by Kit Tunstall
“Hurts, does it not? I have heard you may overcome the pain if you stop believing.” Nicholas’s mouth twisted. “I have not yet been able to overcome a lifetime of indoctrination.”
She forced herself to endure and even embrace the pain. The cross was her only way back from an eternity of evil. She knew she could never go back to her days as Lady Emma. Nor could she stand a half-existence as what Nicholas had made her, much as her heart wanted her to give in so she could be by his side. Sweet oblivion was the only alternative.
He ground his foot on her hand. “Release it before you burn through your flesh, foolish girl.”
Emma shook her head and gritted her teeth. She forced her wrist to twist unnaturally so she could touch the cross to the bridge of his bare foot. A savage grin split her face when she heard him scream. He backed away, and she hugged the cross against her as she sat up.
His eyes narrowed and focused directly on her face. “Do not, Emma. I command you to release it.”
She felt her arm go numb, and her hand loosened on the cross at his severe tone. She concentrated on maintaining her grip.
“Look at me.”
Sweat beaded her forehead when she brought the cross against her arm, searing the flesh, and blocking out his summons.
“It shall not work. You cannot burn yourself to death with that. You could not if you crucified yourself to a full-size cross.”
She forced her mind away from his voice, making her fingers grasp the wooden symbol firmly.
His voice dropped an octave. “Put it down.”
She raised her arm high in the air, preparing herself.
A hint of desperation crept into his tone. “Suicides go to Hell.”
She turned her head and looked at him, finding it easier to resist the dark pull of his eyes and the dark urgings of her own heart. “I am already dead.” She turned her head away from him again and closed her eyes, sending a prayer to her maker.
Emma bit her lip, wincing as a newly grown fang broke through the tender skin. In one last movement of desperation, she grasped the cross in her hand and brought it toward her chest with all her strength, impaling herself with the blunt end. The strength borne from the change aided the unsharpened stake in its quest for her heart. It was as though a fire had consumed her chest cavity, searing away her heart in a single burst of agony.
Her final scream was mingled pain and pleasure. She had escaped eternal damnation. She only hoped it wasn’t too late for redemption.
Emily’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up in one jerky motion with a scream trapped in her throat. She could still feel the burning wound from the cross and lifted her T-shirt—someone had removed her jacket at some point—to check for a wound. The skin around her lacy white bra was as smooth and creamy as ever. It had all been a dream.
She blinked and looked around the room, realizing everything was fuzzy. What had he done to her? Her eyes burned, and she couldn’t focus on anything. She reached up to take out her contacts for cleaning. Upon removing them, the room came sharply into focus. She frowned. Her vision was never good enough to see across a room without her lenses or glasses, yet she could read the hands of the small chrome clock on the opposite wall: 11:00. But was it a.m. or p.m.?
Emily turned her head to look out the window, but heavy drapes blocked the view. She scooted to the edge of the large bed, briefly noticing how smooth and silky the coverlet was, and swung her bare feet onto the floor. They sank into plush black carpeting as she leaned forward to put the contacts on the black lacquered nightstand.
Lightheadedness swept over her, and Emily paused to rest before attempting to stand. Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in the obvious opulence. Black lacquered dressers and tables of a sturdy and antique design complemented the black carpet. Red accent touches like the drapes, coverlet, and swirls in the marble mantle above the fireplace brought the only relief to the stark color, aside from small touches of chrome. Even the walls were black. She tilted her head to examine the ceiling, finding it too was black. What a depressing color scheme.
Emily took a deep breath and realized she had drawn in only a shallow breath. Her chest seemed paralyzed and incapable of taking in sufficient oxygen, but how could it be? She couldn’t live on tiny breaths. Fear filled her again when she recalled the last moments of her dream as Emma.
How much had truly been a dream? It wasn’t the first time she had dreamed of people in the past, but never in such detail. Only brief snatches here and there. She couldn’t remember having dreamed of Emma before, and certainly never as her.
Her stomach gurgled and clenched, reminding Emily how hungry she was. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious in this place, but she had to escape. Her parents must be worried sick. She blanched, imagining how Sara and Troy’s parents would feel when they learned what had happened to their children. Ron probably shared their fate, although she had not seen him or asked about him.
She gained her feet on trembling legs, feeling worse than the time she had the flu and ran a hundred-and-five fever. She had the same disconnected sensation in her head, but the sharp pangs of hunger kept her focused on the here-and-now.
Emily shuffled to main black door and twisted the highly polished chrome knob. It made a quarter-turn before freezing. She tried the other direction, with the same result. As she had anticipated, he had locked her in. Her captor wasn’t likely to make escape easy for her, after all.
She moved to the next door, finding a walk-in closet. The wardrobe was bare, save for her fleece jacket hanging neatly on a hanger. She slammed the closet door and hurried across the room to the last door, twisting the chrome handle, and finding a bathroom. Like the bedroom, the colors were black and red, with small touches of silver chrome.
She walked across the shiny black tile, wincing at the coldness against the soles of her feet, and propped her elbows on the counter. She bowed her head forward and turned on the chrome faucet. When the water was cold enough, she splashed handfuls on her face, hoping to dispel the lingering fuzzy feeling. When she lifted her head, she saw her reflection in the mirror and winced. Her skin was deathly pale. Huge purple bruises under her eyes dominated her face. Crimson smears of blood, freshly moistened by her clumsy face washing, trailed across her cheeks. Once again, she remembered Emma’s image reflected in the antique mirror and couldn’t help noting the similarities to her current appearance.
Emily hastily averted her eyes from the mirror and lifted a fluffy red towel from the rack. After drying her face, she examined the rest of the bathroom. Aside from the grimly depressing black decorating scheme, it was unremarkable.
Feeling slightly refreshed, she left the bathroom and returned to the room where she had awakened. Once more, Emily tried the door. She twisted the knob viciously back and forth, and then rattled it. When the door failed to yield, she pounded on it, raising her voice. “Let me out,” she cried repeatedly. Her tone started out firm and demanding, but as the minutes passed without any acknowledgement, her voice weakened, as did the impact of her fists against the black door.
Finally, she sank to her knees on the thick carpeting and stopped shouting. As tears streaked down her cheeks, she found herself thinking maybe it was better to be ignored than noticed. Who knew what the man planned to do to her?
She crawled across the floor and climbed back onto the bed. Her head pounded, and her stomach twisted itself in knots. Her entire body ached for something, but she didn’t know what. As she lay in the dark, staring up at the black ceiling, Emily became aware of the sounds outside. Traffic, horns and music merged into a thunderous cacophony, indicating she was in a large city. Most of all, she could hear the millions of heartbeats pounding as one inside her head. Her stomach growled, and she had the urge to hold a still-beating heart in her hand. To taste the lifeblood pumping from the organ, before the heart ceased beating when it discovered it had been severed from its body. She longed to savor that eternal stillness, to take it inside her as part of her forever.
Emily cried out at her disturbing thoughts and buried her head under the pillows. The pounding in her head didn’t diminish. Nor did the hunger surging through her. A keening cry broke from her as she struggled to suppress the dark thoughts and emotions overwhelming her. She tried to deny her hunger for blood, even as her body clamored for sustenance.
Chapter Three
She heard a key in the lock, followed by the twisting of the doorknob, several hours later. Emily’s eyes reflexively darted to the small chrome clock, which read 6:00, still not knowing whether it was a.m. or p.m. She slid into a sitting position on the bed and was in the process of gaining her feet when the door opened. He stepped inside as she stood up.
For several seconds, he stared at her. His eyes moved over her face, down her body and back to her eyes again. She shivered under the scrutiny and crossed her arms over her chest. Emily’s voice remained locked in her throat, smothered by fear.
He walked toward her, moving with such inherent grace he appeared to be floating. His body was fluid perfection, with each muscle visibly contracting under his pale, smooth skin—at least the sections showing around the black silk shirt unbuttoned to his waist. Unlike when he had taken her in the funhouse, his skin bore no flush. Instead, he was pale. On anyone else, the pallor would have made the person seem ill, but it only added to his captivating appearance.
When he stopped before her, almost within touching, Emily took a step back. Her leg collided with a nightstand, and she winced when the sharp edge gouged her skin through the denim pants.
His lips curved into a smile. His eyes gleamed seductively. “Welcome, Emily.” The words sounded like velvet given a voice. “I trust you slept well.”
Was there a hint of mocking to his tone? Her eyes narrowed, and she was able to summon her voice. “What have you done to me? Why am I here? Who are you?” The questions tumbled from her in a rush.
“All answers will come in good time.” He took another step forward, reaching out to touch her hand.
She jerked her arm away and stared up at him with frightened eyes. “Why me?”
His expression grew troubled, and his eyes clouded. He turned his head from her to avoid her gaze. He wore a brooding expression. “The dreams will give you all the answers, beloved. You know some of it already. Who I am and what you are. Don’t you, Emily?”
She shook her head, denying the truth. “It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know anything.”
He snorted softly. “Resist if you must. The memories will open your eyes soon enough.”
“Please, let me go home.” She hated the weak, pleading tone in her voice, but couldn’t force a defiance she was far from feeling. She longed only to return to her own room and her boring family. Emily would give anything to hear her father complain about changes in the tax code or her mother prattle on about her friends. Even her butthead little brother’s practical jokes would be welcome.
He shook his head. “You are home. It isn’t Vallsade Manor, but we make do.”
She blinked at the familiar reference. “How did you—”
His head dipped lower, placing his mouth near her ear. “Memories have become dreams. You’ve had them all your life, haven’t you?”
Refusing to meet his eyes, she jerked her head away. “Just dreams. Nothing more.”
“Dreams of other times, other lives. Dreams of another you. Dreams of me, perhaps?”
Emily shook her head. “Never of you. A shadowy man sometimes, but he has no face.” She shuddered, remembering snatches of the dreams that had haunted her since childhood. “Such power and danger.”
His lips curved into a smile, flashing his fangs. “Me.”
“No. I don’t believe it.”
He sighed. “You will accept the truth as the dreams become more vivid.”
Her eyes widened. “More vivid?”
“Like the dream of Emma.” He touched her face, ignoring the way she stiffened. “The memory of your former self.”
Emily shook her head again. “I don’t believe in that junk.”
“Reincarnation?”
“It’s nonsense.”
He shrugged. “You will learn, beloved.”
Her shoulders tightened. “Stop calling me that.”
A bittersweet smile curved his lips. “You once lived to hear the words fall from my lips.” He chuckled. “Now you have died to do so.”
She stepped away from him, placing several feet between them before turning around. “I don’t know you. Why won’t you believe that?”
His expression hardened. “You do know me, but you’ve forgotten. You will know me again. This time forever.”
Emily’s eyes connected with his. A frisson of terror slithered down her spine at his words. “You’re obviously some kind of nut job.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Sweet Emily. Ever the brave one.”
Before she could blink, he stood beside her. Emily turned her head, finding her face inches from his chest. “How did you move like that?”
“It is natural now. One day, you’ll know how too.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Please, please, please. Just let me go home. I won’t tell anyone about this. I swear.”
His dark eyes grew cold. “As I have said, you are home. You belong to me, Emily. Get used to the idea. Your life as Emily Swesso is over. She’s dead.”
She clapped her hands over her ears. “No.”
He dragged down her hands, holding them locked in a vise-like grip at her sides. “I killed her. The new Emily was born in a rush of death and pain.” His expression became tender. “My Emily.”
A sob broke free when she tried to wrench away from him. A cry tore from her lips as pain shot up her arms, and she failed to escape his hold. “I don’t belong to you. I’m Emily Swesso—twenty, just finishing my last year of junior college with a 3.9 GPA and transferring to NYU next fall. I hang out with my friends, and just got a new car after earning the down payment working at the grocery store. None of this is real.” Her voice had continued to rise, and she shouted, “You aren’t real!”
He slapped her. Not hard enough to bruise or even make her fall, but the sting of his palm against her cheek quieted her. “Your stubbornness will get you nowhere. Aren’t you hungry, Emily?”
At his words, her stomach twisted and convulsed, as if tying itself in knots. Sweat streamed off her body, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears—no, not her heartbeat. Rather, the heartbeat of the entire city. The dark thoughts that visited her earlier returned in crashing waves. Her legs trembled, and she nodded, too weak to speak.
“Show me you’re beginning to remember who you are, and I’ll let you feed.”
She bit her lip, wincing as a sharp tooth slid through the skin. He must have splintered it during the kidnapping. She stared up at him with confusion. Her need battled her will. Although aching for food, she couldn’t give into his deluded fantasy. If she played along, she would be lost forever. “I am Emily Swesso,” she said in a clear, strong voice. “I’m not Emma, or whomever you want me to be. You probably drugged me, which caused the crazy dream.”
His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “Why must you resist?” he whispered. Then he ran a hand through his long black hair. “I will return to you in a while to see if you have accepted the truth.” He moved away from her, heading toward the door.
Emily rushed past him, throwing herself at the door. She reached for the handle and twisted it. A sharp pain shot up her arm from her hand, and she looked down. In place of the doorknob, she held a fat black snake in her hand. Its skin was scaly, but not slimy. It had buried its teeth in the back of her hand. With a scream, she tried to cast it away from her. The tenacious snake’s fangs stayed buried in her hand.
She shook it, trying to dislodge the serpent. Emily looked down, and another scream ripped from her throat. An oozing mass of snakes slithered around the door. Green, brown, red and multicolored skins blended in a riotous display. Shor
t, thin snakes oozed over fatter, slower snakes. Several of the larger ones were dining on their smaller compatriots, and Emily could smell the coppery stench of their blood fill the room. The faint bitterness tainting the odor curbed her hunger. Several of the snakes hissed at her when her eyes fell on them, as if warning her away. She heard the rattle of a rattlesnake and turned to run.
Emily collided with him. He stood behind her, with his arms crossed. He looked calmly at the snake attached to her hand, then at the snakes slithering around the room. His expression didn’t change.
She whimpered when one crawled across her bare foot. Looking down, she saw a blood-red snake with a black face squirming over her foot. It opened its mouth to hiss at her, and she saw glistening drops of clear fluid drip from the snake’s wickedly sharp fangs. Was it venom? “Please.”
“Please, what?” He sounded bored.
“Make them go away.” Emily cried out when the snake struck without warning, burying its fangs in her ankle. Her head started spinning as pain coursed up her leg in throbbing waves simpatico with those issuing from her hand. The red snake continued on its way after tasting her, moving far from the path of the man in front of her.
He lifted her hand and grasped the snake by the back of the head. He squeezed so hard blood oozed around his fingers, accompanied by a small cracking sound. The snake went limp, and the fangs slid from her flesh. He held up the dead snake to show her the crushed skull. “So easy.” His voice was a husky whisper. “Such a fragile thing, and so easily crushed.” His eyes locked with hers. “Imagine the pain.”
It was as if a hand grasped her skull and squeezed. Emily gasped and reached up with both hands, trying to pry away the invisible forceps. Her body became one mass of agony, between her head, hand and ankle. She cried out and fell to her knees. The snakes surrounded her, crawling over her legs and feet. She wanted to brush them away, but most of her attention remained focused on the crushing pain in her head. “Stop,” she forced out through gritted teeth.