Blood Marriage

by Regina Richards

  "Lucretia died more than twenty years ago, Sebastian," Nicholas said. "But the diavol varcolac who stole her body is still out there. We'll have to find it, but Leo came first."

  Bergen stepped back to the roan that Vlad had ridden and mounted the horse. He held out a hand for the lead rope to the stable horse. Nicholas handed it to him.

  "Leo is visible. And human," the doctor said. "The goodness of the women, their prayers and songs, started the process. Vlad will take him the rest of the way. He'll be fine."

  "Good," Nicholas said, some of the tension easing out of his body. "Now, while we've got the lawmen singing hymns, let's go send a demon back to Hell." His arm tightened around Elizabeth, pulling her close against his chest once more.

  The stallion and the roan left the village at a brisk trot, the stable horse trailing in their wake. The ride through the forest to Maidenstone was uneventful. Though Nicholas kept a close watch on the forest around them and the sky above them, the only thing that disturbed the quiet of the woods was the sound of the horses' hooves hitting the ground and the occasional clink of chains made by the still struggling corpse.

  When they entered the clearing and Maidenstone rose before them in all her ghostly gray-stoned glory, Nicholas relaxed a little more. A faint light glowed from behind the closed shutters of the tower room, but otherwise the castle stood serene and silent beneath the waning moon. They crossed the moat and rode through the yard around the side of the castle, bringing the horses to a stop beside the oval pyre. The stallion neighed a greeting to the wagon horses that earlier had been released to graze on what they could find. The two shook their manes in acknowledgement.

  Nicholas dismounted and reached up for Elizabeth. She rested her hands on his shoulders and slid into his arms. He held her against his body, her feet suspended above the ground and, taking advantage of the fact the huge black horse blocked them from Bergen's view, touched his lips to hers. An electrifying rush of longing flashed through him. She must have felt it too, because she gasped against his mouth. He deepened the kiss, slowly lowering her body down his, raking her breasts lightly against the muscles of his chest. When her feet finally touched the ground, he bent her back slightly pressing himself into her. His senses reeled at the way her body molded so willingly to his, at the taste of feminine surrender on her lips.

  "Ahemmm."

  Nicholas opened one eye. Bergen's head appeared over the back of the stallion.

  "Sorry to interrupt, Nick, but we do have a demon to burn," the doctor said. "You can light that fire later, after we've lit this one." The doctor tilted his head toward the stone oval.

  Elizabeth was pushing at him, trying to move out of his embrace. Nicholas released her reluctantly and went to help Bergen lift the headless diavol from the horse and carry it to the pyre. His eyes kept returning to Elizabeth. His decision was made. She'd trusted him with her life tonight. He was ready to trust her with the truth, and respect her right to accept or refuse. But that discussion should happen at a more private place and time, preferably with her lying naked in his arms. It wouldn't be fair to use his body and her response to it to stack the odds in his favor, but he would.

  He and Bergen positioned the twitching corpse on the wooden patterns, removed the blankets, tossed them into the stone oval. Bergen retrieved the burlap sack, untied it and pulled out the head. The eyes were wild with anger and the mouth worked ferociously, the teeth gnashing and grinding.

  "Vlad should be here," Nicholas said.

  Bergen shrugged. "So the diavol won't get its official bon voyage. The gates of Hell won't fly open as it goes sailing in. I personally don't mind slamming the damn thing in the back door. Hell is hell, whether you arrive there in a golden carriage or on a turnip cart," Bergen said.

  "I'll light the fire," Elizabeth said, her face composed, her eyes steely.

  "Maybe it would be better you allowed me," Bergen said.

  "It stole my mother's body. I need to be the one who sends it back where it came from," Elizabeth said.

  "She's right," Nicholas agreed. "She needs to do this herself."

  Setting fire to her own mother would be difficult, but he understood Elizabeth's need to see this through to the finish. She needed to win against this demon, to reclaim her mother's dignity and her own sense of power and control. There was a long pause and all three looked around.

  One corner of Bergen's mouth cocked up. "Anyone remember to bring fire?"

  "Damn!" Nicholas said. One of them would have to go get a flame while the other guarded the body and the safety of everyone would be compromised. Nicholas's eyes went first to the starry sky, then to the castle. "There's a fire in the tower room," he said. "It wouldn't hurt to check on my father, anyway. He could use someone to sit with him, Elizabeth." He'd said she should light the fire, but he'd prefer to leave her tucked safely in the tower sanctuary. He looked at her, hoping she'd agree, expecting her to refuse.

  Her lips were trembling. Instinctively his arm wrapped her waist, pulling her against him. His gaze followed hers. A flame hovered in mid-air at the center of the hole in the castle's kitchen wall, dancing in the blackness like a tiny yellow ghost. A hand extended out of the darkness to cup it, protecting it from the night air. A boot thrust out of the darkness below the flame and at the same instant a face, made grotesque by the eerie shadows carving its contours, appeared above it.

  "What are you doing out of bed, Father?" Nicholas asked.

  The duke teetered at the edge of the hole in the kitchen wall before stumbling through. He wove his way toward them, a small candle held in the hand of his uninjured arm, the hand of his splinted arm shielding its flame. Nicholas released Elizabeth and went to meet him.

  Bergen beat him there. The doctor carefully plucked the dancing light from the man's hand. Immediately the light steadied, continuing to burn brightly, yet now unaffected by the night air.

  "Marlbourne, I take back everything I ever thought of you," Bergen held the candle up and smiled. "Some of it anyway."

  "Heard the horses coming. Saw it was you from between the slats in the shutters. Couldn't get the damn things open to yell at you, so I decided to come down and say it."

  "Say what, Father?"

  "Couldn't believe you two were so cork-brained as to bring a woman. I'm runk, um, dunk, er..."

  "Drunk as a lord?" Bergen supplied helpfully.

  "That!" The duke poked a confirming finger in the doctor's direction. "And even I know better. Ladies aren't meant to see..."

  The duke leaned precariously to one side and peered at the headless body twitching on the pyre, its obscenity-mouthing head positioned above it. A piece of wood had been wedged between the two, keeping head and chain-wrapped body safely separated. For a moment Nicholas thought his father might lose his balance and tip over at the sight, but then he straightened and continued his rant.

  "What maggot got in your head, boy, to make you bring our sweet 'beth?" Nicholas could hear the softening, the regret in his father's voice. "She shouldn't be here. She's the future mother of my gandsun-gramdun...well, a future mother -- if you've been doing your damn job right."

  Bergen beckoned Elizabeth over to the pyre.

  "It's time," he said and handed her the candle.

  Nicholas's father abruptly seated himself on the ground. Nicholas patted the old man on the shoulder and joined his wife. Her cheeks were damp with tears. He pressed a kiss to her temple, then steadied her hand with his, helping her to touch the flame to the sleeve of her mother's wedding gown.

  There was an instant of expectation, then the fabric ignited and flames rushed across its surface. Nicholas stepped quickly back, bringing Elizabeth with him. They stood beside the duke, a good distance from the blaze that engulfed the oiled wood and the corpse that lay upon it, watching the corpse jerk and thrash as the flames consumed it. As her mother's mouth screamed in silent agony, Elizabeth cried out in horror and Nicholas gathered her into his arms. Her cheek pressed into his chest as deep wracking
sobs shook her.

  The body on the pyre blackened, shrinking within the blue hot flames. The silver chains that bound it slid through its heated flesh and bone disappearing into the raging fire below. Elizabeth sobs gave way to a sort of forlorn weeping. The sound tore at Nicholas's heart. Bergen came to stand beside them.

  "What now?" the doctor asked.

  "Now we get these two safely to the tower and we wait here in the open by the fire. Lucy will come. And soon. Daylight is only a couple of hours away. She won't wait another night for her revenge."

  "To the tower then," Bergen agreed. "I'm guessing you get the pretty one and I'm stuck carrying the drunk."

  Bergen made a face at Nicholas's father who sat in the grass just a few feet away. The duke scowled back at him. Nicholas had always loved his father, despite his faults, but at the moment his sympathies were with the doctor.

  "Sebastian, about Lucretia...I know it isn't fair. I think I can understand, at least a little, what my father's mistake cost you, and Lucretia." Nicholas smoothed a hand over Elizabeth's hair. She'd stopped crying and rested with her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

  Bergen's eyes were on Elizabeth too, and for once there was no trace of mockery in their pale blue depths, just soul deep sadness."Like you and Elizabeth, Lucretia and I had been wed less than two weeks."

  Elizabeth lifted her cheek from Nicholas's shoulder and, without leaving his arms, reached out a hand to Bergen. To Nicholas's surprise the doctor folded her smaller hand into both of his, accepting the wordless sympathy she offered, before releasing it again.

  "You tried to help us and it cost you everything. I'm truly sorry, Sebastian. He's sorry as well." Nicholas indicated his father. "My mother said he was never the same after that trip to Romania. He'd lost four children, watched them die, helpless to save them, but he didn't start drinking until he killed you and drove Lucretia to..."

  Sebastian frowned, but thrust a hand down to Nicholas's father. "Come on, Marlbourne. Back to the tower with you. And if you're lucky, I won't drop you on your lordly arse...more than once. But be warned, if you cast up your accounts while I'm carrying you, I'll--"

  At the far end of the castle courtyard the horses whinnied, prancing in alarm. The duke, who'd taken Bergen's outstretched hand and was half-way to his feet, dropped back to the ground with a thud.

  Nicholas felt Elizabeth tense in his arms. He pushed her to the ground beside his father and took a stance that put the two of them between him and Bergen. A cloud drifted through the star-speckled sky above, half obscuring the waning moon. Shadows from its slow passing played over the castle, but nothing else moved. Nothing.

  The back of Bergen's hand hit Nicholas's shoulder and the doctor pointed across the flaming pyre. It stood on the opposite side of the roaring inferno -- its outline visible through the orange and red flames -- looking like the citizen of Hell it was.

  Lucy.

  "Behendolith!" it roared and for a moment Nicholas thought he saw a pattern form within the flames, a face monstrously distorted with evil. "I will avenge you, my brother, and you shall be called forth once more!"

  "No, Lucifer's daughter!" Vlad's voice rang strong and clear across the courtyard. He strode around the corner of the castle, his book open in his hands, his white beard glowing angelic in the moonlight. "Behendolith has returned to Hell where you will soon be joining him!"

  Following behind the priest, each with a torch held high in one hand and a fist of stakes in the other, came Lennie and Fielding. Fielding made a curt nod of acknowledgement in Nicholas's direction. Neither runner looked directly at the figure beyond the flames. They stopped well back from the heat of the raging fire, about ten yards from where Bergen and Nicholas guarded Elizabeth and the duke.

  Behind the flames Lucy rose into the air, leaping over the fire and landing before them, her feet planted among the wood shavings from the men's earlier whittling. Her scarlet cloak was gone. Her black dress hugged her narrow waist and too generous hips as if she'd been poured into it. Her large ripe breasts seemed ready to burst forth from her low cut bodice, two perfect cream-white mounds glowing in the firelight. But above that perfect figure, that enticingly sensual flesh, above the smooth column of her neck, her head was a hideous round of charred flesh. Remnants of singed hair hung in ragged clumps from melted flesh. Snow white teeth and cat green eyes stood out in macabre relief against the destroyed skin.

  Nicholas averted his gaze, careful not to let those eyes meet his, though Lucy seemed focused on the ground beside him, the place where Elizabeth sat with his father.

  "Ah, the blood cow. The one who likes to play with fire. The damage you have done to me will soon repair," Lucy pointed to her head and for the first time Nicholas saw that her hands were as badly damaged as her face, black and red with several fingers missing in whole or part. "But what I will do to you, little cow, will last forever!"

  The duke rose to his feet, reached down and lifted Elizabeth to hers as well. He made her a gallant, if unsteady, bow. "I think," he announced, "iz time I take liz'beth to the tow'r."

  "Wait!" Nicholas reached out and caught his bride's elbow. "Something's wrong."

  His eyes swept across the castle courtyard. He pivoted on his heel, taking Elizabeth with him. Bergen was doing the same.

  "What is it?" Elizabeth asked.

  "There are too many of us," Bergen said. "We have her outnumbered and out armed. A mountain of fire to her back, stakes and torches, a priest to exorcise her, two vampires who can match her for speed and strength. Yet she remains. You're right, Nick. Something is wrong."

  Nicholas's gaze followed Bergen's to the castle roof above. Six women wearing various styles of dress proclaiming their former positions in society perched along its edge. Prinny's actress, the one whose death had set the runners on Nicholas's trail, stood at the center of the line, her gaudy orange and red dress hitched high to provide a generous glimpse of both fancy under things and trim ankles. In sharp contrast, the plainly dressed shop girl beside her looked as gently demure as she had the day her gallant fiancé had threatened Nicholas outside Madame Nannette’s shop. Four other women: a richly attired merchant's daughter, a simple parlor maid, a white-gowned society miss and a tavern maid, completed the line -- each one young, each with a face sweet with innocence.

  "Do you recognize them, Nicholas? My friends from London?" Lucy asked. "After all, I met each one while I was following you."

  "Why follow Nich'las?" the duke asked. "Never does much of interest. A bit of a stickler, tha' boy."

  Lucy came closer, her voice trilled with rage. "You were my childe. I would have laid this world of men at your feet. Instead, your dead body will lay at mine."

  Lucy raised her burnt hands to the six diavol varcolacs on the castle roof, then spread the charred and mangled flesh in a broad gesture of invitation.

  "Kill them all. Except the girl. She's mine."

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Elizabeth's throat constricted with terror. The six diavol varcolacs leapt from the roof, their multi-hued skirts opening like parasols against the starry sky.

  "Elizabeth, stay with my fa--" Nicholas released Elizabeth's arm abruptly.

  A cherub-faced diavo varcolacl dressed in the provocative clothes of a tavern maid slammed into his chest, boots first, knocking him to the ground. He rolled to his feet and rammed his fist into its baby face, sending its reeling back into the castle wall. He didn't spare the creature a glance, but bolted past Elizabeth and wrapped an arm about the throat of the parlor maid whose teeth were just inches from his father's neck.

  There was a sick crunch of bones as Nicholas wrenched the maid's head violently to one side. Its body went slack beneath a broken neck, but its eyes flashed and its teeth remained bared. The duke stumbled backwards, falling in the dirt at Elizabeth's feet.

  "Useful boy, sometimes," the duke murmured, reaching up to pat her hand.

  Elizabeth helped him to his feet while Nicholas hoisted the limp parlor maid above h
is head and hurled the body across the kitchen yard. It landed in the raging funeral pyre, head in the flames, feet caught by the toes of its boots on the stone wall. The skirts of its uniform flung up, crudely revealing a dirty gray shift before the fire engulfed its torso.

  A few paces away, Lucy made no attempt to help the maid. She stood to one side, her green eyes cold.

  "We've got to get Elizabeth and my father out of here!" Nicholas shouted over Elizabeth's head to Bergen. But the doctor was too busy struggling with the merchant's daughter to answer.

  "Nicholas!" Elizabeth's warning was too late.

  The tavern maid he'd knocked into the castle wall just seconds ago landed on his back. Hands clawed at his face. Lips curled in a growl. Feral teeth sank deep into his shoulder.

  Elizabeth lunged for her husband, but her father-in-law caught her around the waist. "He can handle it, 'lizabeth. The boy can take care of himself."

  "Let go!" Elizabeth demanded, struggling.

  But though the duke was drunk, she was no match for his strength. Elizabeth screamed in frustration as the tavern maid's fangs sank into her husband's other shoulder. Nicholas jumped upwards, twisted in midair and slammed backward into the ground, crushing the demon vampire beneath him, trying to break its hold. It clung on tenaciously, fingers seeking his eyes, teeth tearing his flesh.

  "Someone help him!" Elizabeth stopped fighting her father-in-law, her eyes searching the kitchen yard in desperation.

  Bergen and the merchant's daughter rolled in the dirt, a wild tangle of skirts and limbs. The doctor's torn clothing exposed multiple bloody wounds.

  Across the kitchen yard, Vlad, silver sword in hand, faced the white-gowned society miss, his book on the ground at his feet. Lennie stood back to back with the priest, using the fiery end of his torch to hold the actress at bay. Above them, the demurely dressed shop girl floated in the air, laughing. Fielding dangled upside down beneath it, his ankle held fast by its small hand. Like a cat that'd caught a mouse by the tail, it tormented him, raising and lowering him over its demon brethern while pricking him playfully with the sharp tip of one of the stakes it had taken from him.