by Lund, S. E.
“Eve,” Julien whispers to me, and he’s clearly torn between his desire not to hurt me and his bloodlust.
I stand and go to the door, realizing that nothing I can do will stop this because this is what Soren wants. He wants me to watch and feel jealous as Julien drinks the beautiful woman’s blood. I can’t deny him this, but I can deny him the kind of response he wants. “Go ahead,” I say, my eyes meeting his. “I know you need it. I won’t watch.”
He nods and before I can leave, I see him take the woman in his arms and bare her throat before clamping his mouth over her carotid.
Soren grabs my arm and stops me from leaving. “If you think you can escape this, you’re crazy. If you think you can escape your fate, you’re even crazier. But go ahead and try, Eve,” he whispers in my ear. “Go ahead and try. I so love a good fight.”
I try to wrench my arm from his grip. Of course, I fail. He grabs me and holds me in front of him, facing Julien and the woman on the bed. He holds my face forward and I watch as Julien drinks the woman’s blood, his arms squeezing even more tightly. I know what he’s feeling—an almost orgasmic high from the effect of the blood on his body as he transitions to vampire.
“Why are you such a sadist?” I whisper, trying my best not to sob.
Soren chuckles behind me. “Years of torture do that to a person.”
“So you torture the rest of us?”
Soren laughs out loud. “Eve, you have no idea what torture really is if you say that. “
“Maybe not,” I reply, and turn to him, my eyes brimming. “But I know that you enjoy seeing others suffer. Just leave us alone. You got what you wanted.”
He lets go of me and goes to the bed, taking hold of the woman’s arm. He pulls her away from Julien, who lets go with reluctance. I expect to see him snarl at Soren, but he doesn’t. Instead, his face is almost beatific from ecstasy, his mouth, chin, and part of his naked chest stained from the woman’s blood.
I take a cloth and sit on the bed next to him, wiping off his face, wiping my tears with the back of my other hand.
“Just remember, Eve,” Soren says from behind me. “When you fight me, I get even more enjoyment.”
I say nothing, and keep cleaning Julien’s face. I hear the door close behind us, and when I finally glance back, I see that we’re alone.
Julien takes the cloth from me and wipes the blood from his body. He can barely stand to look in my eyes, embarrassed at how weak he was when faced with the woman. How bloodlust dominates every other sense.
“Look at me,” I say, my voice soft. I touch his face. “I’m not judging you. I know what it’s like.”
He finally turns back and looks me squarely in the eyes. I lean closer and kiss him, my love for him flowing between us so strongly it makes both of us gasp.
“Julien, I’m not helping him resurrect the rest of those monsters,” I say when I pull back.
“What choice do you have?” he says doubtfully.
“We all have a choice,” I say. “We can choose how every moment goes, even when there’s a gun at our heads. I choose not to help him bring back the rest of the Twelve.”
“Even if it means the plague stops?”
I nod. “Even if it means that. If he has the antidote, we can get it as well.”
“What do you propose we do?”
“You’re the security expert. You’re the one with all the military skills. There has to be some way.”
“What about Michel?”
“He’s a priest again, determined to help Soren and preserve the Church,” I say and even now, there’s a stab of regret in my chest. “He’s made his choice. Now I’m making mine.”
I have no idea what we can do to fight Soren, but I can’t face the prospect of reviving those monsters only to watch them kill hundreds of innocent mortals.
If it means that I have to die, so be it. I’d rather take the chance and fight back than comply and share the guilt for all those deaths.
Julien and I embrace, lost momentarily in each other, all thoughts of the future we face blotted out for at least a few blissful hours.
* * *
END OF BOOK FOUR
Copyright © 2017 by S. E. Lund
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Foreword
“The day misspent, the love misplaced, has inside it the seed of redemption. Nothing is exempt from resurrection.”
― Kay Ryan
“Love is stronger than death.”
– Robert Fulghum
Chapter 109
Winter is exceptionally cold this year.
Without access to news, it’s impossible to know whether this is widespread or just a freak turn of weather in the eastern seaboard. It feels colder. The skies are grey, have been overcast for weeks on end and we have to resort to wood fires to keep warm. Luckily, the mansion is old and there seems to be a fireplace in every room so there’s always a crackling fire to sit beside, warm your toes.
When I realized I wouldn’t be leaving Soren’s compound, returning to either the cottage by the ocean or my apartment in Boston, I decided I have to either find a new home for my cats, which was unlikely, or bring them out to the compound. There’s been so much hardship since the plague struck that I feel a bit guilty going to so much trouble to bring the cats to Soren’s, but I can’t stand the thought of them starving to death in the city.
I arranged to have the cats brought to me. When they arrived at Soren’s compound, they hid under the beds for days, crawling up into the box springs to hide. After a week, during which time they only came out to eat and use the litter box, they finally crept out and cautiously explored the suite of rooms I have been assigned. During the second week, they begin to sleep with me on the bed. I find it a comfort to have them here, although I don’t remember them. From my journal, I know they were company for me during the long days I spent studying before I received the files from my mother’s archives.
All month, I’ve had trouble sleeping. It isn’t just the cold. What keeps me awake at night is what I know is coming and what I dread. Soren expects me to help him gain his own kind of Dominion over humans – a tyranny of his priests instead of one of vampires. I can’t do it and live with myself, so the only option I can see is to find a way to escape.
In the evening, after Julien and I spent the entire day plotting our escape, Soren calls me to his quarters. Of course, I know Soren might be able to read my mind and discover everything Julien and I discussed. Michel thinks it’s only possible after Soren and I share blood, but I’m not so sure. If that’s the case, by now, the effects would have worn off. Soren didn’t intrude into my thoughts while Julien described the security arrangements in place at the compound, so I have hope.
Maybe Michel’s right. Maybe it’s only when we share blood that Soren can tap directly into my mind.
I hope that’s the case for if not, it’ll be next to impossible for us to fight him.
I don’t want to help him resurrect his monstrous ‘brethren’, as he calls them – the rest of the Twelve. I have no idea what they are, but they’re monsters. The way Kael killed dozens of humans with no thought told me that pretty clearly.
I’ll do whatever I can to avoid that future. If Soren resurrects all eleven of the remaining twelve, how many mortals will they kill? Hundreds?
How many more will die because of my assistance? Thousands?
I can’t comply with that. There’s no way I want that on my conscience for the rest of my life. So when a guard comes to my room, I expect the worst.
He jerks his head to the side. “My Lord
Soren requires your presence immediately.”
I frown and turn to Julien, who’s sitting beside me on the couch, a sketch of the compound’s perimeter and outbuildings on the back of a cloth napkin from our meal.
He shrugs. “His Lord requires it,” Julien says with a touch of sarcasm in his tone. “Better go see what he wants.”
I sigh and stand up from the couch, smoothing my sweater, which keeps me warm against the chill of the compound.
“Hopefully, I won’t be long.” I bend down and kiss Julien. Maybe this is just an administrative issue, but I doubt it.
Has Soren been listening in and is he now going to punish me for plotting against him? There’s only one way to know. I have to go to his quarters and find out. Not that I have much of a choice, with an armed guard waiting to escort me.
I follow the guard out of my room to Soren’s quarters, down the dim hallway lined with dark paneling and portraits of noble lords from past centuries. The guard opens the door and admits me to the interior of Soren’s suite. Candlelight bathes the walls of the anteroom with a warm white-yellow glow. In the corner, a large grandfather clock ticks, the pendulum swinging back and forth in a slow rhythm. It’s old and has a spring loaded clockwork inside, the rich wood pierced by dozens of tiny wormholes, attesting to its age.
In this new post-apocalyptic world, in the zones affected by the plague, the old is new again. Only the oldest machines and devices with no plastic or materials made from fossil fuels remain in working order.
I enter the interior rooms and make my way deeper inside, only to come upon Soren reclining bare-chested on a settee, with a sleeping Gabrielle lying on top of him, her face nestled into the crook of his neck, her blonde hair cascading down her back. She’s wearing a gown that bares most of her skin, with diaphanous draping that leaves little to the imagination. Soren’s eyes are closed, and he’s humming something soft, one hand stroking her hair.
It’s such an intimate moment. Soren is so gentle with her. I feel like I’m intruding on these two lovers lying in each other’s arms, getting solace or comfort from the other’s touch. I take a step back, trying to hide on the other side of the doorway.
I wait, wondering if he even knows I’m there.
If he does, he says nothing. Instead, he hums, the tune soft and lilting – almost like a lullaby. He summoned me, so he knows I’m coming. Then it occurs to me this little scene feels like it’s been set up so I’ll see him like this – showing Gabrielle affection. Finally, when I grow impatient and upset that he’s trying so blatantly to manipulate me, I step back into the room and clear my throat.
He cracks open one eye and sees me. While I watch, he stirs and strokes Gabrielle’s cheek.
“Wake up, little one,” he whispers.
Gabrielle blinks rapidly as if she’s been asleep. She stretches like a cat waking up from a nap, her back arching. She yawns and looks up at Soren. When their eyes meet, a very intimate smile passes between them. The smile of lovers exchanging a knowing glance.
She leans up and kisses Soren, her kiss deep and lingering, one hand sliding down the bare skin of his chest to his waist and then up to caress his pectorals.
He pulls away and smiles at her. “Later,” he says softly and glances my way. His ice-blue eyes are piercing in their intensity. “We have company.”
She turns as well and when she sees me, she smiles coyly as if she’s a child caught doing something naughty. She pulls herself up and off of Soren’s body and straightens her gown, which has pulled down considerably to expose her voluptuous bosom, the skin on her breasts creamy white and smooth. I catch a glimpse of faded bite marks on the inside curve of one perfect breast.
“Excuse me,” she says with a giggle as she passes me, her sweet perfume following in her wake. I watch her leave and then turn back to Soren, who’s sitting up, running a hand through his long fair hair.
“You wanted to speak with me?” I say, arching one brow.
“Yes.” He stands, stretching his arms out and up over his head. When he does, a huge pair of alabaster wings spread out behind him.
He’s showing off, trying to impress me, seemingly enjoying the fact that I caught him in an intimate moment with Gabrielle and am now watching him parade his nearly naked body in front of me with those gorgeous wings…
“What do you want?” I ask, impatient to know why I’m there. He pours a glass of blood and holds it out to me. I shake my head, not wanting to be too friendly with him.
“Suit yourself,” he says and drinks down the glass of blood, licking his lips in an exaggerated manner like he’s deliberately trying to provoke me.
“We have to talk,” he says, his voice firm. “Sit.”
I clasp my hands behind my back. “I prefer to stand.”
He makes a face of impatience and sits on the couch, watching me, his arm thrown over the back, his wings folding up into nothing. “Michel told me you were stubborn.”
I say nothing in reply, trying to keep my cool, determined not to respond to his jibes.
I hear him sigh. “Very well, be like that.” He stands and comes over to me, looking down at me from under a frown. “I want to call a truce with you,” he says simply.
“A truce?” A shock races through me. What does he mean?
“Yes,” he says, his hands on his hips. “If you help me resurrect the rest of the Twelve, I promise they won’t kill a single mortal.”
I glance at his face to see if he’s being honest or is playing me. “What?”
“That’s right,” he says and starts to pace the room, walking around me in a circle, watching me as he walks. “I could kill you with a thought for plotting against me. I could let you run away and try to fight, for my amusement, of course,” he says with a grin, “but it would delay me resurrecting the rest of my brethren. I could create another iteration of your genes and let them grow to maturity, doing it right this time, but the simplest thing would be if we were to cooperate. I’ll make sure the rest of my brethren have adequate preserved blood to revive them, so there’ll be no need for anyone to die. How’s that sound?”
“So they don’t have to kill in order to be revived?”
Soren shakes his head. “Not at all. They need blood. Kael is a bit more bloodthirsty than all the others, and likes to ‘cull the herd,’ as he calls it. I don’t believe any of the others will complain if the terms of their resurrection are that they drink harvested blood.”
I frown. “Why do you need them? Can’t you rule on your own?”
He sighs. “I need company.”
“What about Gabrielle?” I ask, thinking he looks quite happy with her.
“Gabrielle’s fun, but she’s not one of us, and she’s not Marguerite, despite looking identical to her in every way. Marguerite was her own person – a Viking princess. Gabrielle is just a girl raised in modern culture. With all your modern human technology, genes only get you so far. Experience is the real determinant of a person’s character. Besides, only another like me can understand what this existence means. The Twelve are my brethren. They’re the only ones of my kind.” He stops in front of me, his expression serious.
“Another like you?” I ask, still uncertain about Soren’s origins. “What are you?”
He smiles, his eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you – an unbeliever?”
I cross my arms. “Tell me what you are. If you want me to cooperate, I need to know why you want the rest of the Twelve back. I don’t believe that you’re lonely.”
He makes an exaggerated pout. “Oh, Eve, so mean to me… You don’t believe that I’m lonely? That I can feel sad that my brethren are in stasis? That Kael and I are the only members of our kind alive?”
I shrug. “Sorry,” I say, trying not to sound too saucy. “I guess I don’t trust you. I don’t know what your game plan really is, or what your endgame is. I’m afraid you’ll use me and then betray me.”
“Fair enough,” he says and sits back down on the couch. He pats the seat. “
Please sit down beside me. You make me nervous when you stand up like that, as if this is some kind of interrogation instead of a meeting of minds.”
“Meeting of minds,” I say with a scoff. I relent and sit beside him, very aware of his bare torso, his perfectly sculpted abdomen, chest and arms, the skin alabaster white like his platinum hair. “You aren’t cold?” I ask, gesturing to his chest.
“Why does it make you uncomfortable to see my bare skin? Are you that attracted to me?”
I glance up and down his body in disbelief. I am not attracted to him. Although his physique is perfect, like a statue come to life, I despise him.
“You think I’m beautiful,” he says simply.
I can’t deny he’s attractive. Beautiful is the right word to use. To my ascended vampire eyes, his skin seems to glow as if he’s lit from within and every feature is perfect.
“Most humans wear clothing.”
“I’m not human,” he says with a grin.
“So you claim,” I say, refusing to admit anything. I glance away and study the room, noting the opulence, the grandness of the furniture.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he says with a laugh. “Doubting Thomas to the end.”
Then I remember reading my journal entries about the letters to Julien from Brother Novae about being a Doubting Thomas and I wonder if Soren has been playing Julien all along. Is it just a coincidence that two people involved in Julien’s life use that saying? It doesn’t seem likely…
“Tell me what you are,” I say again, more firmly. “If you want me to cooperate, you have to start telling me the truth. I’m sick to death of operating blindly. Michel thinks I should obey him based on trust but he’s done nothing but lie to me from the start. Why should I obey you, help you, when you won’t tell me the truth either?”
“Oh, Eve,” he says with an exasperated sigh. “So dramatic… This is war, and in war, there’s such a thing as chain of command and need to know. I’d have thought Julien would have explained this to you by now.”