“No!” cried Rufus, raising his own blade and advancing on Viviana. Both Springer and Serafina turned to stare at him. With an effort, Rufus swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “I have to do this,” he said, “for Serafina, for failing her when she most needed me, and for doubting her love.” He turned to Serafina and, like a mediaeval tourney knight to his lady, bowed his head for a moment, saluting her with his sword.
The sound that left Viviana’s throat might have been a mocking laugh or a sob. Gritting his teeth, Rufus raised the blade high above his head and brought it down across her throat with all the strength he could summon. Her head rolled back from her body, her eyes staring as though in unbelief. Crimson blood gushed from her neck, describing a brief, vivid arc as Viviana’s long life seeped away until it was nothing more than a darkening stain on the thick carpet.
As they watched, the dead vampire’s skin shrank back over her bones, sagging into her cheeks and taking on the greyish hue of ash or mould. Then it began to crumble away before their gaze, exposing bones that in moments became bleached and pitted like those of an ancient skeleton.
Rufus felt his breath congeal in his throat. He wanted to turn away, but could not. His eyes, fixed on the appalling sight, would not close, would not obey his will.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Serafina’s voice spoke gently to him. “It’s over, Rufus. Her insane appetites will never hurt anyone again. You’ve set us free.”
Rufus turned to her, tears carving tracks in his blood-spattered face, his voice catching in his throat. “I did it for you, Serafina. I was a fool for so long, and a coward, too, but your strength and courage showed me what I should be. I know I can’t hope to measure up to you and Anton, but—”
Tears filled Serafina’s eyes as she reached out to place her finger against his lips. “Rufus, true bravery is doing what’s right, even when you’re afraid. You have nothing to measure up to.”
Springer came to stand before them. For some moments he stared down at the floor, for once seeming uncertain what to say. Then he lifted his head and took a deep breath. “Old habits can come to seem impossible to break, but I finally realised you were right, both of you, and it would have been unconscionable of me to desert you. I beg you to accept my deepest apologies for taking so long to come to my senses. I owe you both a debt of gratitude that I doubt I can ever repay. I can only hope you’ll find it in your hearts to forgive my—my weakness. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself, but I promise you I’ll try to make it up to you, somehow.”
Rufus and Serafina said nothing, their hearts too full for words, but Serafina put her arms around Springer and kissed his bloodstained cheek. When she released him, Springer clasped Rufus’s hands in his.
“You two go and get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll deal with things here. It’s the least I can do to begin repaying my debt.”
Rufus nodded. He tried to speak, but no words would come. Serafina went to him and took his hand.
“Come,” she said, “let’s go home.”
Together they walked out of the room and down the stairs, and out into the bright day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lila Richards lives in a seaside suburb of Christchurch, New Zealand, where she shares her home with Merlin the cat (or perhaps the other way round). She works part-time as a sub-editor for the New Zealand Meteorological Service, and runs a small proofreading and editing business. As well as writing, Lila reads eclectically, sews and embroiders, dotes on her grandchildren, and collects things, her particular favourites being old movies, owls, and tacky clocks (a surprisingly abundant species). From time to time she enters the Middle Ages via the Society for Creative Anachronism (an international medieval re-creation group) where she transmogrifies into a ninth-century smallholder's widow from the west of Ireland, and has attained the rank of Baroness.
Table of Contents
A Different Hunger
Midpoint
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A Different Hunger Page 30