotions long dormant, took over. She was young. Unfettered. Slightly giddy. And the view was breath-taking. In any direction. Rachel swiveled in place, trying to take it all in. Wystan turned with her, always at her side. His fingers still locked to hers, holding her close. She’d never considered holding hands to be so heart-warming.
It just was.
There was a lot of light in one section, blooming over a huge wall. That was probably the faire. Dark spots interspersed the grounds. They might be forested areas. She could make out headlights piercing the gloom. That could be Munson’s car. It was just beyond the outer wall. Rachel counted three of the huge stone walls encircling the grounds. The sight was magnificent.
“How...high are we?” she asked.
“Thirty meters. Maybe.”
“Seriously? How many stories does this place have?”
He grinned, highlighting the little laugh lines about his eyes. What light there was glinted off his perfect teeth. Nothing out-of-order. No fangs. No pallor. Nothing paranormal. Nothing vampiric. Anywhere.
“I don’t know for certain. Some parts of the castle have four levels. Some five. Others only two. Construction was ongoing for centuries, using various stone masons. Not much is exactly square. Some of the doorjambs are off-kilter. The doors fit, but they slant. It’s rather entertaining.”
“It’s an amazing view.” She shivered.
“You cold, my love?”
He dropped her hand and had her wrapped in his jacket almost before he’d finished asking. Rachel snuggled into it, getting warmed. Enwrapped. Captivated. And then she steeled herself to ignore it.
“I asked you not to call me that, Wystan.”
“Oh. Yes. You did. Apologies.”
He grinned. She didn’t return it.
“Um...listen. Before we go any further, I need to...thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“For showing me daylight. Specifically...for showing me how you look in it.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, you heard me. I don’t know you very well, Wystan, but I think I might like to. I mean, I had a really great time uh...last night. I mean this morning. With you. Um...in bed. But I have to tell you. That was an anomaly. I’m not that easy. I was really close to leaving before you showed me this.” She gestured toward the sky.
“I do not understand.”
“Look. Wystan. If we’re going to take this to another level, we have to clear the air.”
“We do?”
“Sex is one thing. And if that’s all you’re looking for, well. You might as well just keep looking.”
He chuckled and his eyes warmed somehow. And that was ridiculous.
“You are so...young.”
Rachel’s lips tightened. “Look. I’m almost thirty. And age has nothing to do with it. I’m a cop. We don’t trust easily. We don’t like subterfuge and lies. We get hives when we’re confronted with nut cases. And we really detest frauds.”
“If this is related to me, I could take offence.”
“Oh. It’s related to you. And, if that bothers you, well. Sorry. It’s about to get more offensive.”
“I do not understand.”
“You want it in black and white? You got it.” She took a deep breath. “You are not a vampire.”
His lips twitched as if he were hiding a smile. “Truly?”
“They don’t exist. And, even if I suspended reality and believed it, that bit of daylight right there, is a dead giveaway. Excuse the pun. So. That means you’re either a nut case. Or you lied to me...and you’re a fraud.”
“You’re shivering,” he replied.
“Well. The sun is setting, it’s cold out here, and you’re avoiding answering. Maybe I should call for a ride, too.”
“My lady, please? I...have words that need to be said. There is so much to speak of. So much to show you. I did not plan on doing it here.”
“Why not?”
“You wish a declaration out here?”
A declaration?
”Um. Wystan. We need to talk.”
“Yes. I know. But not here.”
He looked down at her for long moments, and then he smiled. Her heart flipped. She felt it.
“Come. Take my hand. I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
Rachel hesitated to a full count of three. Then, she gave him her hand. And then he leapt right over the edge of the parapet with her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wystan swooped through the snow-flecked air, landing lithely on a second-floor balcony. Rachel had gasped when they’d first jumped, but then she’d gone silent. She also burrowed against him, her head just beneath his chin. She gripped tightly to the hand she held, while her other arm wrapped about his ribcage. The embrace was doing all sorts of things to him. Exhilarating. Energizing. Exciting.
His teeth tingled while shivers roamed his flesh. He had to calm this. He couldn’t make love to her again. Not yet. Not until she knew and accepted. Despite his sense of honor and chivalry, he wasn’t at all sure he could keep from changing her. Her blood called to his. Her very essence pulled at him. He had to calm this! He mustn’t scare her. Wystan walked from the balcony into a hall, shutting the door behind him and sealing out the elements.
“You all right, love?” he whispered against her hair.
“We just jumped...off the roof!”
Her voice was shaky. It matched her entire frame. He tightened his arm about her and kept walking.
The east tower was attached to the original keep, the oldest section of the castle. It was begun during William the Conqueror’s reign, to subdue Welsh tribes. The strongest lords had been settled in each castle. Wystan’s grand-father had been one of them, but he’d gone a step further. He’d married a Welsh princess, blending Celtic traditions with Norman. Celt heritage was the meaning behind Wystan’s middle name as well as the shading of his VAL tattoo.
Wystan entered a newer section, added in the fifteenth century. This addition coincided with the founding of the College of Arms. Wystan had wanted a stone edifice, with barrel-vaulted ceilings and thick, stone pillars, to house and display his Order of Honor garter, the de Crecy shield, coat-of-arms, banner, his tournament and battle armor, and other regalia. The area was perfectly maintained. The displays dusted, the armor polished. There would be one candle lit at all times. Overseeing that fell to the de Crecy Sergeant-At-Arms. Wystan had gone through eleven of them. All loyal, responsible men. The latest rendition was approaching seventy. He was hard of hearing, slow and s
tooped, and hopefully busy eating his sup.
Access was either from the front portal outside, or through this hall. Wystan had guessed right. No one halted him as they neared. Rachel clung tighter, however. It was a problem. Wystan concentrated on the words he was about to speak. It didn’t help much. Her frame was too luscious, and the mate bond too strong. He groaned softly.
They reached a large, engraved door. Wystan opened it with his free hand and walked in, shutting it behind him. He’d used too much power. The sound boomed through the room. He’d been off a bit. This Sergeant-At-Arms had the archival candle lit, and several torches as well. That was fortuitous. Shadows flit all about the displays, while light glinted off armor, swords, and glass cases. Wystan walked toward a large bench placed in the center of a spiral the tile-layers had designed into the floor.
They reached the bench. Wystan stood for a moment. She felt so wondrous in his arms. He smiled down at her.
“I’m going to set you down now. You ready?”
She nodded, and disengaged her arm from about him as he moved her. She looked incongruous in her pink fur hat, matching slacks, and his over-sized dark jacket. And she looked just right at the same time. He waited as she settled atop the blue cushion. And then he went to his knees, putting his face just below hers.
“You are so lucky the rope held,” she told him.
“What rope?”
“The one you used for your leap. And I have to tell you. You’re good. I almost believed it.”
“Rachel.”
“You’re also lucky I’m not the type to sue. Or whatever the English call it. I mean, if you’re going to take people on death-defying stunts, you need to get written permission beforehand. Then again, it would have ruined your little surprise. And I almost believed it. Almost.”
Akron had told him this might get complicated.
That was an understatement.
Wystan cleared his throat. “Have you ever heard of heraldry?”
“Um. Maybe. What is it?”
“It is a term encasing family pedigree, titles, arms, recording honors, assigning a place in society. All of that.”
Her eyebrows rose and her head tipped just slightly. He didn’t know what that meant. So, he kept talking.
“It starts with a coat of arms design. The de Crecy family goes back to the Norman Conquest. Coats of arms followed in the thirteenth century. There are rules that had to be followed, called blazon. They’re very strict. For instance, you can only use two of three materials; colors, metals, or fur. And once the design is in place, only the titleholder can use it in the pure form. A cousin, or other member of the family, may have the same coat of arms, but it must be altered with a border or different background. This alteration is called a mark of cadency, or brisure. The de Crecy design is a silver field with a standing blue dragon in the center. It’s on my shield and all the banners. The technical name is ‘argent a dragon rampant d’azure’. It translates literally to silver dragon standing on blue.”
“Why is it in French?”
“The entire court was Norman French until the Tudor Royal House was founded in 1485. The oath of the Honor Garter is still taken in French. To this day.”
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“Hear me out. Please?”
She gave a heavy sigh. He was boring her? Wystan moved to wrap his other hand about the one he held, and then he told her.
“I speak of the Honor Garter for a reason, Rachel. It is a rare honor, bestowed by the monarch, for valor and bravery in battle. I earned mine in 1346.”
“I hope you’re not trying to impress me, because where I come from, nobody cares about this kind of stuff. A man is respected not for who his parents are, but what he is. And what he does. And what he makes of himself. It’s called integrity.”
“You didn’t listen, my love. I’m telling you that I earned the Honor Garter. In the year 1346.”
“I heard that part, and I’m still telling you—. Did you just say you earned it?”
He nodded.
“Oh. Come on, Wystan. First the jump stunt and then this? And...darn. I was thinking we really might create something together.”
“There’s more,” he replied.
“Oh. This should be good. Okay. Hit me with it.”
“I did not lie to you. I am not a fraud. And I am not a nut case.”
“And you’re several hundred years old, too. Right. Got it. I think I’ll call for a pick-up now. You get reception in here?”
She pulled a cell phone from somewhere beneath his coat and her jacket. He watched as she touched a button.
“I am a vampire, Rachel Berne.”
He used the full range of his voice. It rattled armament throughout the room. A sword fell somewhere in the dimness as if for emphasis. The phone dropped into her lap.
“Holy crap, Wystan!”
“I swear it to you, Rachel. I am a vampire. I accepted vampirism over death in the year 1349. It was an easy choice. I fell from my horse during a battle and took a lance in the side. My destrier died. I didn’t.”
“No way.”
He flashed to the fallen sword and returned before she managed to retrieve her phone. He placed the blade across his knees, gripping the hilt in his right hand as he watched her.
Good.
It was one of the newer blades. Purely ceremonial. Fairly short. Less than a meter in length. She was shaking. Her grip on her phone looked questionable. Her eyes were wide, too. She had such unique eyes. They looked silver at the moment. If she wore de Crecy colors, she’d be impossible to overlook. Visually stunning. He should have known.
“How do you move that quickly?”
“I’m a vampire, love. It comes with certain...abilities. Speed. Strength. Vision.”
“No. No. Vampires are not real.”
She shook her head. He grinned.
“I am real,” he repeated. “And I am a vampire. Here. I’ll attempt to prove it to you again.”
He turned the sword and sliced a deep cut in his left arm from elbow to wrist. His sweater threads turned bloody as they separated. Her cry of shock accompanied it.
And...merde!.
Wystan winced even as the cut started closing. He’d forgotten what pain felt like. He dropped the sword to the floor and shoved his sleeve up. She didn’t say a thing as the cut closed, and then sealed, and then disappeared. She didn’t appear to be breathing. And she was starting to sway on her stool.
“You’re not going to faint, are you?” Wystan asked.
She put both hands to the sides of her hips and steadied herself. And then she narrowed her eyes.
“Nice try, Wystan. Really. That was gory. But...I’m still not buying it. They use props like that in the movies. It’s extremely lifelike. I’ve heard of it. I’ve just never seen it. But I’ve heard of it.”
“You are difficult to convince, my love. Wait. I have it. I will be right back.”
Wystan zipped to a suit of armor. Fifteenth century. He grabbed the cuirass. He didn’t care that the rest of the suit fell. He only needed the breastplate. He’d chosen well. This one was unornamented. Shiny. Reflective. He sat beside her on the bench and held it out. He could easily see her reflection. His was missing.
“Here. Look. Vampires cast no shadows and we don’t have a reflection. Go ahead. Look for yourself.”
She looked. And then she stared. She grabbed the cuirass and worked it back and forth, trying to find his image. And then she turned to him.
“You don’t have a reflection, Wystan.”
“I know. I told you.”
“This is impossible.”
The cuirass dropped to the floor, making the room ring with the sound of steel against tile for several moments.
“Do you believe me now?”
“I...don’t know.”
“What? What more do you need?”
Wystan’s breath hitched. His throat tightened oddly. A shiver ran along all his back. Legs. Arms. He wrapped hi
s hands into fists and then tightened them until the knuckles turned white. Was nothing going to convince her? What else could he do? What? He’d never come up against such skepticism and disbelief. It was doubly worse because it mattered so much!
“Give me a minute, okay? I came to England to catch a pervert. I didn’t come here to have the fabric of physics blasted apart. It just isn’t possible.”
“But...you do believe me?”
“Wystan. If you’re a real vampire, then my entire belief system has just been shot to smithereens. I mean, come on. I’m a right-brained person. Logical. Scientific. I don’t believe in supernatural stuff. Aliens. Werewolves. Ghosts. Vampires. They’re figments of somebody’s fertile imagination. Or a junkie’s best friend. They’re not real. I can’t possibly believe in them. I’d get laughed out of the precinct.”
“Even if it’s true?”
“Especially if it’s true. There isn’t a drug around to alter this. I mean, if I believe in vampires...what’s next? Huh? Where does it end?”
“You ready?”
“For what?”
“What’s next.”
“Oh, no. You mean...there’s more?”
Her eyes went wide, showing the dark-toned blue about the edges. The perfect fringe of lash she had about them. If Wystan wasn’t already fully hooked, that look would have snagged, caught, and then secured him.
He swiveled, moving from sitting at her side to kneeling at her feet again. He forced his hands from their fisted shapes before reaching them out toward her, palms upward. He held that position for countless moments, holding his breath, and feeling an emotion that might actually be fear. And finally she responded, placing her hands within his. The relief was palpable. Intense. But her fingers were icy. And she was visibly shaking.
“I have been a vampire for centuries, Rachel Berne. Centuries. It isn’t anything like what the storytellers portray. Vampirism is not eternal life. It is eternal death. I had no feelings. No emotions. No passions. No sensation. No...uh...ability to love a woman, if you understand what I am trying to say.”