The Arrival (Children of the Morning Star Book 1)

by Kastie Pavlik

  He spent a moment in thought before answering, “I understand.” Something in his voice made her lift her gaze. Heat smoldered in his eyes as he reached for her face and stroked her cheek gently. “I must admit to feeling a bit... conflicted, myself.”

  She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, each affectionate caress euphoric and heightening her alcohol induced vertigo. “Don’t leave me alone...” her voice faded as she felt the entire room move.

  “You don’t have to go home. Stay with me tonight.”

  “...such a considerate man,” she murmured distantly.

  “Well, I don’t know about that. Here, let me help you up.”

  Chapter Six: The Truth

  D arkness swallowed them when he closed the door. She stopped a few feet from the entryway, as though waiting for him to turn on a light, but even pitch-blackness could not veil his sight.

  He slid his jacket from her shoulders and threw it aside, and then stood behind her, painfully close, his aroused body aching for her. Throughout dinner, her essence had intoxicated him, lowering his inhibition and reducing his self-control.

  She possessed an aura unlike any he had experienced from a human—viscous but soft, and tied to her emotions with a powerful will of its own—much like his. As the wine had affected her body, it had loosened her subconscious hold on her spiritual energy. Her desire had stroked him all evening long and it was driving him mad.

  Just as her innocence and purity drew the creatures of the forest to her, so did it call to the beast chained deep within him. His aura hungrily devoured every drop of hers as a war raged between his logic and his lust. Until now, logic had won, but his resolve was waning.

  He never should have brought her home.

  He had already lost.

  He pressed against her, sliding his fingers lightly down the undersides of her arms to fold them across her chest. He pulled her closer, feeling her heart thumping wildly. She moaned and leaned into him, shattering his control.

  A smoldering thirst swelled inside him. An unnatural sensation prickled his teeth as he lowered his mouth within inches of the delicate curve of her neck, lingering there, savoring her scent, his breath hot on her skin. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, revealing the pulse in her throat.

  He tenderly kissed her there, the heat of her skin warming his lips. Maddening ripples of pleasure threatened to loosen the bloodthirsty animal hiding in wait.

  Fire flared in his chest as a muted ache spread through his cheekbones and upper jaw. He opened his eyes, shivering and staring desperately ahead, clenching his teeth and fighting against his instinctual urges. He wanted to push her away but the beast wanted to pull her closer.

  Pressure mounted behind his canines. As his lower jaw elongated, he flicked his tongue over his growing teeth, breathing faster against her throat. She moaned again, freeing a hand to grasp the back of his neck. He slid his palm down her gown, low on her belly, holding her tightly against him. His teeth fully extended now, he licked her throat with the tip of his tongue and fought the urge to strike.

  A throaty, feminine growl stopped him. It spoke the language of the beast, drawing its attention and giving him a rare chance to gain control, and, as the fog of his lust lifted, his embrace relaxed and his lips parted from her neck. Fear prickled his spine when he saw the familiar expression on her face.

  In a raspy, beaten voice, he whispered, “Paresh, I need to tell you something.”

  He left her sitting on his couch under the guise of getting her a glass of water. Instead, he headed for his bedroom to quell his own thirst first. In his closet sat a compact refrigerator that resembled a mission-style wine chest. The shelves within were lined with silicone blood bags. He grabbed one along with a glass from the ledge of crystal hanging above it.

  To pacify the beast and accelerate the return of his normal appearance, he drank fast. His augmented teeth clanked against the glass and made forming a seal with his lips difficult. Droplets of crimson stained the corners of his mouth and streamed down his jaw. He poured another glass, downing it just as quickly, and continued refilling until he emptied the bag.

  He slammed the glass onto the cabinet, shattering the base, enraged at the risk he’d taken. How the hell had she spawned such an uncontrollable, desire-driven bloodlust? If not for that growl, he would have gone over the edge and succumbed to his lethal urges. How had he allowed even a chance for that to happen?

  Gripping the chest with tightening fists, his muscles went taut like an over tightened tension wire. He ground his teeth, staring into the darkness but seeing the past—a pale little girl who never got sick, frolicking in the sunlight with fawns and coyote pups.

  Suddenly Jonathan appeared in the shadows wearing that wicked grin of his and Eric snapped his eyes shut. The cabinet creaked and groaned under the weight of his silent scream.

  That had never happened, but it was reality now. All he had ever wanted was for her to live an ordinary life, but the signs had finally appeared and the High Council had clearly noticed. If deemed a threat, the elders would order her death, and he would be powerless against them.

  He ripped off his soiled shirt and tossed it into the biohazard chest beside the cooler, a consideration for Molly, who saw to his laundry, and shook his head at the thought of Jonathan finally forcing him to play his part in the game.

  “Bastard.” It strained thick and raw between his teeth as he ran a hand through his hair. He wanted nothing more than to hunt his brother down, but instead, he took in deep, calming breaths, and then washed up, removing his contacts and donning a fresh white t-shirt before returning to the living room, water in hand.

  Her hair snaked loosely around her shoulders, but she otherwise remained as he had left her, sitting straight up with her hands folded in her lap, her calm façade betrayed by her wild pulse. His heart sank like a stone. He had frightened her and then left her alone in the dark.

  Feeling doomed to fail her, he sat beside her and placed the glass in her hands. She blindly turned toward him, asking what was wrong and if he’d turn on a light. He swallowed his guilt. Even a dim lamp would painfully blast his eyes, which, in their current state, were scarier than the fangs poking between his lips.

  “Drink this,” he said, his voice rough and deep. “I took out my contacts... the light—”

  “Darien, what’s going on?” Her uncertainty quivered in the shadow of that strong, unnatural growl.

  He sighed out his own uncertainty and bolstered his faith that everything would work out in the end. “Paresh.”

  Taking her hand in his, he gently caressed her fingers with his thumb. “I’m sorry. Everything’s fine, I promise. But I haven’t told you the truth.”

  She sucked in a shaky breath and slowly released it.

  “Your parents and I meant to tell you this when you were old enough to understand... about me, but Fate stole our chance.”

  Her pulse calmed for just an instant. Then it spiked erratically. “Wait, if my parents had known Eric had a son, they would have tol—”

  “Paresh,” he interrupted, still stroking her fingers. “They knew me quite well. All I ask is that you listen. And if you want to leave afterward, I’ll take you home or call Sammy or Molly—or even Walter. Okay?”

  Blowing out a nervous sigh, Paresh nodded. He briefly wondered if she realized he shouldn’t be able to see her and then forced himself to open truth’s dreadful door.

  “My name is not Darien. I am Eric. I am the man you came to see, the man you remember, and the man who loved your father dearly. I am the man you’ve spent the entire evening with, the man who cares for you more than you know—nothing changes that.”

  Her hand went rigid.

  “W-what?” she sputtered. “But... how? Why... what?”

  “I’ve protected your family for generations, watching over them just like I did with you and your mother. I can only do that because I do not age or die. I’m... a vampire,” he revealed delicately, the words sound
ing so strange that he couldn’t fathom how they sounded to her.

  She laughed nervously and her heart jolted into a heavy gallop. She pulled her hand away. “I don’t know what this is—if it’s some weird lawyer joke or what—but I-I think... I want to go.” Her chest bobbed as fear grew into panic and she stood. “I... I...”

  She stumbled over the ottoman with a groan.

  “I... can’t... breathe...”

  Eric darted up and tried to catch her hand, but she jerked away. “No! You—”

  “Please! I’m not joking! Just listen—”

  “No! It’s not... tr—” She hit the door to the atrium and tugged on the handle.

  “Paresh, you’ve always felt safe with me.” Eric grabbed her hands before she could open the door. Her pained whimpers shot right into his chest. He loosened his grip. “I’m sorry... I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—”

  “No!” she screamed, ripping free. “Let me go! You said—you said I could go!”

  Tears stung Eric’s eyes. He clamped down on his jaw and grabbed her, holding her tightly against him with one arm while forcing her palm flat against his chest with his other hand. As she screamed and struggled to escape his unearthly grip, he choked into her ear, “The heart of this man breaks when you are in pain. The heart of this man broke when you were taken away. I broke, Paresh. Please give me a chance. Please remember me. I am Eric—your Eric.”

  Her body went limp and she cried heaving sobs against his chest with his shirt balled up in her fist. “My Eric.”

  He smoothed her hair and swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s me,” he whispered, uncaring of the tears dripping off his cheeks. “It’s just me.”

  She buried her face into a pocket of cotton between her hand and his chest. Her breaths were evening out, but her heart was still beating heavily... and pulsing against his body.

  If you were any kind of man, you would turn on the light, Eric thought, frustrated that the beast had honed in on the blood racing through her veins and locked him into his altered state.

  He gently loosened her fist and pried his shirt free, but she laid her head on his chest, so instead of reaching for the lamp, he brought her hand to his cheek, skimming her palm with a kiss he doubted she’d feel, and stood with her in the dark, silently listening to her heart as she listened to his.

  Eventually, her hand inched beneath his toward his mouth. He gently closed his hand around hers when she swept the tip of her index finger over his bottom lip toward an augmented canine.

  In a soft voice, he asked, “Do you have any cuts on your fingers?” When she shook her head, he continued, “It’s okay. Let me block the tip with my finger, and be very careful not to prick yourself.”

  He let go when she offered a partial nod. Examining his teeth on her own, she glided down the length of his canines, stopping as she reached his fingertip at each needle-sharp point. She drew in one last shaky breath and blew it out, dropping her hand back to his chest.

  The light, Eric silently reminded himself. “Do you... do you want to see me?”

  She nodded again, clutching his shirt.

  He rubbed her arms.

  “Please don’t be frightened.”

  He guided her to the lamp by the atrium door and placed the pull chain in her hand. “Leave it on as long as you wish.”

  The searing assault knocked him back, but he forced his eyes open through stabbing pain so she could see him, as he truly was—eyes dilated and bloodshot, with animalistic fangs. In less than a second, she pulled the chain again and plunged him back into a soothing ebony oasis.

  Temporarily blinded, he should have heard her footsteps, but she drew close without a sound, surprising him as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He held his breath as she rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart again for a while.

  “I trust you,” she whispered. “Eric, I want to know you.”

  He returned her embrace and bowed his head.

  “Thank you. Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. He held her like he’d never let go. He’d never felt this way with anyone, not even with Andrew. Not even with his wife. And when she tilted her face up, he wanted so badly to kiss her, but instead he wiped her tearstained cheeks dry.

  He sighed and guided her to the couch. “I have so much to tell you.”

  She sniffled and offered an earnest smile. “We have all night.”

  I want more than a night, he thought as he helped her find her water. Her fingers lingered on his before she accepted the glass.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He sat beside her, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat and beginning his tale.

  “I was born human in 1841 and orphaned in my teens. My mother died from tuberculosis when I was young and my father drowned his sorrows in many bottles before dying of heart failure when I was thirteen.

  “Life seemed cruel and pointless, but somehow Fate smiled on me. I met Thaddeus Hawthorne, the colonel in the painting at the office. He found me begging in the streets around the county courthouse and said that he had known my father. He took me in and gave me the kind of life I had only dreamed of. Overnight, I went from starving and homeless to eating like a king and living in a mansion.

  “I took a warm bath, slept in a real bed with clean sheets, and woke to brand new clothes and shoes without holes in them. He treated me like a member of his family and never made me feel like I owed him anything for it. He even provided a proper education, and his only child, Lucinda, tutored me.

  “She was gentle and kind, and pretty. She was a few years older than me, but we fell in love and, with her father’s blessing, we got married in 1860.

  “We had been married barely a year when the Civil War began. That fall, I joined the military and departed with Company I of the Illinois Cavalry, Tenth Regiment.

  “We rode through Missouri and into Arkansas. You wouldn’t believe the horrors we saw. Everyone was so divided and angry, even within my company men fought against their kin and wrestled with their beliefs.

  “Even so, I reenlisted when my three-year term expired. I didn’t see Lucinda again until February of 1864, when I returned home on a thirty-day furlough. That’s when she became pregnant, though neither of us knew it before my time was up.

  “I returned to Camp Butler and left Illinois again, eventually returning to Arkansas. It was there, on April 18, 1864, at a place known as Poison Spring, that the life I had known ended.

  “We were outside of Camden, running low on supplies and rationing what little we had left. The train with replenishments hadn’t arrived as scheduled, so Brigadier General Steele sent a foraging party out to raid the Confederacy’s corn supply. Infantry, cavalry, and artillery units left with nearly two hundred wagons and filled them with whatever they could find.

  “I rode out with reinforcements to rendezvous with them and ensure their safe return, but Confederate troops had seen the wagons and planned a merciless ambush.

  “I took two bullets in the chest early on and collapsed behind the wagon train as the rest of the men fought to hold some semblance of a line. Men yelled, artillery units fired, and guns blasted. Thick, acrid smoke stole my breath as I choked on my own blood, stuck in cold mud and lost in the chaos.

  “But then, the noise and haze shifted and quieted in the wake of a strange man, completely unfazed as he approached me. His eyes were the blackest things I’d ever seen, and for a moment, I forgot I was dying. He kneeled beside me and, with an odd smile, announced that I had finally lost my faith and had fallen from the flock.

  “I didn’t stop to think about who, or what, he was, because he was right. My mother was dead, my father had abandoned me long before he died, and then I had witnessed firsthand the evil of war. My faith had been little more than a string, and at that moment, when I had nothing left, it snapped. I had only believed in Lucinda and I was losing her, too. Why? Why I had lived at all?

  “The man’s face was pale. And
I was cold. So cold. I knew then that he was Death. Before he claimed me, he spoke, and he was so oddly calm about it. About offering a better life. A life outside the pettiness of man. He gave no guarantees and said that if I recovered, he would return for me.

  “I was half dead, nearing a nightmarish rift where Lucinda would be left all alone, so I agreed. He picked me up and carried me far from the fighting, and just as he set me down, I came to and witnessed his fangs bearing down on my throat. Death had turned into the Devil and I had made a deal with him.

  “When I awoke, the first thing I saw was the basin and pitcher set I gave to your parents on their wedding day. Someone was blotting my face with a moist towel—Lucinda.

  “She broke into tears the moment our eyes met. I was in shock, certain that I’d died, after all. She convinced me that I was, indeed, alive, and explained that I had mysteriously appeared in our bed the morning of April 19. Somehow, in one night, I had traveled over six hundred miles and arrived with barely a trace of any mortal wounds. For nearly six months, I’d lingered in a coma, suffering from fevers, cold sweats, and seizures. At that moment, though, I was tired, but felt fine.

  “Lucinda claimed that God had looked out for me, which seemed coldly ironic, and placed her hand over a small wooden cross she had strung around my neck. Even though I believed a demon had saved me, my second chance at life restored my faith, and that’s why I’m here now. My faith kept that man from collecting my debt.

  “I noticed differences in my body over the next few days. I was stronger than any man should be, and my vision, hearing, and sense of smell were extraordinary. Overexposure to sunlight resulted in ashy burns and blisters, and any bright light gave me severe eye pain. I vomited after every meal and found that just smelling garlic or raw onion was debilitating. I could only tolerate water and started to weaken.

  “Several evenings later, the cook was plucking a freshly decapitated chicken in the kitchen. The scent of its blood drove me into a rage. I dashed into the room, stole the carcass from her, and ran out the service door like an animal.