They couldn't tell an outright lie. They were capable of trickery, but they preferred a sporting challenge. They never hid their true natures when in their own realm. If you knew the type of fey you were faced with, then you had a pretty good idea of what that fey would do. How they would act. Their society was built on balance. You could owe a member of their Court a debt in several ways. Asking for a favour was an obvious. Receiving a gift without stipulating there would be no need for repayment another. And to my horror, receiving answers to questions was a third.
I had asked Sora hundreds of questions over those first five days. If there was an imbalance in debt between us, she didn't say. But, I began wording my questions very carefully after she divulged that little titbit.
Finally, perhaps the hardest for me to stop saying, was thank you. To thank a fey meant you were placing yourself in their debt. This whole debt thing was a pain in the butt. But it was structured. I'd give them that much. The Dökkálfa liked their rules. From experience I knew the Ljósálfar were a completely different character from their Darker kin.
I was quite sure, had I have spent this length of time with the Ljósálfar, I would not have lowered my guard so quickly. I tried not to with Sora. I tried not to identify with the Dark. I am Light. That's just what I am. I may not be able to touch my Light right now, due to Lutin's silver bracelet on my arm, but that didn't mean I wasn't still Light to the core. Didn't it?
I began to question if being cut off from my Light made me Darker. I'd always known that where there is Light there is always Dark and where there is Dark there is always Light. Maybe not touching my Light had let a little Dark into my soul. In any case, I was beginning to understand, hell even feel comfortable with, the Dökkálfa.
Of course my only interaction had been with the guards who were called hyrða and Sora, a fīfrildi. The rest I had become familiar with through books. I was quite sure in person they would appear less agreeable.
Still, I had started to feel at home in that room, despite my fervent desire for some alternative stimulation. Three rooms, well appointed and plush, were still a prison.
On the fifth evening of my captivity Sora had told me the Queen would no doubt be available for an interview the next day. I was nervous, but eager to be moving forward. I couldn't eat the supper she brought and had to bite my lip when she fussed in the bathroom before bed. In the end I shooed her away as gently as I could and finished my bath alone. I was just getting into my nightdress in the bathroom when the door to my chamber unlocked.
“Did you forget something, Sora?” I called out and picked up my hairbrush from the counter. She didn't reply.
I started brushing my hair as I walked toward the bedroom. The sound of the door clicking shut and locked again met me as I stepped from the stone floor of the bathroom onto one of the rugs in the main area.
“I told you not to fuss. I can get myself to bed tonight.” She really did take her responsibilities to me too seriously.
I glanced up expecting to see a contrite butterfly, but instead was faced with something else.
For a moment the world simply stopped revolving. Blue eyes met mine, a swirl of indigo and amethyst starting to seep into their depths.
“No,” I said in a whisper. I shook my head, realised I'd started panting and hurled the brush in my hand at the man who stood inside my room.
In lightning quick reflexes his hand shot out and caught the brush before it hit his face. Then as though that action had caused him unbearable pain, he slumped against the chair he had been leaning on and groaned.
All thought that this was a trick; a cruel and unbelievably evil ploy to disarm me, was lost from my mind and I ran the few paces needed to reach my kindred and wrapped my arms around him, smothering him in kisses.
“Ma douce,” he said on a moan, his hand coming up to touch my face.
Oh Goddess, help me. I so wanted this to be true.
Chapter 16
Michel and Me
He was sick. I thought perhaps he was dying. His skin was so pale and mottled, bluish tinges all over what flesh I could see. His face, a shadow of what it used to be like, skeletal almost. And he was feverish. Shivering, teeth chattering, body quaking cold. But, he was real.
I didn't have a chance to comprehend that thought before he demanded, in a weak voice, “Bathroom. Sick.”
I've never seen a vampire vomit. They don't eat. They only consume liquids. Michel drinks wine and whiskey occasionally, but he needs blood to survive. I helped him to the bathroom just in the nick of time. He managed to aim for a sink, vomiting red liquid, thick and viscous. Lots and lots of blood. Too much for what should have been inside him.
After several minutes he leant back, eyes closed and breathed deeply. Blood ran down his chin and all over his once white shirt. I grabbed a wet cloth and tried not think about how bad he actually looked and started to wipe his face and chin and neck clean. I didn't say anything. Words just simply would not form on my tongue. I think I was acting on autopilot. Deal with what is front of me, here and now. Worry about the impossibilities later. Act now, think later.
I stripped his shirt off and fought back a gasp at the sight of his bare back. He had whip-like streaks of broken flesh criss-crossing his entire upper torso on his back. They should have healed, unless they were inflicted using fey silver, or he was too weak to start healing on his own. I was guessing this was a combination of both. When I turned him around to slip the last of his shirt off his left arm I noticed what I had missed before. Michel no longer wore my Sigillum. My mark of possession. He had two of mine, a dancing dragon over his chest, covering his heart right up to his neck. And a hand print on his butt cheek. Both were brightly coloured; like tattoos, surrounded by ribbons and twirls. They were beautiful. But more importantly, they were my gift to him. I still wear four of his, one also has my tattoo-like marks around it on my neck. It's not hard to miss. But, I guess, being brought back to life in Álfheimr didn't cover Sigillums.
I stifled my sob as I left him briefly to run a bath, then helped him strip everything off and get into the warm liquid. Not too hot to raise his already soaring temperature, but not so cold that he would freeze. I'd address his lack of my Sigillums when I had access to my Light again. Because, I knew without a doubt, I would mark him again. My hand itched to let my Light free. I also knew he needed my blood urgently, but right now it was all I could do to clean the caked on blood that covered most of his body. I was barely functioning, my mind a tumbling mess, my emotions threatening to engulf me, stopping to offer a vein right now seemed impossible.
Having something to focus on helped though. So many questions were swilling around in my head I couldn't think straight. But every time I gently sponged a section of his body, he'd react with a grimace of pain, making me focus and stopping the words tumbling through my mind. Almost every bare spot of flesh was marked. Red welts and open wounds. So many injuries, some bruises yellowing out from age. Perhaps several days old. It was hard to tell what time-line I was dealing with, Michel wasn't healing exactly how he normally would.
It was harder getting him out of the bath than into it. But, after several attempts I had him dried off and lying in bed. Now I understood why he had always placed me in bed naked when I was unconscious. It was just too damn hard to contemplate getting him dressed. He fell asleep as soon as I covered him with a sheet and then I allowed myself to cry.
I climbed onto the bed beside him and lay my head down on the mattress cradling him, and sobbed. I cried for the state he was in. So much pain, so weak, so ill. I cried for the fact that he was alive and not dead. My head and heart had still been battling with that knowledge, but I had made progress. I had begun to let go. And now he was back and I couldn't even comprehend how to deal with that fact.
I sobbed for the mistakes I had made in his absence. For the doubt I'd had that he still lived. Even when he visited me in my dreams or spoke to me in my mind, I had doubted. Even when Alerac had talked of a vampire I had
refused to believe. I had lost faith in Michel, when he had said he would always come back to me. I had stopped believing he would.
I cried great heaving sobs of anguish at my time spent with Avery, of how close I had let the other vampire come. And then, because one thing always leads to another, I allowed myself to consider the kvángask, the sharing of Light, as something I should not have entertained. If Michel had been alive, if I had thought him alive, would I have allowed myself to share my Light? I thought not, so I grieved over what I had done with Lutin. Until that moment I had not considered the sharing of my Light as unfaithful. Now though, I was not so sure and my guilt crashed into me with such force I couldn't breathe through the sobs.
Guilt. Betrayal. Loss. Doubt. Confusion. Heartache. Panic. And finally, after what had to have been hours, hope. Was he really lying here in the bed beside me? Was this shadow of a man before me Michel? My hand slipped into his, cradling the cold limb tenderly. What had he been through since leaving our realm? How was he still alive when I had seen him die?
At the time of his death I'd had a brief hope that he had survived. Had been spirited away to Álfheimr. Moments before his sire, Amicus, had swung his sword, Michel had been holding a fey amulet, the taufr. A talisman that cheated death. But when Avery had found the taufr in amongst the dust that I thought had been both Michel and Amicus, all hope was lost. Michel had to have been holding it when he met the final death. So, how had he still been called to Álfheimr?
I dozed on and off for the duration of the night. Michel didn't stir. No breaths. No heartbeats. Just that preternatural stillness the vampires can do. I hoped against hope that it was a healing trance and that he would come back to me. Again.
By about five or six in the morning, I'd had enough of waiting. I needed to do more. I contemplated getting a guard to call for Sora. The little butterfly might have an idea of what to do. But, a part of me did not want to ask for a favour. Not from the same creatures who had done this to Michel. And here I had been starting to identify with them. Was that a fucked up Stockholm Syndrome or what?
I didn't have a knife to use. All possible implements that could be used as weapons had been kept from the room, but I had hidden my quasi stake from Sora. I pulled it out of its hiding place and ran my thumb over the tip. It was as sharp as a stone honed piece of wood could be. But, I knew this would hurt. Gritting my teeth, I dug the tip of the stake into my flesh at my wrist until I hit blood.
As the blood began to drip down my arm I rolled it over and held the wrist above Michel's mouth. I'd been here many times before and I was well aware of how dangerous this was. The main reason, if Michel did manage to latch on in his impaired state he could keep feeding until I was dry. Unable to stop himself. But, I held my make-shift stake in the other hand fully prepared to use it if need be. I wanted Michel healed, but I would not allow him to hurt me beyond repair.
Still, I'm tough. I can take a lot. But first, I needed to get him to swallow.
I tried talking to him, shaking him. I even tried to make him swallow by stroking his throat like I'd seen in the movies, but although my blood dripped inside his open mouth, he would not swallow. Finally, out of frustration, thinking that to feed a vampire needed their fangs down, I started to rub his incisors. Hoping a little encouragement would work. They looked normal. As in: humanly normal. Not too long or sharp, but I knew the actual fangs were behind. Hidden from everyday sight. But when needed, either due to hunger, lust or anger, they flicked out and elongated down.
The first few rubs did nothing, but then I started to find a pattern and stroked more than rubbed. One long motion after another. When his fangs did flick out I yelped. Even having seen them so often, it still makes that natural flight or fight response kick in. Vampires are just so wrong the human mind cannot help but feel the need to flee or fight back. Luckily I'm not the fleeing type. Besides, I'm not exactly human.
Clutching my wooden stake firmly in the hand that bled above his mouth, I used my free hand to stroke his fangs. Initially, I didn't notice a difference, maybe because it was happening ever so slightly and I was watching too closely to notice the change. But, when Michel took in his first breath for hours and a low moan seeped up from the back of his throat it gave me hope. I kept stroking, observing how his fangs were finally getting noticeably longer and then, quite unexpectedly, I noted that other parts of him were stirring too. It wasn't hard to miss with just a sheet over him. And if I was honest, it shouldn't have been a surprise at all. Feeding and sex have always gone hand in hand for a vampire. But, it did make me want to try the whole fang stroking thing out under better circumstances in the future, that was for sure.
I shook my head to distil those images from my mind and urged Michel to drink.
His eyes shot open; violet, amethyst and then magenta blazing through the blue. I saw a brief glimpse of his vampire, which had always appeared as a dragon to me. A familiar growl acknowledging my efforts, then it was gone. And Michel was back, latched on to my wrist and sucking.
He didn't break eye contact with me once. The whole time I knew he was aware and in control, but he drank deeply. Long pulls, barely doused in love and warmth, as though the effort required to change the sting of the bite to something more pleasurable was simply too much for him right then. It didn't bother me, I wanted to feel pain. For some reason I thought I deserved it.
After almost a minute, far longer than his usual feeds would take, Michel pulled his fangs out and licked the wound closed.
“You do not deserve pain,” he said in a slightly stronger voice than last night. “Never.”
“You can read my mind?” I asked, numbly.
“Only when you project or I am feeding from you.” He paused, reached out a hand to tuck a strand of my hair behind an ear, then added, “I heard your thoughts when I first walked in the room. This is not a trick. I am real. I am here.”
“You've no idea how much I've wanted to hear those words and now I don't know what to say or do,” I managed in one long breath out.
He just looked at me for a moment, searching my face. Maybe making sure it was exactly how he remembered it. I was certain I had changed. He must have been able to see it. I felt the change inside, surely it was noticeable on the outside too.
When he didn't say anything, a rather unusual thing for Michel, normally he would know exactly what to say to make things right, I took a deep breath in and asked the obvious. “How are you alive?”
He smiled weakly at me. “The Death Charm.” I looked at him for a moment, trying to understand the words, then it all come flooding back in.
When Michel had originally killed Amicus, his sire, it had not been the final death. Although at the time he believed it to be so. Amicus, however, was in possession of the taufr and so had traded his life in the mortal realm to one in Álfheimr. The portals between our worlds had been closed for some time already, apart from one which only worked one way. From Earth to Faerie. Amicus was spirited away and at the time Michel inadvertently opened a portal to the Dökkálfa. It was only temporary and opened only long enough for the Queen of the Dökkálfa to whisper in Michel's ear; that the time would come when he would be faced with his sire's death again, and the consequence would be that Michel would cause the release of the Dökkálfa from their prison and in turn they would take from him that which he prized most precious.
It didn't make much sense to him then, but when Amicus showed back up on the scene recently, Michel had been determined not to go near him, for fear of killing him again and starting that chain of events. It didn't go according to plan. Amicus was still Michel's sire and was able to call Michel to him. When he did, Michel fought him to save me. He killed his sire for a second time and activated the charm. We had thought it would mean I would be taken from him. Michel had always said I was his greatest treasure. But, the Fey being what they are, had given the charm a twist.
They had taken Michel not only from me, but from the life he had cherished. Master of the City, in
charge of a large and powerful line of vampires, joined and Bonded to the most powerful Nosferatin in the world. They had taken his strengths. It made complete sense. But, what I didn't get was why punish Michel when he had freed them all?
All these thoughts streamed through my head in lightning speed. Michel just lay there and watched me. I could see the pain of what had happened, what we had both experienced by being torn apart, in his eyes. I knew he wanted to pull me to him. I knew, but I don't know how I knew, because I could no longer feel him. I could no longer rely on the connection of the joining and in particular, of the Bond, to tell me what he felt. But still, I knew him. And one look at his face said it all.
“I thought you were dead,” I said pathetically. “For two months, I thought you were dead.”
“Two months,” he said and a slightly bitter smile graced his lips. “I have been here for ten. Almost a year.”
He lay back down on the pillows and stared at the ceiling for a while. I didn't know what to say to that. He'd been gone longer than I had been suffering without him. I'd always suspected that time in Álfheimr elapsed at a different speed to back at home. Sometimes I believe it is slower, but sometimes time passes quickly. When back in our realm it dawdles. I'd lived two months without him. He'd lived ten months without me.
He suddenly leaned over and kissed my lips. It was a simple kiss, nothing too heated, not even really romantic. Just a brush of his lips against mine and suddenly I was on fire for him. He inhaled deeply, a flash of amethyst crossed his eyes and then he swallowed obviously, before he went on in a slightly rougher voice. “There are a few things you need to know. The Death Charm was placed on me by Queen Sofiq. Some of the Fey have the ability to view the world on different planes. It can be a different dimension, completely different places, or in the case of Sofiq, different times. She could see in the instant that Amicus was killed the first time, that he would become her lover and confidant. But, she could also see that I would bring him the final death eventually, and take him from her. In that instant she wanted revenge.”
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