As Jonathan scowled at Eric, his aura sent icy tendrils of hostility slithering across the desk, but Eric’s annoyance had formed an angry barrier far too thick for anything to pass through. Surely, both had tired of having the same conversation over the last fourteen decades, but Jonathan usually appeared cool and taunting, not bitter and malevolent.
At last, Jonathan spoke. “The other night, I noticed your loneliness and boredom, and thought that perhaps you’ve finally tired of human behavior? After all, they’re never happy with what they have. Their lives are far too short for such persnicketiness. They bicker over miniscule details and then die without any real accomplishment, and you came to realize this when you had nothing tying you to this place. Once again, you have started to evolve higher than them. Have you accepted that?”
Eric stared at a spot on his desk. He could not deny some truth to Jonathan’s observation, even though he refused to believe that he had lost his humanity since Andrew’s death. His soul and human heart had set him apart from the rest of his kind from the beginning. His vampire blood may have influenced and changed his original character, but he had inexplicably retained his ability to love, something Jonathan and his race lacked.
Created in opposition to God and the love bestowed upon His children, the Vampiric Nation lived outside the Realm of Man and outside of His grace. Even in the height of passion and lust, their most intimate moments were devoid of the one emotion vital to caring for others above themselves. They envied the lives of men, but also feared that love would constrain and weaken them. The warmest of emotions wielded too much control. It could make a human man sacrifice himself for love or kill for it.
While any vampire would willingly protect the elders with their lives, they would never make that sacrifice for anyone else. Honor and hope bound them all to a strict code, and their locked hearts did not permit interference from their emotions. Their own safety and the future of their race rose above all else, so they lived, died, and killed by empty sentiments and orders dictated by the High Council.
For all of Jonathan’s “interest” in Eric, he would never risk his life to save him. That kind of selflessness did not exist for Jonathan. His accomplishments benefited only himself or his nation.
To Eric, to feel such emptiness in his heart was unfathomable, and the thought of succumbing to it made him cringe. That fact alone reassured him of his humanity. He could never be the partner Jonathan desired nor accept the life Jonathan wanted for him.
“I’ve gained some perspective, but I will never be what you want or expect,” Eric finally responded in a quiet voice before meeting Jonathan’s eyes with tenacity in his. “Why are you asking this now? Did you learn nothing last night? You act as though you weren’t there—that I didn’t see the way you were with her and that you didn’t acknowledge what she does to me.”
Jonathan met his gaze with a face of stone. “You caught me in a moment of weakness. Don’t think it’ll ever happen again. Just know that one way or another, she will die, and with her death will come freedom from your self-inflicted prison since she is the last of the Hawthornes. With nothing else to bind you here, you will join me. I’m in no hurry—after all, I’ve shown that I’m more than willing to wait out your stubbornness. I merely wanted to see if you were ready to accept your destiny.”
“First, don’t delude yourself—you are not a soldier for my destiny,” Eric retorted. “Second, I have accepted that I am where I should be. And finally, if you’re truly in no hurry, then why are we having this conversation, again, right now, after you refused my offer last night? If she’s really going to die anyway, what does it matter to you if I go now or stay with her and go later?”
Jonathan regarded Eric with anger boiling in his eyes. His perception of time allowed for a level of patience implausible to humans, but it quickly tired when Eric refused to behave in a manner befitting his bloodline.
Eric leaned forward. “Or do you fear that you’re wrong? That she won’t die and you’ve lost me forever?”
The provocation was deliberate. Eric wanted Jonathan to know that his ability to manipulate Eric’s life was slipping away.
For once the one in control, Eric leaned in closer and growled, “If that is the case, then you will never lay a finger on her. Because if you try, I will kill you. Not even Lucien will stand in my way.”
Eric’s words deepened Jonathan’s scowl. He pushed off the desk and dropped his feet to the floor forcefully, not bothering to straighten his jacket as he stood and stalked to the door. Eric watched him go with narrowed eyes.
Jonathan only turned to glare at Eric once more as he spat, “Suit yourself.” He then threw the door open, slamming it back with enough force to knock the frames off the wall. Shoving his sunglasses onto his nose, he ignored Eric’s angry stare and stormed out.
Eric lowered back down into the chair and glowered at the vacant seat in front of him with darkening eyes. Jonathan had directed the brunt of his hostility at him, but he had not been the cause of it. Something—or, rather, someone—had changed the dynamics of the game, and the fact that only one being held that kind of power over Jonathan made Eric extremely apprehensive.
Chapter Eleven: The Whole Truth
W earing his shaded contacts in place of sunglasses, Eric approached the cottage dressed in charcoal gray trousers and an Egyptian cotton shirt in a muted shade of blue. His jacket occupied its usual spot in the backseat of his car, but he had opted to wear a tie. He fidgeted with his cuff links and attempted to organize the jumbled contents of his mind.
There was no logical explanation for Jonathan’s morning aggression. His anger would have made sense if Lucien had granted Paresh clemency without suspecting her of being the Servator. But that wasn’t the case, and, if Jonathan’s mantra was true, Lucien was never wrong, and he did suspect her. That would make her the Vampiric Nation’s most cherished being, their sacred mother, and the one to usher in their Second New Age. If Lucien deemed it so, no one could touch her—not even Jonathan.
Could such finality cause Jonathan to teeter between his loyalty to Lucien and his own selfish desires? Eric wondered. He wanted to believe Paresh was safe, but he knew too well never to assume anything when it came to his brother. Jonathan had a knack for getting what he wanted and he hated to lose.
Eric was almost at the cottage steps. His heart fluttered. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He felt like a hormone-ravaged teenager lost and fumbling before a beautiful girl, except it was worse than that. Her very essence destroyed his focus, a dangerous element when surrounded by threats. All that seemed to matter was being with her, holding her, loving her.
Just the anticipation of seeing her made his heart thump hard against his sternum. As he ascended the steps, the memory of their intimacy filled his mind. His breaths came quicker and closer together, and the world began to spin around him. He leaned one arm against the door and lowered his chin to his chest, closing his eyes and exhaling in an effort to collect himself. He was falling down a dark pit, accelerating faster with each passing second, unable to grab anything to slow his descent.
Footsteps and Paresh’s excited goodbye to Molly made him straighten. The door swung open and she stepped outside with a bashful smile, looking delicate in a cap sleeve blouse and floral-print linen skirt. Taking her hand in his, he whistled. She bit her lower lip and blushed.
“You look lovely.” He kissed the back of her hand.
“So do you.”
Within her appreciative gaze, he caught a glimmer of darkness. She must have noticed his expression change because she knitted her brow and asked, “Did your meeting with Walter not go well?”
“It was fine. I just had an unexpected visitor afterward. Forgive me if I’m not myself. I have a lot on my mind, but I won’t let it ruin our day.” He gave her a loving smile and put his arm around her waist. Pulling her close, he leaned in and whispered, “Thank you for last night.”
Heat rose to her face. He gave her a light squ
eeze and kissed her cheek, which sent her hand fluttering to her throat. A shy smile lit her face and she bit her lower lip again while stealing furtive glances at him. He grinned and released her, taking her hand in his as they strolled toward the carriage house.
They walked in silence. The critters milling about in adoration of her meant Jonathan wasn’t nearby. Eric wondered where he was. The situation felt very wrong. Jonathan had always obeyed Lucien and would never do anything to jeopardize his mission, but he had seemed so desperately angry.
Blowing out a heavy sigh, Eric squeezed Paresh’s hand, not wanting to let go of her, ever.
When they arrived at the car, he opened her door and then climbed into the driver’s seat. As he steered the car down the shadowed lane, he slid his fingers between hers and drove on autopilot, already replaying Jonathan’s visits in his mind. He was vaguely aware of Paresh glancing at him periodically.
Finally, he looked over and asked, “What happened this morning?”
Her gaze fell from sunny fields to the rock and tar road speeding by beneath them. “I had another nightmare with the cloaked man and dagger—only, this one was vivid and violent. And now I’m scared that I... that I might actually... meet him.”
Eric clenched the steering wheel tighter. The gaps Jonathan had filled in meant he could safely assume this wasn’t just a nightmare, even if it didn’t fit within the Servator narrative. The preternatural abilities of the vampire race included controlling the thoughts, actions, and dreams of the freshly bitten. Fledglings were weak upon reawakening, susceptible to captivation by the true blood of their bloodline and those at the top of the hierarchy until they developed enough strength to overcome it.
Jonathan had used the twisted device in his previous games, but personal experience nagged at Eric. Retaining his soul had given him immunity from the start, so Paresh’s unique qualities should have behaved in a similar fashion. Finding out for sure would require him to take complete control of her mind and body, and he refused to wield that kind of power over her. Though not fully willing to discount Jonathan yet, he sensed that something else accounted for the phenomenon. After all, she was not a fledgling.
He forced a tender smile and caressed her hand with his thumb. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, which could cause nightmares. Dreams are generally expansions of memory, dredged up by the subconscious. You may have relived your experience at the tree because it upset you and stayed in your mind.”
After a moment of silence, she faced him with a spirited glint in her eye and a smile on her face. “Did you read that in a magazine, too?”
Shaking his head in awe, he said, “I’ve had a lot of time to read.” He eyed her, curiously. “How do you do that? You seemed so upset just seconds ago.”
She shrugged. “It’s you. Everything falls into place when I’m with you and nothing else matters.” Her tone started out gentle and matter of fact, but then became as quiet as a whisper. “Don’t you feel it, too?”
He nodded. “Yeah... I do.” He gave her an affectionate look and brought her hand up for a kiss. “We’re here.” He released her hand and turned into the Cemetery of Eternal Hope.
Nestled between fields of soybeans and almost head high corn stalks, and shielded on three sides by tall evergreen cones, the cemetery occupied several acres of land just outside of Orison Crossing. A single hawthorn tree guarded the entrance next to the remains of a crumbled brick column. Gated at one time, the entrance now stood open, and the wide, rocky path narrowed to one meandering lane the farther in it stretched. Elms and white pines dotted the area, towering overhead and offering shady spots in which to hide from the sun.
Eric bypassed the oldest section of aged and weatherworn marble markers and drove toward the rear, where rows of etched and carved granite headstones marked the newer graves. Flags, plastic or silken flowers, and wreaths adorned many of the stones, while roses, daylilies, and peony bushes grew around others.
Eric stopped in front of a nearly black headstone and scanned the area as he stepped from the car. Satisfied that they were safe, he circled around to open Paresh’s door.
HAWTHORNE
The granite name held her transfixed as she slowly stepped out. An elegant rose bush embraced the marker with thorny arms and snow-white fingers, and two cardinals contemplated her with cocked heads from atop the stone. The very presence of the scarlet male and muted female allowed Eric to relax. The moment they sensed Jonathan’s aura, their fear would betray him.
Paresh knelt before the gravestone. She reached forward as if to trace the intertwined wedding rings engraved between her parents’ names, yet hesitated before touching the surface. When her fingers made contact, she read in a soft voice, “Andrew Michael. Beloved husband, father, and friend. Born March 4, 1956.
“Felicia Elizabeth. Beloved wife, mother, and friend. Born September 30, 1957.
“Entered wedded bliss July 24, 1976. Found eternal peace August 4, 1996.
“May you both find lasting happiness and the love of God with Jesus Christ in Heaven.”
She bowed her head and let her fingers slide down the stone. Eric crossed his arms and leaned against the car, quelling the desire to hold her and erase her pain. This was Paresh’s time, her private reunion with her parents. He had seen them many times over the years. She had not.
For a long while neither moved. Eventually, Paresh’s shoulders began to tremble and tears dripped from her cheeks to the soil. Eric stepped forward with tissues in hand. Jonathan’s confession about the crash had ruptured his own grief, but that did not matter here—this was her moment and she needed his strength.
Eric knelt beside her. After blowing her nose, she leaned into him and rested her head against his chest. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, staring at the ground with a mind finally empty of thought.
The day was comfortable, the sky a bright, cloudless blue, the air full of stillness. Not a tree branch swayed, not a blade of grass twittered. Even the cardinals stood as though cemented on the headstone. The organic became the inanimate, frozen in time for a moment to speak with the dead.
They remained there for a long time. Finally, she sniffed and pulled away from him. She kissed her fingers and pressed them against the cold stone, lingering there before sighing and dropping her arm. He brushed tear-stained strands of hair away from her face and peered at her with a sympathetic gaze.
With puffy eyes and red cheeks, she glanced up at him. “I missed them so much, for so long. Is it bad that I want to stop grieving and let them rest?”
He shook his head. “No, not at all. They would want you to live your life without holding you back.”
“How did you do that without feeling guilty?” she asked, sitting up and wiping her nose.
He sighed. “I don’t know that I did. I poured my energy into finding you and came here to talk to them almost every week. But life doesn’t stop, even during a crisis. Eventually, I had to move on, but I didn’t feel guilty for that. I blamed myself for failing you. I never gave up on you.”
She stared at him without responding. Then she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and almost knocked him off balance. Her body was warm against his as he caught her and embraced her gently.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I will stand by your side, always. I promise.” He reiterated the vow not only for her, but also for Andrew and Felicia as he gazed upon their names.
She looked into his eyes before kissing his lips. Eric’s heart ached at the thought of ever letting her go. He lost himself in the moment, forgetting where they were for just an instant.
Upon parting, she leaned back and contemplated him with a smile on her face. Her mood had once again rebounded despite the grief in her eyes. She gnawed her lip and glanced around the cemetery. “Most of my family is buried here, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He nodded, gently caressing her cheek. Taking a deep breath to quell the urge to kiss her again, he forced himself to refocus. An un
pleasant task awaited him. “They’ve used this cemetery as long as I’ve known them.”
“Do you visit the other graves often?”
“Not often, but I do visit some of them. Here, come with me.” Their feathered companions flew behind them as Eric took her hand and led her to another grave several rows away. A small American flag was planted in the ground and a crimson rose bush encompassed the white headstone.
“Senator Daniel Jeffrey Hawthorne and his beloved wife Sandra Lynn, 1935 to 1975,” read Paresh. “My grandparents! I remember coming here a few times every year with Mom and Dad. What happened to them?”
“An unfortunate accident. There was a fire at the mansion. They died of carbon monoxide poisoning before the fire department could get to them. Your mother lost her parents around that time, too. They’re buried up north, not far from Chicago,” he said. “Daniel’s mother and father, Lily and Joshua, are buried three rows back over there on the far edge. They died in early 1936, shortly after his birth—another fire. Let’s see...” He led her past several more rows and pointed to two headstones on the end. “Those belong to Joshua’s father and mother, Nathaniel and Elizabeth, and...”
Without surveying the plots, he led her into the old section near the entrance. Around them, many of the graves had meager markers buried in the ground, while others had headstones of varying sizes and shapes, from the traditional curved stones to towering pillars and carved marble tree stumps. All were aged and worn by time, some decrepit and long forgotten. He stopped before a row of lightly eroded, moss and lichen covered marble obelisks elevated by stone pedestals.
“As a humble man, the Colonel set aside a cluster of plots here so his Hawthornes could be buried together. The first set there belongs to Lucas and Rebecca. This one belongs to the Colonel and his first wife, Collette, who died during Lucinda’s childhood years before I met her. His second wife and your great-great-great-great grandmother, Emily, is buried next to her mother one row back. That leaves us with—” He stepped to the left and stood before a raised obelisk engraved with a lamb resting beneath a weeping willow. Their two followers perched upon the pointed stone tip as Eric introduced, “Lucinda and Darien Ravenscroft.”
The Arrival (Children of the Morning Star Book 1) Page 17