The Sanction
By Reeyce Smythe Wilder
Copyright 2015 Mellissa Lopez-St.Louis
Smashwords Edition
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The Sanction
By
Reeyce Smythe Wilder
Chapter One
Northumbria, Autumn - 1071
Amarinda Cronus shifted impatiently as her father waited to pay his respects to the Elder. The night air was chilled and she did not enjoy having to brave the cold for the sake of telling the old man good bye. Dozens of the Coven families were gathered on the green, their voices blending into a drone hum as they said their farewells. Behind them, against the backdrop of the undulating hills and a fierce full moon, the Cronus Coven stood. Built three hundred years before her birth, the Elder had told her of the battles won and lost within those walls, and of the heartache the very stone had witness as testament to their struggle for survival.
Amarinda considered the many Hunters that mingled with distant relations. For them, tonight marked the third annual meeting held at the manse to discuss the various threats and strategies they would employ to ensure their safety. Everyone had heard of the attack upon Boris Vyacheslav and his family one month prior to this meeting. One of his sons, a young Hunter who had been initiated only seven moons ago, had been careless, and had taken for himself an even younger girl as his lover. The Covens enforced strict rules against fraternizing with humans, especially since the girl in question had not yet seen her seventeenth birthday. The young Vyacheslav believed himself in love she had heard it said, and was foolish enough to entrust himself to her. In doing so, he had betrayed not only his Coven, but his kind. It was quite by accident their liaisons were discovered, that too by a Hunter. Vyacheslav earned himself the whip – thirty lashes as ordered by the Council. And the girl?
Amarinda shuddered at the thought, for it was rumored that the family of three was dealt with swiftly and quietly as not to arouse further suspicion. As it stood now, there was vast concern amongst the Covens, for the Hunters no longer looked for the rare vampire female as a potential mate, but to the over-abundant supply of humans. Amarinda would have scoffed at the idea the way the Elder was wont to if her very own mother did not walk into the Coven a human herself. Amalea Cronus was the only known female to survive the ritual that transformed her into a vampire. It was unheard of, the union of a vampire and a human. Such a thing could not be accomplished. But her mother and father had proved the naysayers wrong. To add insult to injury, Amarinda was born – the first female offspring of the Cronus Coven. There was much joy, for a female born child was a very rare thing among the vampire race. Amarinda was proud to be the only granddaughter of the Elder. She was doted upon and spoilt, and became a sore in his side only when the unmated Hunters sought his permission to branch out on their own and seek mates the way her father did.
She considered her parents beside her as they whispered words and thought that, amongst all the Hunters present on this night, it was unfortunate she had yet to find a mate. Or maybe, just maybe her fate was entwined with a human as well.
She frowned at the idea and tore her eyes away from her parents to individually scrutinize the Hunters close by. Her mother’s voice interrupted her musings.
“The Elder should be here any minute now. Why don’t you head back to the carriage and rest? Your father and I will be with you shortly.”
She turned and hurried off, her arms hugged about her body against the frost of the night. Their family crest was easily distinguished amongst the rest of the carriages. She made quick work of the distance between the gathering and the parked carriages. With each hasty step, she felt the loose stones penetrate in the soft soles of the slippers she had taken to wearing. During the ball, the pinch of her heeled shoes had been too much.
Wincing, she continued relentlessly toward the dark carriage. As soon as she jerked the door open, she sensed a presence in the shadows. A tiny gasp was torn from her throat before she recognized the bemused smile on her brothers’ face.
“Vilirus!” She pressed a hand to the flutter in her chest and exhaled heavily.
“Do not die of apoplexy on my account wee one,” he joked, his voice yet to hold a note of humor. “Why are you here, away from the crowd?” She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly recalling the reason for her haste. The Elder’s eye was as sharp as the swords the Hunters brandished. She did not want her escape to be observed. Vilirus sighed gently. “Grandfather inquired about you at the meeting. Maybe you should see him before you go into hiding.”
She stepped into the warmth of the vehicle. “He is the reason I am hiding. Besides, he shall see me at the Midsummer’s ball.”
Vilirus smirked at the agitation he read in her flashing eyes. “What’s the matter? Still upset no one signed your dance card?”
She pulled her brows into a tight frown. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Then why the long face?”
“I am tired, cold and hungry. Do I need another reason?”
In a flash he slipped the cloak from his back and presented it to her. She snuggled in its warmth and glanced toward the gathering once more. “How long could it possibly take to wish the old fart goodbye?”
Vilirus’s eyes hardened faintly, though the smile he presented stayed. “Father has warned you about your impertinence. If anyone were to hear you disrespect the Elder, you would not be spared.”
She considered him standing there in the dark and sighed. Vilirus was a Hunter. A little over a century, he had taken an oath, like so many of the other unmated males, to protect the Coven at the cost of his very life if need be. His loyalty was to his family and his kind.
“Forgive me,” she muttered, as insincere as he knew she would be. “I am cranky and long to get going.”
He nodded at her apology and jerked his head up when his father called out his name. As he strode away, Amarinda exhaled with a huff, and pulled the cloak closer to her body. It smelled of wine and cigars, and she felt protected, wrapped in his scent. Apart from her father and brother, Amarinda had never been left alone in the presence of another male. Even now as she considered the Hunters, she wondered if any amongst them was her mate. The thrill at finding the one that would belong to her was the only reason she had agreed to come to the quarterly meeting at the manse. It was customary that all the covens report any matter of urgency to the Elder at that time. Amarinda was never bothered with the details of such affairs, for it was the men who undertook them. Tonight had been for her.
Unfortunately, the hope of finding her mate amongst the dozens of vampires, young and old alike was shattered. She was yet young, her mother had told her in a vain attempt to placate her ruffled feathers. Her initial disappointment did not last long, for the Hunters were all attractive and eyed her with longing. She determined that she would dance and enjoy their company, flirt outrageously and earn herself a hearty rebuke from her parents before returning home to her mundane life. Or that was her plan, until the Elder directed his murderous stare toward everyone who dared approached her. After the first offer at a dance that was rudely cut short by her father, they had all kept to themselves. It was a heavy burden to bear, being the only grand-daughter of the Elder himself.
Restless, she leaned forward and looked at the group once more, thankful that her parents drew near. The coachman hobbled quickly toward the vehicle, and yanked the door open with little finesse. His dimming eyes met hers and he g
aped in surprise, not expecting to find her within.
“Forgive me Miss Cronus, but had I known you were coming back to the carriage so soon, I would have been here to receive you.”
She smiled at his wrinkled face. “I can open a door myself, Alastair. There is no need to worry.”
He doffed his hat and grinned a toothless grin. By the time her parents joined her, she was more than ready to leave. One by one the closed carriages that were parked ahead were occupied with the members of the different coven families. A few moments later the definite sound of whips cracking the air could be heard.
Amarinda identified each Coven’s crest as the carriages made their way down the drive and onto the lighted roadway. The large, cast iron gates opened onto the gently sloping plains. At the intersection, each vehicle took predestined routes. She craned her neck to see the lights of the manse fade until they were naught but specks in the distance. For two miles the grassland stretched, then forest rose up against the starlit sky. She caught a glimpse of her brother on horseback as he galloped beside the vehicle. Her mother touched her arm gently.
“The Elder seemed disappointed that you did not wish to accept his invitation to stay through the fall,” Amalea informed.
Amarinda grimaced visibly. “There is nothing to do here. I would be confined to the manse with only grandmother for company. I’d die of boredom.”
“You were very fond of him as a child,” she continued, amused.
“That was before I grew breasts and discovered that there are more interesting things to do than listen to the histories of the Covens.”
Her mother’s scandalized gasped did not deter her, for she shared a secret smile with her amused father who had yet to speak. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you. Your tongue is -”
“Now sweetheart,” Macer, her father, rescued tenderly. “As I recall, your tongue was just as unruly – one of the many reasons I fell in love with you.”
She clamped her mouth shut and fought the blush that stained her cheek. Amarinda smiled and turned to look outside once again. That was the kind of love she hoped to one day have. Her father had been three hundred and nine when he found her mother. Tall and lightly muscled, he boasted the thick obsidian hair and ethereal sky blue eyes that was the trade mark of the Cronus Coven. Lines had begun to show around his smiling lips, a testament to his five hundred years. The cane he held was gripped lightly with long, strong fingers. Within it, a rapier was concealed.
She stole a glance at her mother who resigned herself to relax against the plush cushions. Her husky voice spoke softly of the events at the gathering. Amalea was an exquisite beauty. Thick red hair was pulled tightly upon the top of her head in a neat chignon away from her slender neck and face. Wide bottle green eyes, bright and expressive, twinkled when she laughed or flashed when angry. Whatever her mood, she always managed to maintain the decorum that classed her as not only the mate of a vampire, but a countess of the Coven. Maybe it was the way she cocked her head to consider an idea during a conversation, or the way her eyes fell in submission when submission was needed, but the Elder had taken a small liking to her when she was presented to him after she had been mated to her father.
Her beauty notwithstanding, she was not accepted with arms wide open. And even when the Council agreed to the option of having her changed, it was not without a price. The tattoo of shame on the flesh of her husband haunted her. Amarinda noticed it throughout the years, the agony in her eyes when she thought no one was aware. But her father always seemed to know what nightmares plagued her. Their troubles only brought them closer together, their bond strengthening with each passing year.
As their voices droned on, she thought about her own future. Amarinda had just turned forty seven - a babe by vampire standards. She was constantly reminded that it had taken many more than a hundred years to find a mate, like her father for instance, and thought if she had to exercise such inexhaustible patience, she would no doubt die.
The cool winds soothe the heat of her flesh and closed her eyes comfortably, taking in the familiar scents of the forest. The first chill of autumn was in the air, but it did not show in the beauty of the landscape. The carriage jerked and she shifted, and caught a glimpse of Vilirus. He rode expertly, his body held light, thighs bulging beneath the trousers. From a child he cared for her. She recalled their many arguments, recalled too the times when he had confessed of being tired of waiting, of the unknown. Females were always mated. Not so for males. Upon making their first kill, they assume the role of a Hunter and dedicate the rest of their lives to eliminating the Lost and defending themselves and their territory against werewolves. It grieved him that someday, if he did not find a mate to keep him grounded, he too would become Lost. It was the curse of the vampire.
He caught the contemplative stare and turned away to scan the surrounding trees before he spoke. "What are your thoughts? You look sad."
She shook her head and offered a reassuring smile. "Tis nothing worth speaking of."
He studied her again and nodded before kicking the mount into a trot and disappearing to the front of the carriage. Eyes heavy, she pulled the blind closed and rested her head upon the shoulder of her mother. A gloved hand caressed her cheek, and a kiss of affection was pressed upon her brow.
Maybe it was minutes or hours later, she did not know, that someone shook her awake violently. Shocked out of slumber, she sat erect and looked to her mother’s pale face. Her father was already out of the carriage. Amalea’s icy hand clutched onto hers. A finger was held to her slightly parted lips. She nodded understanding.
In the still of the night, she cocked her head and strained to listen. Her mother too, was listening intently. Amarinda heard nothing save her racing heart and their heavy breaths. One of the horses snickered and pranced, causing the carriage to rock gently. “Mother?”
An eerie howl sent a rivulet of terror down her spine. Amarinda clenched onto her mother’s arm and froze in shock. A series of guttural growls strummed the air and reverberated along her nerve endings. There were no voices and no screams. She recognized the distinctive hum of steel as a sword was unsheathed. She heard the cry of agony that could only have been Alastair, mere seconds before the entire carriage was pushed violently off its wheels. It careened over, knocking both women onto their backs and against the opposite side. Amalea cried out in agony as the door was shoved in off its hinges and connected with her arm.
“Mama!”
“The door!” her mother cried, eyes moist with tears.
Spurned into action, Amarinda struggled to gain her footing awkwardly and hitched the skirts of her dress around her knees. With all of her might, she pushed the dented door out and off of her mother’s wounded arm.
The woman’s eyes blazed in rage and pain. She was out of the carriage in a flash. Amarinda, trembling, poked her head through the door space above. A cry stuck in her throat. The men that attacked were larger than any she had ever seen. They towered well over six feet and were built like oxen, moving swiftly, powerfully, with eyes that flamed golden in the night.
“Get behind me!” She heard her father’s voice command her raging mother. The woman did not hesitate as she grabbed Amarinda’s hand and hoisted her up and out with superhuman strength. She was dragged brutally into the clearing. Everything happened in a blurred second. One moment she was running toward her father and sibling, and the next something heavy took them into the moist ground. Stunned, she blinked dirt from her eyes. Several feet before her, her mother stood facing the beast, her fangs bared and dangerous.
Amarinda’s knees weakened even as she stood erect. Her head spun. She touched her pounding forehead and discovered it moist. She looked at her stained fingers stupidly. She had never before seen her own blood. A snarl echoed behind her. Before she could command her feet to move, a powerful arm compressed the air out of her lungs. With a scream lodged in her throat she watched, stunned, the attack upon her mother.
Through the thin air, Vi
lirus appeared. The sword he wielded was like lightening in the starlight. In a flash the head of the monster was completely severed from its body. Thank the fates he had saved their mother! But Amarinda did not house any sentiment of victory. Fear filled her. She heard her father bellow her name, and watched the shock and rage register on her brothers’ face, but she could not scream. The sounds that escaped her gaping lips were choked out dry puffs of air.
The large arm snaked around her midriff squeezed until she could not breathe. Her father advanced, but not before she was whisked away from their sight, taken into the dark woods. She struggled to breathe, struggled to hold on to her consciousness, but each time she wriggled, the tighter the vise-like grip became.
Thankfully, everything went black.
Chapter Two
The Grampian Mountains, Scotland, Winter – 1017 AD
A drop of water splashed upon the back of her neck. Amarinda groaned in anguish and sniffed to dislodge the stench that assailed her nostrils. Taking shallow breaths, she braved to crack her heavy eyes open. Another drop found its way down the nape of her neck and into the depths of her torn bodice. She whimpered at the icy contact against her skin and looked around in wide-eyed panic. From her sprawled position on the floor, she could see the large, iron bars that imprisoned her in the stone room three feet away. A torch burned brilliantly on a far wall. Sitting upon a crude chair was a man. His chin touched his chest and a length of dirty hair concealed most of his face.
She pushed herself to a sitting position and scuttled closer to the gate, her heart pounding erratically in her chest. Numb fingers clutched onto the bars and she opened her mouth to speak. Nothing but a dry croak came out. The guard lifted his head and met her eyes. Amarinda gasped and whimpered in fear. Feral eyes observed her. He shouted something toward a half opened door in words she did not comprehend. There was a shuffle. Moments later, two other men joined him. She backed away as quickly as her stiff limbs carried her. They considered her for a long time, looking at her as something odd. Their voices were deep and gruff as they conferred with each other.
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