Edmund crouches next to her and touches her chin. She moves her lips as though to speak, but no sound comes out as a puddle of blood pools beneath her.
“Patricia,” he says. “You are the one going to hell.”
Blood drips from her wide-open mouth, and when she tries to suck air, there is nothing but wet choking. Her eyes find the ceiling as she drowns on her own blood, and, then, she’s gone. Barely a minute has passed.
“Jesus Christ.” I rest my hand on the arm of a chair. “Edmund.”
He stands and stares at his blood-soaked hands. He says, “Something’s wrong.”
“No shit.”
He shakes his head and closes his eyes. The fireplace roars as the flames fly high. Every candle in the room suddenly lights. It is bright as day, making it all the more evident that Edmund is painted red—much as I was after murdering so many cannibals to save his life. This feels so much worse.
One should never feed in anger.
Chapter Thirteen
MOMENTS LATER, I smell familiar blood and turn to find Brien in the doorway. His chin is coated in red, and he carries Flynn’s limp body over his shoulder. He tosses the youth onto the floor, and Flynn doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a sound.
“It feels good, does it not? Stealing a soul? You will grow more powerful with every life you take.”
“Flynn?” Edmund asks.
I scoop the young man into my arms and lay him on the couch. “He’s alive.”
“You can feel it right now, can’t you?” Brien asks. “How much stronger you are. Think if you killed ten, twenty. You would be unstoppable.”
I have to know, damn the consequences. “What happened to the man you loved? Why did you really go to sleep?”
Brien grins, fangs bared. “I made him like Edmund. I gave him everything in the world—some would say I gave him too much. They did not understand that we were to be kings, so my brethren destroyed him, and I hid until you came along.”
“You wanted to rule over vampires?”
“We will, Edmund, you and I. We will rule vampires, and the entire human race will be our slaves.”
Edmund glances at me. “I told you at the start I didn’t want power.”
“Yes. You do what you do out of love, and you do love Andrew. You love him very much, which is why you would not want him to die. Agree to be my beloved king, and I will leave him be.”
Edmund steps in front of Flynn and I. Strange to be the one needing defense.
“You won’t hurt him,” Edmund says.
Brien smiles. “Why not?”
“Because you would not want me to hate you.”
“Edmund. I can make you feel whatever I want.”
Edmund winces. “Get out of my head.”
“Come closer.” Brien beckons with his fingernails like claws. When Edmund takes a step forward, I begin to rise, but Brien’s gaze darts my way. “I really wouldn’t,” he says.
I remind myself Brien would not hurt Edmund, but it takes every bit of my resolve to not leap between them when he puts his hand on the back of Edmund’s neck and presses their lips together. It’s a lingering kiss, mouths open and demanding. Brien practically devours Patricia’s blood from Edmund’s lips—those flower petal lips that belong to me, that want no one but me.
My dark creature rises just as my sailor shoves Brien away. Brien’s eyes widen, as does his grin. “You broke my influence.”
Edmund steps back, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his stained shirt. “You will leave now. Forever. Never come back here.”
“I go nowhere without you, and I will kill all of them to keep you.”
Flynn mumbles, which draws my attention to our human who has most certainly lost too much blood. I put my hand on his face, say his name, and he mumbles some more. Then, I wrap my fingers around his delicate throat and squeeze.
“Edmund!” I have no control over my movements as Brien apparently winds his way through my mind. “Make him stop! Quickly!”
I am too busy fighting myself to notice the silent fight behind me—not until Edmund falls to one knee, gasping for breath, and my grip on Flynn’s throat finally loosens. God, I almost killed him.
Edmund stands on shaky legs. “You will not hurt anyone I love ever again.”
Brien laughs, his hair a thick, dark halo around his head. “Who will stop me, dead man? Not you. You see what I can do to your beloved. I could make him do anything.”
“You’re wrong.”
Brien smiles. “About you, I have been consistently right.”
“No. You shouldn’t have given me so much of your power, but you didn’t know I’m not to be trusted with so much responsibility. I once lost a year’s paycheck to a game of faro in the West Indies. Did a bit of prostituting on the side. Was actually a good career choice for me.”
He must have a plan. Edmund is only this talkative when he’s calm.
Brien chuckles over the story but then stops. His right eye twitches. “You’re trying to influence me? That will only make you weaker.”
“I don’t have to be strong for very long.”
“Andrew? Edmund!” I hear Felipe and Michelle down the hall. They rush toward us. They must smell the blood, but the library door slams shut and locks before they reach it. Under normal circumstances, they could use their immortal strength to open it. Apparently, these are not normal circumstances. I think Edmund is purposely keeping them out.
“This is going to hurt.” He pauses. “I am sorry, Brien, but you shouldn’t have threatened the ones I love.”
Flynn begins to stir beside me, so I pull him into my arms. Next thing I’m aware of is the sound of tearing fabric and a shocked groan. I look up, and Brien’s long nails are impaled into his right upper thigh.
“Edmund?” He gawks, mouth agape. “You wouldn’t.”
“I am indeed very good at bluffing. But not today.”
Brien tears himself apart. I watch as leg separates from hip and he falls sideways to the ground. I soon turn away, though, surrounded by the sound of the Elder’s angry screams and tearing flesh. He mumbles Edmund’s name, begging, but no one told Brien men like my sailor and I do anything to protect the ones we love.
When the room gets quiet, I turn. Brien is but a torso with one arm and a head, resting in a massive pool of black gore. Edmund is on his hands and knees, arms shaking. They stare at each other.
“Edmund.” Brien swallows with difficulty and lifts his remaining arm. “You must drink.”
My darling actually falls face first into the rug, laughing. “It’s so ridiculous. It’s all so…” His laughter turns to tears. He sobs.
“Andrew,” Brien says, “help him.”
I drag Edmund to Brien’s extended arm and push the hair back from his face. “Drink, my love.”
“Drink, dead man. Then, finish it.”
Edmund bites into Brien’s skin and drinks what elixir is left but does not linger long. He sits back and stares at the horror he has wrought while Michelle and Felipe still pound at the door.
Brien puts his hand on Edmund’s knee. “I was wrong about you. I thought men wanted power, deep down, but all you want is him.” His gaze rests on me. “Andrew.”
I hear the command, no influence required. I never expected to tear a vampire’s head off, but needs must. We will burn the body later.
Edmund then wilts against me, fingers grasping for purchase on my shirt. I crush his trembling body to mine as he cries. His entire body heaves beneath the force of his grief. God, what will the nightmares be like now?
The door finally flings open. Michelle’s fine shoes slide in Brien’s remains, and Felipe gags into his hand.
She recoils when her foot comes close to the Elder’s head. “What in God’s name?”
“Everything is going to be all right,” I say, and Edmund moves closer until he rests in my lap. He keeps pressing against me, climbing me. I fall backward beneath his weight. I hold him in my arms until he stops crying. It takes a
good hour.
Chapter Fourteen
EDMUND STILL ISN’T talking when I lead him up to his mother’s room. It is I who must take charge now. Michelle helps too, while Felipe seems content to get roaring drunk in the parlor. I’ve left them downstairs to help Flynn recover from Brien’s attack by feeding the young man fruit. We sent Hallie away into the village to spend the night at the inn. She trusts Edmund enough to not ask questions.
I have rinsed most of the blood from his face and hands and changed his shirt. His suit is ruined. I would laugh at the irony—he’s always been so fastidious about getting blood on his clothes—but I need him to speak first. I need to make sure he’s still himself. Then, I will hold him to me and never let go.
I push him into Evelyn’s bedroom and allow him space to walk toward her alone. She sleeps but appears to wake when he sits on the edge of her bed. I can’t hear their whispered words, but I watch him help her drink from a glass of water. She smiles that so familiar smile.
Stockinged feet arrive at my side. Michelle left her blood-soaked shoes in the library with the corpses. I face her, but she watches Edmund. “It was rather brutal,” she says.
“They deserved to die.”
“Yes, well. Still.”
I look back toward the haunted man who has seen so much. “Edmund has always been brutal.”
Michelle hums and rests her hand on my arm. “Then, you are perfectly matched.”
I nod.
“Felipe has prepared a fire outside. Join us.”
“I thought he was content to drown himself in drink.”
“From what you’ve told me, we must make sure Brien is really gone. When I told Felipe we needed to protect Edmund, he got right to it.” She takes my hand and squeezes. “He is our family now.”
I watch him say something to Evelyn that makes her laugh. She is not recovered, of course. She might never recover from Patricia’s henbane, but there is still a chance, and Edmund clings to it—which reminds me…
“What of Patricia’s body?”
“She was mauled by a wolf during her evening walk. We’ll find her in the morning.”
I sigh. I used to hate Michelle. I spent years hating her, and yet, she gave me my beloved. Now, she keeps him safe. She shields us all.
“Bring Edmund.” She squeezes my hand, lets go, and walks back down the hall.
When I beckon for him, he kisses his mother on the forehead and pulls the blankets up higher around her. He gives her a last, lingering glance as we leave her chambers and make our way onto Heavenhill’s front lawn. A fire already burns, practically my height, and Felipe stands next to a wheelbarrow, stacked with body parts.
He points at Edmund, a liquor bottle in hand. “You owe me, you crazy bastard.”
I’m not sure Edmund hears.
Brien’s burning body smells of nothing. I would have expected the stench of scorched meat, but the aroma is simply burnt wood, spicy and fresh.
Finally, Edmund speaks. He wraps his arms around himself and asks, “Do you still love me after what I’ve done?”
I stand by his side but don’t touch him. “I said I would never stop loving you. I meant it.”
“What happened to my mother is my fault. Of all I learned about myself today, I think that is the worst.”
“She’ll get better.”
“Maybe.” Flames dance in his eyes. “I can apologize, but I suppose I can never tell her the truth. About anything. Not even the stains on her rug.”
“We’re throwing away the rugs.”
Bless him, he laughs.
I rest my hand on his upper back.
“What now, Andrew?”
“We get your mother well. Take her back to London, where you will be helpful with the trading company inquiry. Finish our business there.” I shrug. “And then, who knows?”
He hugs himself tighter. “Michelle won’t send me away?”
I glance toward her and Felipe. They lean against each other across the fire. They share sips from a bottle and watch us. “I think Michelle has learned that sometimes bad people have to die.”
He shakes his head. “Never again. I will never kill again.”
“Was it true what Brien said? Did you feel more powerful after?”
“Yes. It was too much.” He glances at me and back into the flames. “It’s quieter now that he’s gone. I am myself again. What’s left of me.”
“We’ll get through this.”
“This is when I usually run,” he says. “The moment I realize I need someone I leave them before they can leave me.”
A gust of wind blows a wave of heat into our faces.
“But I can’t imagine leaving you,” he says. “Maybe one day we’ll hate each other or grow bored. You’ll tire of me. Maybe one day you’ll leave, Andrew, but it doesn’t matter so long as I know you’re out there. That maybe I’ll see you again someday. When he threatened to kill you… I would have murdered half the world to stop him. Does that make me bad?”
My dark creature purrs at his bloody admission, but I can control it now. I push that part of me away, subdue it, and put my arm around his shoulders. “I would anticipate nothing less.”
He chuckles, and I rest my chin on his head.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Edmund.”
“I wasn’t expecting me either. Thought I’d be dead by now.”
I laugh into his hair. “You are.”
“Oh, right.”
“Hey, Duke Edmund, can we get raging drunk, please?” Felipe shouts.
“Yes! Fuck, yes.” Edmund kisses my cheek and escapes my grasp. He walks around the fire and wraps his arms around Michelle and Felipe, my dear, old friends. Their arms envelop him, and they walk as a single entity back toward the house. “Andrew, come on,” Edmund shouts.
I follow my sailor. I’ll follow him anywhere.
Epilogue
IN MY THOUSANDS of years, I’ve never much paid attention to specific dates. Once one gets to be five hundred, most days simply flow into the next. I’ve had to learn to pay attention on occasion. For instance, there are Christian holidays like Christmas and Easter that people celebrate in abundance in America. There is a specific day in September, too, known as Edmund’s human birthday, when I shower him with gifts.
Then, there is today: June 24, 2011.
I sit in our bedroom on the Upper East Side, an empty mug of blood on the bedside table. Vampires run most blood banks nowadays. With the advent of modern technology, we’ve become a surprisingly entrepreneurial race.
The usual traffic sounds of New York float like familiar music through the air as I watch the news. Handsome men laugh and cheer on my TV screen, raising rainbow-colored flags. I think of the velvet box I’ve hidden on the bookcase behind an aged copy of Dorian Gray.
I turn off the TV when I hear the front door open and close. Edmund shouldn’t be home yet. When he left that morning, he said he would be working late, but I hear his voice. He’s on the phone with someone.
Edmund has never stopped working. I had feared, originally, that he might bore of immortality. He’s always had such an active mind, and living forever can be downright murderous to someone incessantly curious. So Edmund works. He’s a scientist—a chemist, at present, although I’d be hard pressed to list the degrees he’s earned over the years. He avoids photographs. He changes his name. He creates new identities every time we jump continents. He has won awards and altered the direction of history. He’s no longer only my miracle but the world’s, as well.
Then, there’s me. I find contentment in simply loving him.
I hear him on the phone as I walk down the hall: “No, I’m not bringing the Porsche to Mexico. Are you bloody mad?”
Possibly the least surprising part of our century and a half together is Edmund’s affinity for sports cars, matched only by his penchant for scuba diving and trips to exciting locations—a fancy resort in Cancun, for instance. He must be talking to Felipe in San Francisco. Every year, they go on a tr
ip together, the two of them. So many years ago, I never would have expected them to become best friends.
“No, I won’t,” he says. “I don’t care if it’s a nude beach. That’s not for everyone to see.”
I turn the corner. He stands at our kitchen island, his black leather satchel on the countertop. He hasn’t aged a day, and his fashion sense hasn’t really changed that much—no matter the decade. Today, he wears an artfully tailored navy three-piece suit, no tie. His dark hair is an attractive mess; it must be windy outside. My mouth waters looking at him.
He notices me staring and smiles. “Yes, I will make it very clear to everyone that I’m in a relationship, you twat. It’s not as if you have trouble pulling.” He laughs. “You tell him, Michelle.”
I lean my hands on the island next to him and nudge him with my hip.
“Hey, I just got home. I have to go.” He kisses my cheek. “Yeah, see you next week. Love you guys.” He hangs up and puts his cell phone on the counter.
“What are you doing home already?” I kiss him on the lips, and his hand lingers on my side. “I thought you had some big project you were working on.”
“Oh, you know…” He toes at the floor.
“Edmund?” He’s nervous. He’s never nervous.
“I, um…” He licks his bottom lip and kisses me again, more forcefully this time. “I was watching the news.”
“Me…too.” I tilt my head.
We stare at each other.
Edmund reaches for the front pocket of his suit coat, and I cover his hand with mine. “You didn’t.”
He winces. “I might have.” Pause. “Did you…”
I chuckle. “Wait. Just…” I hurry to the bookshelf in our living room and reach for Oscar Wilde. I palm the black velvet box, return to the only thing I have ever loved, and kneel.
He gawks. “Hey, who said you got to ask me?” He kneels too.
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