by Joey W. Hill
"You must become for Her. For you. You must open yourself to everything. The others are irrelevant."
Irrelevant? The word hit her like a mallet, sending the emotions ready to overflow like lava surging up in her breast. Perhaps it was the lack of blood or a million other things that made her this foolish, but the trigger brought her to her feet. She turned on him, fangs bared and a hiss caught in her throat. His hand clamped around it and he brought her back to her knees in a move so swift, it snapped her neck back. His dark eyes had turned to flame and every cell in her body screamed in terror as she saw the precursor to that other face he wielded. Her teeth chattered from the nerves, but she fought through that. "Damn you and Her. They are not....irrelevant. Never."
The flame died back and she remembered he'd said her rage had summoned his other face; her tears this. His grip eased so she sat on her heels, staring up at him. She let the tears fall without brushing them and his gaze followed them along the curve of her face. "You mistake me," he said, his voice an earthquake rumble. "Your fear and your pain blinds you to meaning. Do you want to become a vessel, to discover what prevents you from protecting your Agnes? The villagers?"
A deity would know everyone, but it was still unexpected and hurtful, to hear Agnes's name on his lips. "Yes. Yes, I do."
"No matter the agony? What I said before, about your will being tested, it is the same. You must be able to break through it to see what lies on the other side. Your mind will be broken, and you may be unable to put it back together. You may wander these woods for the remainder of your life, a mindless creature." He touched her face, and fire slid over her skin, her tingling lips. Squatting before her, he met her eye to eye. His dark hair slid forward over his shoulder and fluttered against the base of her throat, the top of her breast.
"If I am mindless, it will not be a long life." Yet the nonchalant words couldn't suppress a cold fear. She could handle pain and a quick death far better than being helpless, waiting for that death and pain to come.
"Is that a yes, vampire?"
"Yes." She faced his unyielding gaze. "Anything. And I will not ask for mercy. Not as long as that is the price for their lives."
"I can promise you nothing. This sacrifice only means something if it is a gift freely given with no expectation of return. You have to let go of all control. It is an impossible thing for your kind."
"Necessary overrides impossible." Mary had said that once or twice when treating the villagers for various ailments. Grace held the echo of her wise, calm voice in her head, and realized it was simple truth, no matter her fear. "I am yours, to do with as you will. I will sacrifice whatever is needed."
He straightened, and he clasped a wooden stake, the point sharp as his sword. Tossing it on the ground before her, he turned away. "You know what to do with that."
No. Agnes was awake again, her voice a faint rasp in Grace's mind. No. This is wrong. He wouldn't ask that...
Grace stared at the Lord's broad back as he moved back to his sword and stood there, facing away from her. With his hair still pulled forward, she saw more intricate tattoos on his back. She thought she saw a woman's face etched in them, so wondrously breathtaking, Grace felt as if she could reach out and touch her. Or like She could reach out and touch Grace.
Grace closed her eyes. No promises, no guarantees. She might take her own life and nothing would change. Worthless, pointless, except to the Lord before her. It wasn't enough. But there were times things were so dark the possibility of hope, however slim, was the only pinpoint of light in the wall of an incomprehensible universe. She picked up the stake, ignoring Agnes's cry of distress. She hated the Lord for that alone, for causing Agnes any more pain.
I love you, moppet. There was no point in denying the truth, no matter that vampires weren't supposed to fall in love with humans. She'd basically told the Powers That Be to bugger off; she didn't lose anything from saying the same to vampire kind. Clasping the stake, she lifted her gaze back to the Lord. When he turned to face her, she met his dark eyes. "If this doesn't help her and her village, I pray you suffer every pain imaginable," she said.
She drove the stake into her heart.
* * *
Agony. Unremitting fire and excruciating pain, beyond description. She screamed until her voice gave out. She felt like a rag doll, being shaken in the fist of a giant, violent child. She wanted to black out, but she couldn't. She was slamming her head against something. A tree trunk, for the bark bit into her flesh on each impact, blood matting her hair to her skull. Then a male hand was there, preventing her from doing it anymore. It was the woodcutter, his eyes alight with desire for her as his other hand cupped her face, holding her. But his fingers were wet with her blood. He disappeared and the pain started to recede like a tide of barbed wire, dragging itself along her flesh, back, backside, thighs and calves, and finally the bottoms of her feet, a ticklish and painful sensation.
Her shoulders hurt, and she realized her hands were tied high above her head, her bare back pressed against the tree's rough bark. Her legs were spread open, ankles bound against the base of the tree. Her toes strained for purchase against the lumpy terrain of tree roots. Someone gripped her hair and pulled her head back. In the midst of all that harrowing discomfort, a warm throat brushed her quivering mouth.
"Drink, vampire. Drink your fill."
She was ravenous, her fangs shooting forth even as he spoke. That tight hand in her hair stirred things in her lower belly, and she was damp with needy lust.
"You need your strength to become a vessel. I'm going to pleasure myself with your pain. A deep down, rare pleasure for a vampire, isn't it? To find someone who can overpower you, who will take what you cannot offer unless he proves worthy of your submission."
She was dead. Wasn't she? She'd driven a stake through her own heart. But she felt alive enough, and this was the Lord, and a reality where nothing was as it seemed. She was given no answers, only that pumping artery. She was blind, she realized, blinking in panic. She saw nothing. Darkness surrounded her, but so did he. He cupped her jaw and gave her a sensual order meant to be obeyed. "Drink."
She bit. His blood was rich, perfect, far more than she'd expected it to be. Full of magic and power, compelling her whole body to strain toward him. His hand dropped to her breast, kneading with casual distraction as she fed. Oh, blessings of the night, to feed. To take her fill. She gulped like a fledgling, as if she thought he'd take it away at any moment. He had other things to occupy him, though. His touch slid between her body and the tree, finding its way into the crevice of her buttocks to tease her rim. His body pressed against her side. And...feathers. His wing was curved around her, an amazing sensation, the feathers stroking her bare skin. Though it was cold in the outside world, inside that wingspan there was heat. The rosy glow of it filled her vision, and she could see again. The Lord with his fiery eyes was pressed up against her, studying her as if he understood everything she was, every dark space, every shortcoming, every sin. Every desire, want and need. Everything her soul was, without apology. No words, no explanation necessary. She was a morass of conflicting sensation: pain, arousal, relief and exhaustion, even as the blood was refueling her, goading her to an energy to tear, devour, want, and take. But she was tied and the bonds he'd used held a vampire easily.
When she glanced down, her mouth still on his throat, she saw there was a rosy glow on her flesh inside the wingspan, as if her skin reflected fire.
"A vessel gives everything, is open to being filled." His knuckles trailed down the side of her breast again. She kept feeding, mannerless, her hunger taking over. She'd had to sit on it for so long. Like her denied sexual needs, it had become a cold, hard, locked chest inside her. Now that it was open, it reached for that other unsated hunger. Or he was drawing it from her, reminding her of the passion that came with the restoration of life.
He buried his fingers in her hair, tightening his grip as she finally came up for a breather. She would have laved his neck with h
er tongue, clotting the punctures, but as soon as she retracted her fangs, the skin closed, though she licked a single drop of blood that escaped and earned a growl of warning, a reminder that he was the one holding control here, the one who permitted or forbid her every movement, every heartbeat. She dropped her head back and was caught in those dark eyes. So much power. Now that her wits were returning, so too were her nerves. This close to him, her body shook with yearning and awe at once. She wanted to be close, immersed in him. Her soul was opening as well as her body, becoming that vessel he'd predicted. Control was slipping from her, not because of anything he was doing, but because of what He was. She'd been buried in disease and death, and his fire promised cleansing, right down to her heartsick soul.
Knowing she'd likely never again have a chance to stare this close into the face of the Lord, she tried her best to focus past those energy vibrations to absorb his physical features. His face was magnificent, masculine planes and angles, his dark brows and lashes like the silk of his hair. And his long hair drifted over her skin, moving from the whispering wind through the circle. The thick strands bore that same fire-lit heat. He was the center of the Earth. Though she didn't know from where the thought had come, she knew it was true. The Goddess was the Earth, wasn't she? And the Lord and Lady, they were the balance for one another... He was Her center, and She surrounded him, his whole world...
The bonds on her ankles disappeared as he turned her to face the tree. She was a vampire, used to being stronger than everyone around her, so it was a new and unsettling experience to know from nothing more than the touch of his hand and the press of his body that she couldn't match him. When he closed his hand over her wrist, she tested it, she couldn't help it. An infant would have as much effect as her resistance did against him.
"Do you wish to fight me?" The tone of his voice was a challenge and...a taunt. An invitation.
She shook her head, nodded, then bit her lip, her fangs pricking the inside of her mouth. His chuckle sent erotic thrills tingling down her spine. "An honest female. You like the fight. A dominant who will give way only if clearly outmatched. Struggle all you wish, pretty vampire. There is nothing you can do to stop me. And it will arouse me further, so I will use you all the harder. She will only come to us when you are a truly empty vessel, and I want to be inside Her tonight."
He stroked her hip, thumb sliding so close to the juncture of her thighs in front she growled in need. "You dream of that yourself, don't you? Your lovely little Agnes...you think of her fighting you, of running her to ground like prey, in a way you will both enjoy. She knows that will arouse you more. She's dreamed of it herself. She understands your nature and trembles when she thinks of submitting herself fully to it."
Her fangs lengthened once more from the images he was planting. He tightened his hand on her arse, a bruising grip. "You know what I want now, do you not? Fight me, and I will cut you open, let loose all that stands in the way of what we both desire."
She had fought off wolves, vagabonds and the occasional stray vampire. For the villagers she'd felled trees, lifted things beyond their own strength. These last few weeks, she'd deprived herself of sleep and blood. She could handle any of that because she didn't become complacent. She tested her skills constantly, running, fighting invisible foes, imposing endurance tests on herself to stay ready for anything. It was the reality of being a vampire.
Refueled by his blood, she pitted her strength against the bonds holding her arms. This time they broke. Tearing loose from him, she seized a branch, snapped it loose and swung it in one swift, deadly spin. He wasn't there for the blow, his wings propelling him back over the rock cairn and a bonfire that his presence must have kindled. Or it was more of the same illusion and magic that made up this still far-too-real moment. The flames caressed his muscled thighs and the hem of the kilt without burning. For a moment, he appeared a creature wholly of fire again, but when he landed on the other side, he was bronze-skinned, his hair showering sparks.
She charged and he met her, putting her down. She used elbows and knees to thrust free, and was turned and slammed onto the earth, tree roots scraping her skin cruelly. Snarling, she ignored that, pushed up and sprang. He met the tree branch she swung again with his drawn sword, bisecting and knocking it out of her hand hard enough to wrench her wrist. In a move too fast for her to follow, he planted the sword and met her in hand-to-hand combat.
She wanted to shout a battle cry, her nature fully unleashed, wild and unfettered, no longer constrained by despised civilized behavior. Her bloodlust surged, goaded by the violence. Yet the euphoria was swept away by rage once more. The weight on her heart was a millstone she couldn't leave behind. She saw the children and adults she'd had to burn or bury. The hopeless eyes of the witches she'd loved. He could have stopped it. His precious Goddess could have stopped it. Couldn't they? Someone should be able to stop it. Was it better to think no one could, that there was no one to blame?
Enough words, enough thought. She wanted to destroy. A restrained wrestling match became a pitched battle. She didn't care that he was a god. She did her best to draw blood, to break bones, to take life as full bloodlust took over. She was only a hundred and twenty years old, but even an older vampire succumbed to that primal directive if provoked enough. She was pushed beyond bearing, the only thing to assuage it the suffering of someone to blame. As she fought him back and forth across the circle, she was caught in a full color montage of horrible nightmares become reality, all packed into the past two moons of loss, grief and sickness. She screamed her hatred at him, and grappled, struck and fought. She exhausted her strength, she bled, she fell and got back up again. Her bones broke and re-fused, but she kept on, fueled by furious adrenaline. She was purging everything inside her, dumping out all the trash in her soul.
He restrained himself--some deep, inaccessible part of her knew he did--but he didn't patronize her. He landed the blows that drew blood, that bruised and broke bones. It only made her angrier and more determined. Her energy started to flag, but she wasn't ready to give in. He tossed her across the fire and she landed hard, rolling and coming to her feet, stumbling. She grabbed the pommel of his planted sword to stop her forward momentum. Sensing him coming over the fire at her fast as a blink, using the propulsion of his wings, she seized the hilt and yanked it from the ground, swinging it in an arc as she spun to confront him.
She saw the brief flash in his vivid gaze, a seasoned warrior realizing he needed to reverse direction a second too late. Her wild swing, propelled by murderous intent, raked the point across his midriff.
The blade burst into flame, as did the hilt under her hands. A blinding light knocked her backward and yanked the world away from her.
* * *
Time stopped. She was in a rocking chair, holding a child in her arms. He had thick dark hair and solemn eyes almost as black as the Lord's. The babe reached up and touched her bloody mouth with small fingers. She had an ache in her belly, so empty. Yet she held him closer, pressed his face against her cheek, and heard him whisper in the comforting, incoherent language of an infant. She wished she could let Agnes hold him. Her servant needed to hold a baby like this, to help ease the pain of losing Peter. Grace remembered holding Peter when he'd been born, the awe she'd felt at what Dan and Agnes had created.
You grew careless, my love. It has been a long time since a blade has marked your flesh.
Not careless, my Lady. I am giving her what she needs. And then she will give me what I need. You.
Sensual laughter answered that, an arousing, compelling sound. It made the world spin around, then slow. Nothing else seem important but that laughter, and the child in her arms. But female hands were taking the babe from her. As Grace reached after him, the voice belonging to the laughter reassured her. I will tend him until it is time. My Lord is not yet done with you. He is relentless that way.
She was back in the circle, the damp, heated earth beneath her feet, the bonfire flickering so close she was in dan
ger of toppling into its grasp, her legs unsteady. She still clutched the hilt of the sword, even though fire was licking up her arm and burning her. She couldn't let go, not until a strong hand pried open her grip. Female fingertips slid over her skin, stopping the burn.
The Great Lord. The Horned God. Lucifer. The fallen angel. She thought of all those names for him as she saw him standing before her, the bonfire behind him. His eyes pinned her in place.
"Not there yet," he said thoughtfully. "A remarkable will. A stubborn one. Turn around, my lady. Stand where you are until I command you otherwise."
As he spoke, she saw a line of energy shimmer from his hand to the ground, becoming the fire-bathed whip again. The look in his eyes sent chills down her body, even as it also tightened it in ways she understood. I will make your pain my pleasure...
"Remember what I told you. You must hold out until I say stop. If you ask for mercy or for me to cease, the sacrifice is not pure."
She faced away from him, but some foolish part of her opened her mouth. "Does your stomach hurt?" she asked sweetly, between teeth gritted so they wouldn't chatter. When she looked over her shoulder, he smiled, a dangerous look so full of erotic threat her knees nearly buckled beneath her. In truth she was surprised his flesh had given way at all, since the slab of muscle beneath it looked as resilient as granite. Currently neither showed signs that she'd harmed him. She was relieved about that, though she didn't want to think about why she'd give a damn about his welfare.
"Turn your face from me, vampire."
She obeyed, holding her head up while still shaking. She flinched at the next sensation, but it was his hand, gripping her shoulder. His palm smoothed down her back, a touch that somehow made things worse. She could handle being flayed alive. The emotions he unleashed with tender explorations were far worse. They summoned the rage, an endless tide. Could she ever be this empty vessel he told her she had to be? The hate she had, the anger, seemed limitless.