by Tes Hilaire
He shakes his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I can’t.”
I open my mouth to object but his sorrow smothers my voice like a wet blanket does a flame. He truly regrets that he can’t. Of course, I’m a big believer of the adage that you can do anything you put your mind to, but I know saying this won’t change how he feels and it’s his feelings that I wish to avoid now.
I don’t want to feel empathy for his pain. I don’t want to understand him. He’s the bastard who turned me. He, more so than the queen, is the one holding me here against my will. I’ll be damned if I start to go all Stockholmy Syndrome for him now.
At just that moment, the door bangs open. Four guards pour into the room, the queen bearing down after them with all the speed and power of a racing locomotive.
Oh crap, here we go again.
Raoul jumps in front of me, feet planted, arms spread wide. The queen’s eyes flare crimson, but she stops before him, her long-nailed hands planted on her generous hips.
“Mother.” He dips his head, but his tone is wary and the tense line of his back says he’s ready to, what? Leap at her throat? I think not.
“Out, Raoul. Eva and I need to speak, alone.”
“No.”
“No?” A well-crafted brow flies up.
“You don’t have my permission to speak to her alone.”
“Your permission…” The queen laughs, the fake tumble running like scorpions down my spine. “Since when do we need your permission to speak to one of our subjects?”
Raoul’s jaw tenses, his only emotion. “I turned her. And now I claim her.”
The queen went frosty still, “You can’t claim her. You are not ruler of this hive. Everything, everyone within it is under my control.”
“Not my wife. Vampire law makes me responsible for my wife.”
The queen draws in a sharp breath, her back ramrod straight as she glares at Raoul. “And you know that same law makes a husband responsible for her actions. Her actions would reflect upon you. Her wrongs, your wrongs. Her punishments, yours. Are you willing to take that on?”
I suck in a breath. He glances over his shoulder at me. I shake my head. He just smiles and looks back to his mother. “Yes.”
What is the fool doing? First off, he’s a complete idiot if he thinks I’d ever agree to be his wife and secondly, I don’t need anyone to take on my punishments. Well, okay, maybe I’d let him take on those. But the first bit still stands.
The queen’s mouth thins, and despite the lack of any sort of blood bond, I can feel the palpable anger in the air. Not good. This is so not good.
“So be it. Guards, watch her.”
“And him, your majesty?”
She turns back to Raoul, a cruel smile upon her face. “Leave my son to me.”
39.
Whatever went down with Mommy Dearest, I guess it wasn’t so bad. Raoul is back less than an hour later trying to pamper me. I’d managed to wash up and get into my sweats before then, but I am in no mood for company. I want to be alone. I need to think.
More importantly, I need to get away from Raoul and his absolute devotion to seeing me healed and happy.
He is seriously messing with my mojo.
I slap his hand, and the offending brush away again. “I’ve already brushed my hair.”
“It’s sticking out every which way,” he snaps defensively, but he sets the brush down before plopping into the armchair flanking my own. I’d curled up into the chair earlier. Tired after performing the simple tasks of bathing and getting dressed, but unwilling to retreat to the bed. At least here I can look out the window.
“What possessed you to cut your hair off?”
I blink over at him. Uh, you.
Raoul had loved my long hair. Loved stroking it, loved sinking his fingers into it when he’d kissed me. Whenever I’d had to yank a comb through the tangled locks, I’d thought of his hands in my hair. Not the memory I wanted when I was running from the hive.
He sighs. “Never mind.”
We sit in silence. I try some deep breathing exercises to try and relax. They don’t work. Maybe because I have no idea what I’m doing. Regardless, I can’t seem to fend off Raoul’s turbulent emotions. Agitated, anxious, with little flashes of eagerness mixed in. I suppose I could ask him what’s up, but truth is I really don’t want to know. All I can say is that if it involves a white dress, he should be anxious. No punishment his mother could ever dole out will compare to my wrath then.
“It’s going to be a beautiful night,” Raoul says, his fingers tap dancing over the arm of the chair.
I glance outside. Dusk has settled and the first star is trying to peek through. Another hour and it will be like a planetarium out there.
“Was your bath to your liking?”
I fold my hands on my lap. Try another bit of deep breathing. Raoul is not purposely trying to annoy me. “Yes, thank you.”
He smiles, dimple creasing. “I tried to get the proper soaps but I wasn’t sure if I did. I was going on scents and the choices were limited.”
“They were fine.”
His megawatt smile dims a bit on the word fine. I feel the sharp jab of disappointment.
I sigh. The guy saved my life. Even if he did kill me first. “Raoul. The soaps were fine. The view is beautiful. I’m just not up to appreciating either right now. I’m tired and sore and all I want is—”
I am interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Raoul leaps up, uttering a sharp “hold that thought” and crosses the room.
I pull my legs up onto the chair, trying to pretend relaxation. Is the queen demanding another audience?
I gnaw my lip as Raoul cracks the door open. He listens to the low whisper of whoever is outside, nods, and then closes the door. I half expect the queen to barge in again, but Raoul calmly walks back over.
He kneels down in front of me. Takes my hand.
Oh no. No no no no.
And smiles.
“Raoul, don—”
“How would you like to get out of here?”
My protest slips back down my throat. Out of here? Uh, duh. Of course I want to get out of here. I’m sure that’s not exactly what he means, but even if it’s just for a bit of fresh air I’m game.
Either I show my eagerness on my face or it slips through the shield of indifference I’d been working on, because Raoul chuckles, standing back up. “Come on then.”
My first steps are tentative and stumbling. Raoul shifts an arm around my waist, urging me to use him as support. I hate the fact that I have to lean into him, but it’s not enough to dampen my mood. I’m going outside. Outside is one step closer to freedom.
Oh, I have no visions of escape this night. I’m way too weak for that. But perhaps this will be the start of a trend. A nightly walk will be the perfect excuse to check out the current defenses around the hive, and when the time is right…
Realizing that I’m becoming too excited and that Raoul must be picking up on it, I concentrate instead on the throbbing ache that runs down my spine with every step we take down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Raoul asks.
“I’m achy still. No offense, Raoul. But I really hate your mom.”
He pulls me in closer, his hand tightening on my waist. “I hate her too, Eva.”
His voice is so low I almost don’t hear it, and I have to strain to hear the rest.
“For what she did to me, I hate her. For what she did to you? Well, know I will carve my revenge upon her flesh at the first opportunity.”
I blink at him, focusing not on the revenge bit but on the first thing he’d said. His words are the first hint that he is not altogether thrilled with his existence. That maybe his comfort in his eternally young body is more a comfort of necessity than a choice. It has me holding in a tight breath, not sure whether this possibility is something I even want to explore or not. I mean, after he’d done the same to me, would it really matter?
I open my mouth to question him on th
is inconsistency of his logic but he hushes me, turning me down another hall. My questions are forgotten the moment the fresh air hits my face. Freedom lies ahead. Or at least the tease of freedom.
He doesn’t have to carry me anymore. It’s as if that first breath of crisp night air infuses my lungs and refreshes me. I shrug off his arm and stride forward with new vigor, not following my dim memories of this place, but some baser instinct that says “this way.”
The hall opens into a large sitting room at the back of the house, wall-to-wall windows and French doors the focus of the seating arrangements. I weave around the first grouping, bee-lining for the door that’s standing open, the sheer curtains fluttering in the slight breeze. It’s not until I’m outside standing on the stone patio that I stop, drawing a deep breath into my lungs.
Scents infuse me. Pine, roses, dry desert air, and…
My eyes snap open, I twist my head to look at Raoul who’s come up behind me and stands an arm length away. He smiles, nodding his head.
“How?”
“I ordered one to be found and brought back. Of course, that was before my mother had her little chat with you. I guess it worked out though, as it just arrived this evening.”
I am not sure if I’m grateful or angry. If Raoul let me go, I’d be able to hunt my own zombies, but right now, with the throbbing heartbeat of the zombie drawing me like a lure, I can’t help but be glad he’d been considerate enough to find this one for me.
He points with his chin toward the pines and shrubs that grow like a wall around the other side of the garden. “Go ahead, Eva. It’s all yours. No one will interfere.”
As if I needed any encouragement. Aches forgotten, I slink into full hunter mode. Instinctively, I reach for my knife at my thigh before I remember I don’t have it. No matter. I don’t need it anyway. Just my fangs.
It’s not hard to track my prey down. It’s bumbling around in the brush, trying to reach me actually. Guess Raoul was right. No one is going to interfere. No one is out here to interfere. Otherwise the zombie would be after them as well. The possibilities in that are endless, but not until after I’ve had my dinner.
I can already taste its blood.
The zombie lunges out of the bushes in front of me, mouth yawning. This one isn’t even that decayed. Amazing. I don’t bother to skirt out of the way, just go head to head with it, my hands locking on its outstretched arms, my lips curled back in a parody of its open-mouthed attack.
And then I have its neck beneath my teeth.
I drink. Long pulls. The warm blood running down my throat so fast I wonder if it’s possible to drown in it. The blood hits my cramped stomach. A shudder of pleasure rips through my body as I suck down more.
Perfect. Can’t get enough.
“Eva.”
Need more.
“Eva, enough.”
Hands close over my shoulders. I pull my mouth away long enough to hiss and then lunge back at my prey, ripping back into the gaping hole at its throat.
“Eva!” Raoul’s annoyance is like a sharp slap across the face. I flinch, which must be what allows him to yank me off.
I spin on him, fingers curled like claws, fangs snapping.
“Stop that.”
His command, delivered in such a calm, cool manner has me dropping my hands into fists by my side and my mouth puckering into a pout. “Why did you stop me?”
He chuckles. “Zombie’s aren’t that easy to come by in Arizona. I figured you’d want to save some for later.”
My gaze drops down to the zombie. It’s alive, barely. Its moans ripping painfully through the gaping wound in its throat as it tries unsuccessfully to rise.
Save some for later. As if the zombie were a plate of leftovers to be reheated. Or a lamb to be called on whenever I thirst. Have I really been reduced to this?
My legs slip out from under me. Alarm flashes across Raoul’s face as he lunges forward to grab a hold of me. I don’t fight, letting him pull me against his chest.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, smearing my tears into his pressed shirt.
I’d fight the tears, fight him, if I had any energy left. But all I have is nothing. Sometime between then and now I’ve lost myself. The question is, when was then? When did I completely lose me?
“Darling, Eva, what’s wrong?” Raoul’s hand is soothing as it strokes up and down my back. I remember that, how I used to feel so safe in his arms. Cherished. Loved. I’d thought it a falsehood. Maybe it wasn’t. What is false is this me. I’m no longer the girl he fell in love with. This me is so bottled up with hate and anger that I can’t see through the glass. Need to let it go.
I sniffle back the next round of tears, wiggling out of Raoul’s hold. “I’m okay.”
The premature furrow is back in Raoul’s brow but he nods. He raises his hand, snaps his fingers. Almost immediately a pair of his guards are there subduing the zombie that has managed to get its knees under him.
I watch numbly as they drag it away toward the back of the mansion. There are tons of outbuildings. Garages, sheds. I don’t doubt there is a cage in one of them with the zombie’s name on it. Just like the rest of the hives’ cattle.
I become aware of the fact that Raoul is still studying me. No doubt trying to figure out why I’m not bouncing with joy after having “hunted” down my first real meal in over a week.
“I thought this would please you,” he says, confirming my suspicion.
I take a deep breath, tipping my head back to look into the sky. How can I explain this? Perhaps the better question is why do I care to explain it?
No matter what else, Eva girl. Hold true to your humanity.
That’s right. And I’ve lost my humanity. Well, here is my first stab at getting it back. I rack my brain and come up with nothing. It’s as I’m naming off the various constellations in my head that an idea forms.
I turn my attention back to Raoul. He’s waiting patiently, if a bit anxiously.
“The wolf you said you rehabilitated, was that true?”
His brow creases, as if fishing through memories, but then he nods tentatively.
“What did you do with it when it was all healed?”
“I set it free.”
“Why?”
His brow knits in confusion. “It wouldn’t have survived in captivity. It needs to hunt, to roam.”
I lay a hand on his arm. “The only way I can survive doing this…” I reach up, wipe the blood from my chin and show him the glistening liquid “…is if I’m hunting.”
“You just—”
“And not in a caged-in arena.”
His eyes narrow, his mouth drawing into a tight line. “Fine. Then we shall hunt. I have no attachment to this place. We’ll roam like a pair of wolves and hunt down our meals.”
I shake my head. “I need it to be for a purpose.”
“A purpose?” I can feel his growing frustration. He begins to pace, two short steps left, spin, four to the right, spin. After a dizzying minute he rounds on me. “And your hunger, your survival, isn’t enough?”
“No. There has to be more.”
His hands fly. I instinctively cringe but all he does is grab his own hair and pull at it. I feel as much as see the flash of hurt that crosses his face when he sees me flinch. His hands drop. “I would never strike you, Eva.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just jumpy.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s still hurt. He plants his hands on his hips as he tips his head to look at the stars. I watch his eyes narrow, sense the tickle of confusion as he studies the speckled lights in the sky. He sighs, a bone deep kind of wariness settling in. “I will never understand you.”
“I know.”
He cants his head, gazing at me out of the corner of his eye. “I could, if you would bond with me fully.”
“Raoul…”
“I know. Too soon.”
Too soon would be never. I don’t say this though. I’ve already hurt him eno
ugh.
We stand there, at an impasse. When I can’t bear his writhing emotions anymore, I turn and start to walk into the forest. A hand clamps down on my shoulder, spinning me around.
“Where are you going?” Raoul’s alarm rakes across my nerves. And he would have me bond with him fully? Make this two-way, lookey-see how I’m feeling even more intimate? Insanity.
I have to breathe through my teeth for a moment before answering. “For a walk. I’m not ready to go back yet.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“Raoul. I need some space. I can’t…this…” I wave my hand helplessly between us. “It’s too much.”
“I beg to differ. I think it’s not enough.”
“Raoul.” I lift my chin, not defensively, but imploringly. “I can’t be me with you in my head all the time.”
He starts to say something, but then tips his head to the side, his emotions shifting from frustration to consideration. “I forget what it’s like. Being alone in one’s head. I remember craving that too.” He smiles. It’s forced, but I give him points for trying. “Have your walk, Eva. But don’t go beyond the natural borders. It’s my mother’s guards who maintain the perimeter.”
And his mother’s guards would kill me first, ask questions later. Got it.
He reaches out to touch my face. His fingers are like cool marble on my cheek. “Don’t worry. If you but need me, I’ll be there.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that is half of what I’m running from.
40.
I am not stupid enough to think I am getting out of here tonight. Still, a bit of recon is in order. After my little meal—okay, not so little—I’m in peak condition. Or at least on the way to it. I can feel my bones strengthening toward steel. My muscles are firm with strength. My nerves sing with energy. A lick of my lips and I know my flesh has healed too. No more bruises, no more scarred cuts. As long as I don’t do anything to earn another beating, I should be a hundred percent for at least a couple days.
I walk for what seems like hours, drifting neither here nor there, moving closer to the mansion, then winding my way back out to the boundaries. I avoid the sheds, not sure if I can stomach the scent of the zombie I’d torn into, and stay far from the servants’ housing unit. This is where the lambs are. I can still feel the girl’s presence like a tickle in the back of my mind and would really prefer not to be drawn in by her drifting thoughts.