Blood Marriage

by Regina Richards

  Nicholas's eyes, still locked with hers, seemed to be asking her to trust him. But wasn't that what she'd been doing since their wedding night? Trusting him, believing in him, waiting for him to tell her in his own time and his own way what was going on?

  Bergen tapped Nicholas's shoulder. Nicholas dipped his head to Elizabeth and followed the doctor back in the direction of the wagon. Elizabeth sighed as she watched them go. Nicholas needn't worry she'd ask questions tonight. Not now, out here in the darkness. The terror of her last visit to Maidenstone was still too fresh in her mind. No, she wouldn't ask. She was too afraid of the answers.

  "Excuse me. I must prepare." Vlad bowed to Elizabeth and went to the castle wall. After shoving one end of the torch into a crevice, he pulled a satchel from the shadows and began removing things from it: a book, a shawl, a hat, and other items Elizabeth couldn't identify. Bergen and Nicholas returned carrying the barrels from the wagon. They lined them up on the wall of the stone oval, then began opening them and pouring the contents over the wood. Elizabeth backed away from the rank odor of blackfish oil and her foot struck the stretcher.

  A corner of the horse quilt had blown loose from the body, exposing one side of Grubner's head and face. Some part of her had expected him to look horrifying after being in the ground, even if only for part of a day. Instead he looked like a harmless old man sleeping peacefully beneath a warm quilt. Regret mingled with compassion. She bent down to pull the quilt back into place.

  And screamed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The terror in her scream sizzled through Nicholas's blood. The barrel of blackfish oil he'd held burst as it hit the ground. He reached her before the first scream ended. Elizabeth was on the ground, her knees braced against the edge of the stretcher, her free hand beating frantically at the dead fingers coiled around her upper arm.

  Blood gushed, dark and wet, where the corpse's nails pierced deep into her flesh. She screamed again -- the sound louder, more shrill -- and arched her back. The demon's swollen, purple tongue thrust out between razor-sharp teeth, straining to taste first blood as it dragged her toward its gaping mouth.

  Nicholas slammed his boot into the creature's face. It shrieked, but didn't let go. Bergen skidded into place behind Elizabeth, wrapping one arm around her waist and bracing his feet against the ground on either side of her. The doctor's other hand pounded and pried at the corpse's fingers. Nicholas kicked and stomped at the creature's face. He yanked the quilt from the body and hammered his fists into its stomach and chest. Beneath the ropes holding it to the stretcher the corpse wrenched and twitched, struggling to break loose of its bindings. Only the single arm was free, but the ropes at several points were fraying and snapping.

  "Hurry!" the doctor yelled over his shoulder at the priest. Vlad ran toward them like an avenging angel, his robes luminous white, a sword held high in his hand. Still yards away, his feet tangled in his robes. He fell, flinging the sword toward Nicholas as he went down. Moonlight glinted off its long blade as it tumbled through the air. Nicholas stomped his boot into the demon's stomach, snatched the sword out of the air and brought it down cleaving the monster's arm from its body. The swollen tongue retracted. The demon roared its rage, eyes burning red in their sockets.

  "Hurry! Get it to the fire!" Vlad yelled. The priest ran to the pyre, snatched up one of the remaining barrels of oil and began dumping it onto the wood, finishing the job Bergen and Nicholas had begun.

  Elizabeth's screams roared through Nicholas's soul, filling him with desperation. Bergen released her and raced to the head of the stretcher. She scrambled backwards across the yard, trying to flee the severed limb still latched to her arm. Nicholas dropped the sword and started after her.

  "There's no time!" Bergen caught him by the sleeve, nearly yanking him from his feet, dragging him back to the stretcher.

  The corpse heaved and twisted. Its stump gyrated wildly, slinging the thick fluid oozing from its severed flesh. More ropes snapped and released. A leg was free. Nicholas grabbed the end of the stretcher, ignoring the demon's vicious kicks. He and Bergen rushed the stretcher to the stone oval, slamming it into place on top of the wood.

  Father Vlad took his place at the head of the stone oval. His back ramrod straight, his feet planted in a wide stance, he opened his book. His eyes closed and his lips moved in silent prayer.

  Elizabeth had backed herself against the ruins of the kitchen wall. Above her head, the torch the priest had left wedged in a crevice burned red and yellow. Its flame shifted and flared in the night breeze, creating a bending, changing pool of light around her. She no longer screamed. Instead, she made whimpering sounds interspersed with mumbling pleas, while batting ineffectually at the dead thing still gripping her arm. Nicholas left Bergen dumping wave upon wave of oil over the thrashing corpse and ran toward her. Behind him Bergen shouted an alarm. Nicholas looked back in time to see another rope snap. The demon had freed its remaining arm.

  "Now! It must be now!" Bergen yelled as Nicholas reached Elizabeth.

  She looked up at him and her whimpering ceased. Violet eyes, filled with sudden hope and complete trust, met his. She reached out to him with her uninjured arm.

  "Nick!" Bergen yelled.

  The demon was struggling to sit up. Nicholas tore his eyes from that trusting violet gaze, feeling like his heart was being torn from his body. He ripped the torch from the crevice, catching a soul-searing glimpse of disbelief in her eyes as he turned his back on her and ran to the pyre. The high crooning sound of her pain and fear followed him, ringing in aching desolation through his heart.

  "Domine exaudi orationem meam." Father Vlad's voice boomed strong and clear, echoing off the walls of the castle and rumbling out to the surrounding forest. "Et clamor meus ad te veniat."

  Bergen tossed the last of the oil on the pyre. The creature's remaining arm clawed at the rope binding its waist and hips. The night wind began to pick up, moving in gusts and swirls about the stone oval. Vlad's words came louder, faster.

  "Domini, et apprehendas draconem, sepentem antiliquor, qui est diabolus et satanas, acligatum mittas in abyssum." The priest's robes and long white beard streamed behind him as he leaned into the blast of a sudden powerful wind. He held the book before him with both hands, but no longer read from it. The pages turned wildly. Raising an arm he made the sign of the cross. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

  As the priest shouted more prayers, Nicholas raced around the oval touching the torch to the top of each wood pattern, sending flames roaring skyward. They churned and twisted, forming unnatural shapes. Fire consumed flesh and the monster shrilled its rage. The last of the rope burned away and the demon reared up only to be forced down into the raging fire again as if by some unseen hand. The smells of burning oak and blackfish oil and the stench of sulfur rose on the night air. Nicholas tossed the torch onto the pyre and rushed back to Elizabeth.

  Bergen was there before him. The severed arm lay on the ground a few feet away.

  Elizabeth was shaking violently, her teeth rattling. Bergen's jacket covered her shoulders. His hands pressed hard against the wounds on her arm, but she appeared unaware of the men, her whole attention on the hideous limb on the ground, as if afraid it would attack again.

  "Get my bag from the wagon." Bergen took the cravat from his neck, coiled it around Elizabeth's arm and twisted it tight.

  The jacket slipped to the ground. Blood continued to flow in steady streams from the wounds despite the tourniquet. Elizabeth mumbled something, the words unintelligible through the chattering of her teeth. Nicholas reached out to set the jacket back in place. She recoiled from his touch, whimpering. Bergen brushed him aside and buttoned the jacket loosely over her slim shoulders.

  "Get my bag," Bergen said. "Now!"

  When Nicholas returned, Bergen showed him the right amount of pressure to apply to the tourniquet. But when Nicholas touched her, Elizabeth gasped, slapping in a frenzy at his hand. Bergen caught her by t
he shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes. She calmed.

  "Shock," Bergen said as he released her. The sympathy in that single word hurt. "Give her some time, Nick." Bergen opened the bag and laid out gaze, ointment, needle and thread and began treating the wound. Nicholas reached out to Elizabeth hoping to comfort her. As before she flinched away, beginning to shake and whimper again.

  "Better get that thing out of her sight." The doctor sounded weary. Again he forced Elizabeth to look into his eyes. Again she calmed.

  Nicholas took the arm and found the horse quilt. Both disappeared into the towering fire. The demon that had possessed Grubner's body had fled; the corpse no longer moved. The smell of burning flesh had been replaced by the smell of wood smoke. The wind had calmed, returning to a gentle night breeze, but the flames still burned so high and hot that Nicholas was forced to retreat.

  "...per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen." Vlad closed the book and came to stand beside Nicholas, his face and eyes red from the heat. Sweat glistened on his bald head; it beaded on his nose and forehead and ran down his cheeks.

  "She won't let me touch her," Nicholas said.

  "Give her time," the priest said, echoing Bergen's advice.

  "There is none. She's bleeding."

  "Let Sebastian handle it."

  "She's my wife. No other is going to touch her like that. Ever."

  "You haven't been honest with her have you, mea fiu? A mistake. She isn't like your mother. God rest Sarah's soul. She was a wonderful woman and loved you more than you will ever know, but she never understood the ways of the clans. It isn't an easy thing for an outsider to accept. But I think you do Elizabeth an injustice. She is not such a delicate creature as Sarah was, for all they went through much the same hardships. So much loss made your mother fragile, but that same type of loss has made your wife strong. I opposed this marriage, but I was wrong. Tell your wife the truth."

  "And if I do, and like my mother she chooses death over the vampire's bite? What then?"

  "Your mother had a right to her choice. So does your wife."

  "My mother is dead because of her choice. I'll not risk losing Elizabeth."

  "I will pray for you." The priest sighed. "Bergen and I will stay until nothing but ash remains. My trap and pony are at the edge of the woods. Take them. Take your wife home." Vlad squeezed his shoulder. Nicholas went back to Elizabeth.

  Her eyes were less wild. But when she looked at him, she quickly looked away again. Bergen had covered the wounds on her arm with a thick bandage of cotton wadding. Already it was saturated with blood. Bergen started to stand, but Elizabeth caught a fist full of his shirt.

  "Stay. Please," she pleaded.

  Nicholas took a deep breath. She wanted the doctor's protection, not his. He didn't blame her. She'd looked at him with such hope and he'd deserted her to light the fire. It was Bergen who'd returned to free her from the corpse that had clung to her; Bergen who'd rescued her.

  "I won't go far," the doctor promised, gently removing her hand from his shirt. Bergen and Nicholas moved several yards away.

  "It'll have to be tonight. And not on the neck. Those Bow Street fellows might find that too interesting," Bergen said.

  "And nowhere her maid might see it either," Nicholas agreed. "After all that's happened, we can't trust the servants to remain quiet."

  Bergen looked over at Elizabeth and then back at Nicholas. "I know she's your wife, Nick, but I don't think she's going to let you touch her. At least not for a while. She's badly shaken..." The doctor's voice trailed off. Nicholas's anger at what he knew Bergen was suggesting was tempered somewhat by the realization that the worldly doctor was actually embarrassed.

  "You're not going to bite my wife," Nicholas said.

  "It won't mean anything."

  "It's not going to happen. If you think she'll fight me, give her some of that potion you're always doling out."

  "I drugged the entire household tonight, Nick. There's none left. Well, a little at Heaven's Edge, but you can't take her back there before doing it. She'll lose too much blood."

  "She'll calm once we're alone," Nicholas said, hoping it was true. "I'm her husband. She's trusted me so far."

  "Not tonight. You're asking too much. She's in shock. You're a half-blood, Nick. I'm not. All it would take for me is some eye contact. She won't even remember...."

  "No!" Nicholas looked at Elizabeth. How could he let another man touch her, taste her sweet blood? And in a place intimate enough not to draw anyone's attention, even her own? He couldn't. And in his heart he didn't believe she'd want him to. "No, I'll take care of my own wife," he said quietly.

  Bergen sighed. "Don't take too long. And don't hurt--" Nicholas's jaw tightened and the doctor shrugged. "Perhaps it's as well. I've never changed transmutares mid-treatment." When Nicholas raised a brow, Bergen added with a mocking smile, "Not intentionally, anyway. There shouldn't be a problem, but I couldn't be certain."

  "I'm not willing to risk her," Nicholas said. He himself was the product of a treatment gone wrong. Murderously wrong.

  Bergen nodded. "I'll do what I can to ease things along."

  He went back to Elizabeth and pulled her gently to her feet. It hurt Nicholas to see how readily she put herself in another man's hands, trusting him. But he'd had no choice. He'd done what had to be done to destroy the demon while they still could. Now he would do what was necessary to save Elizabeth and worry about winning back her trust later. Nicholas took off his jacket and stepped behind Elizabeth, replacing Bergen's jacket with his own. She tried to move away, but the doctor took both her hands in his.

  "Look at me, Elizabeth. That's a good girl. I've got things I need to do now. I cannot stay with you. I want you to go with Nicholas. Do whatever he asks you to do. He will keep you safe. Do you understand?"

  Nicholas couldn't see Elizabeth's face, and he knew better than to look into the eyes of a master vampire like Sebastian when he was weaving a trance, but from the movement of her head Nicholas knew his wife was under Bergen's spell. The ability to mesmerize was one of many Nicholas had failed to receive when he'd been transformed so many years ago. He'd never felt the need for it before, but tonight, for Elizabeth's sake, he wished Lucretia had finished the task before she'd died.

  "You will sleep. Deeply. Without..." Sebastian no longer spoke English, but Romanian. Nicholas knew that was for his benefit. Having been raised by Vlad he was familiar with the language, but had to concentrate to understand it. He could block it out more easily, though the hypnotic pitch and tone of Sebastian's voice was harder to fight. He closed his mind to it and kept his attention on Elizabeth.

  When her knees gave way and she went limp, he caught her up in his arms and held her close, hoping the heat from his body would warm her. He left Sebastian and Vlad to their task and carried his sleeping wife around the castle and over the moat bridge to the edge of the forest. Vlad's pony, Princess, still hitched to her trap, shied nervously at the scent of blood as they passed the tree where she was tied.

  With no blanket and his jacket already wrapped around Elizabeth, Nicholas had no choice but to lay his unconscious wife on the bare ground. He chose a mossy patch beneath an oak. The cotton wadding over her wound was soaked beyond being of any practical use. Elizabeth's blood flowed in thin red streams from beneath it. The panic that Nicholas had been forcing down since he'd first realized the creature had seized her resurfaced, bringing with it a host of conflicting emotions -- rage, fear, desperation. Elizabeth was bleeding to death. She stirred and her eyes fluttered. Sebastian's trance was wearing off. He'd have to hurry. What must be done would be better done while she was still unconscious.

  Yet his hands hesitated at the hem of her skirt. She was his wife. So why did he feel like a stranger about to violate her privacy and dignity? But there was no choice. He would not allow her to bleed to death for modesty's sake. He pushed her skirts to her waist and pushed aside the lacy under things he'd selected for her in London just weeks ago.
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  Elizabeth moaned and her eyes opened briefly. Nicholas found her pulse at the point where hip and leg joined, avoiding the still healing wounds from their wedding night. The smell of her blood flowing fresh from her arm had been intoxicating. That sweet scent combined with the seductive rhythm of her pulse made the hunger rage within him.

  He threw back his head and let his jaw drop. His fangs stretched back the skin of his lips as they descended. The venom sac in the roof of his mouth swelled. Blood lust pounded through him, the ache to feed screamed through every inch of his body. She'd lost enough precious blood. He had to remain in control. His eyes sought her face hoping to gather strength and courage, to calm himself with that odd tenderness he was growing accustomed to feeling every time he looked at her.

  Her violet eyes were open, her mouth wide with the horror of a silent scream. His gut wrenched, but there was no time for pity. No time to calm and woo her. He reared back and closed his eyes against the knowledge she would forever remember him like this, a monster.

  But she would live. He sank his teeth deep into her sweet flesh.

  She fought him with what strength remained in her and he did nothing to defend himself, suffering her kicks and scratches without response or resistance, one arm pressed across her belly to hold that part of her still, the other on her leg, keeping it at the right angle to get the cleanest and deepest penetration possible.

  "No...please...no...no," she begged.

  His heart ached, but he concentrated on the task, on saving her, on resisting the urge to feed. Something hard slammed into his head with stunning force. A rock. How had she managed to get hold of a rock? He felt his own blood seep from a point close to his hairline, pool at his eyebrow, then slide down the side of his face. A minor injury, nothing more than an annoyance. Pride swelled within him. Another woman might have been paralyzed by fear, but Elizabeth attacked. The second time the rock descended it found his shoulder. Nicholas reached out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to release the rock, then trapping her hand at her belly. She tried to claw at him with her nails, but her strength was nothing when measured against his.