My Immortal Protector

by Jen Holling

  "He gave his life for you, witch. Your magic is strong to command such obedi­ence."

  Magic? No, not unless love was magical. And she supposed it was. It was love that had given Stephen the strength to die for her. She would rather him not love her at all than die in such a manner for her.

  She didn't want to go on like this, hunted, everything she loved cut down because of her. If she must die, then she would die well, on her own terms. She let her head fall back, eyes shutting, and she stopped struggling for her next breath. Within moments, the tightness in her chest loosened and the air came easier.

  But as her head cleared, the impact of Luthias's words penetrated her mind. Dead. Stephen was dead. Luthias had killed him. Beaten him with a hammer.

  Rage built, black and faceless, like her love. There was nothing left for her now. He had crushed her future, her love, her heart into nothing. Dead.

  She opened her mind and her soul and felt them. They were here, in town. They had always been here. Luthias had moved them to the outskirts of town or restrained them, but they were still there, waiting. She had felt them all along, but her reluctance to use them, to put any life in danger, had built a wall, a restraint that had kept her apart from them.

  But she was past worries and guilt and fear Power flooded her as she heard them all, felt them all. Was one with all of them. Each and every creature within miles lifted its head and waited. If she asked, they would die breaking free from their restraints and kill their captors. Just to obey her.

  She called them all, her eyes locked on Luthias.

  And he saw something, saw the change, because his eyes narrowed and he walked toward her, raising his hammer. "Now, lass. It’s just you and me." That wasn't entirely true—his mercenaries were still in the room, watching. "Do you com­mune with the animals?"

  “Aye!”' she said, and it wasn't her voice that spoke—it was the creatures, speak­ing with her, through her. She was more than Deidra MacKay, greater, stronger, "I do. And you'd better run,"

  His head tilted to the side, her unex­pected confession setting him momentar­ily off kilter. Then he straightened, his eyes darting around the room, though he did not move his head.

  "Why?"

  The answer came, in the form of growl­ing outside the door. Luthias jerked around, wide eyes fixed on the door. A cacophony of barks and snarls of dozens of dogs. It sounded like hell was outside, crazed to get in. The door shook as the dogs launched themselves against it, snarling like rabid animals.

  Luthias's entire body jerked with each heavy thump at the door.

  "Make it stop." His voice shook, spittle flew out of his mouth. "Make it stop now!" He came at her, hammer raised.

  She forced her numb limbs to move, and she rolled to the side. Glass shattered, and the snarling took on a viscous quality. The iron windowpanes held, keeping the beasts out, but jaws snapped through the open spaces where glass used to be.

  No one guarded the door. Luthias's men stood back from the doors and windows, weapons held at the ready, looking around them in baffled terror. They were far more concerned with what was out­side the doors than what was inside. Deidra darted for the door.

  "Stop her!" Luthias shouted.

  The men started to obey until the low roar of thunder stopped them all. It rose from all around them, shaking the table so that Luthias's metal instruments trem­bled and clinked.

  Luthias's head whipped around as the thunder grew.

  A smile pulled at Deidra's mouth, hys­terical, pleased. She must look like a true witch now, evil and maniacal. He was ter­rified. She wouldn't be surprised if he had pissed himself. She had finally lived up to his inflated opinion of her. And it felt good. Evil witch? She would show him evil. She would call up the animals to maul him to death, and she would laugh and dance on his grave.

  The thunder peaked with a crash against the wall. The stone and wood of the building groaned and creaked. It reverberated through her bones and chest. Dust sifted down on them from the rafters.

  "Stop it," Luthias ordered.

  Deidra ignored him, so intent was she on the magic she created. Keep coming, keep coming. I'm in here, I need you.

  "Stop!" Luthias's voice rose, high and wavering, "In God’s name I order you to stop!"

  The Lord was apparently not listening to the pleas of witch hunters today. Luth­ias's face had gone ashen, and he had lost his hammer. The thunder grew, and the animals crashed against the wall again. This time stones tumbled from the wall.

  "Do something!" one of the men shrieked. "Make them stop!"

  Luthias fell to his knees, hands clasped before him, and he began to pray, exhort­ing God to save them, to stop the evil witch's villainy.

  The crash came again, and this time the wall gave way. Deidra ran to Stephen and wrapped her arms around him, shielding him with her body as the roof tumbled in and livestock stampeded into the build­ing.

  Dust choked the room, laying over Deidra and Stephen like a blanket. She squeezed her eyes shut and coughed. She only dared to raise her head when she felt animals pressing against her. The dust had settled somewhat, though there was still a haze to the air. Animals—sheep, kine, horses, and goats—filled the small room. They surrounded her, making it impos­sible for Luthias or his men to get near.

  Luthias, his balding head covered in dust, a red slash across his forehead, gazed about the room in bewilderment. Two of his men picked themselves up off the ground, but the other two that had been in the room with them were nowhere to be seen—they'd either been trampled or they'd slipped away.

  Luthias shook off his bewilderment and tried to cross to her anyway. He pushed at the beasts, trying to move them. "You cannot get away with this."

  Growling and snarling brought him up short. The dogs had found their way in. Deidra held them back with her mind. They were dogs, not wild animals, and therefore easier to control.

  Luthias turned toward the sound, his throat working.

  "I think," Deidra said, "that I already have gotten away with it."

  He turned his head slightly so that he could see her while still keeping an eye on the dogs.

  "Take your men and leave, or I will loose them on you," she said calmly.

  He raised his hands, open-palmed, in a placating manner. "You only make things worse for yourself. We have an entire town of witnesses now."

  He was an obstinate, stupid man. Of course she had made it worse for herself. There was no getting out of this one. She was a witch, and everyone knew it. But what he didn't understand was that she no longer cared.

  She let the dogs advance closer—they rushed forward and stopped, as if restrained by an invisible leash. They growled and snarled with renewed enthu­siasm.

  Luthias tried to back away from the threatening beasts, but the livestock bunched around him made movement impossible.

  "Very well," he said. "Until next time."

  And there would be one, of course. He would not stop until one of them was dead. She should kill him now, let the dogs loose to rip his throat out. But she couldn't. The rage had drained from her body, and she gave him safe passage. As long as he left, she would honor her word. She might be a witch, but she was not false.

  So she watched him and his men leave.

  And when they were gone, she finally dropped her guard. Surrounded by the warm comfort of the animals, she sank to her knees beside Stephen’s chair, laid her head against his thigh, and wept. She wept for the man in the chair who had sacrificed so much for her only to die. Her heart wept for love and future lost, all dust and ash. And most of all she wept because of her own culpability. If not for her cowardice, Stephen would not have died. If she had not been so afraid, she could have called the animals sooner and stopped this before it ended so tragically.

  She clutched at his legs, the grief ripped from her chest in painful sobs. She had done this to him. He had come back to her, and she had killed him.

  "Deidra!" The shout brought her head up. "Deidra.. .Stephen? Oh my
God."

  It was her uncle.

  "I'm here!”' she called out, her voice wavering and strained.

  Her shoulders were grabbed, and she was yanked to her feet and into a tight hug. The contact, warm and strong, brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she sobbed harder.

  "I ken, Dee-dee, I ken, but you must bear up now. We cannot stay here."

  "B-b-but Stephen—"

  "I ken." Drake said to someone else, "Is he dead?"

  “Aye!”' a female voice answered.

  A new wave of anguish washed over Deidra. Even though she’d known Ste­phen was dead, having it verified by a third party shredded her heart anew. Drake held her tighter.

  "Will that matter?" he asked.

  "Nay!”' the woman said, her voice smoky and deep, but feminine. "Its better that way."

  Deidra lifted her head, rubbing the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. "What are you talking about?"

  "Later," Drake said. He gently set Deidra aside and circled Stephen’s chair. He untied him, then hoisted him up and over his shoulder. "Let’s go—now,"

  Drake led the way out of the destroyed building. The woman with him was strik­ing. Pale skin, long red hair that hung loose down her back. She wore a filthy stained chemise, and over it a man’s shirt and araisad.

  Four horses were hobbled outside the building, where a fearful crowd had gath­ered. When the four of them appeared, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Several villagers actually turned and ran back the way they'd come.

  “Aye!”' the red-haired woman called out, "that's right. Get your arses back inside. Not a thing to see here." More of the townsfolk dispersed, all of them averting their eyes.

  Deidra mounted one of the horses, Drake came to her and laid Stephen’s body across the front of her saddle. "Here—we haven't time to tie him to the other horse, and you're the smallest." He gave her an apologetic look. "It won't be long, I vow it."

  She nodded, her throat thickening. His body weighed heavily against her. She clutched his belt in one hand and the reins in the other and spurred her horse forward. They rode for at least a mile, Deidra fighting to keep Stephen's body across her horse. When they were a good distance from the town, Drake drew rein and moved Stephen's corpse to the fourth horse, tying it securely to the saddle.

  Deidra couldn't seem to stop crying, couldn't seem to stop staring at Stephen's lifeless body. Her eyes and her head hurt. Her body felt weak and drained. It seemed impossible that she still had so much water in her body, but it was true. The tears just kept leaking out of her.

  They headed west for several miles until the sky began to darken. Drake led them into a stand of trees, then dis­mounted. He untied Stephen from the horse and laid him out on the ground.

  The woman approached Stephen's body slowly, and Drake took several steps backward.

  "We have an accord, you and I?" she said in that deep husky voice, her head tilted inquiringly. Drake nodded.

  She removed her araisad, then knelt beside Stephen. Deidra came to stand beside her uncle.

  "What is happening?"

  Drake nodded to the woman. "The baobhan sith"

  Deidra's eyes widened and her heart stumbled as she fixated on the woman pushing up her shirt sleeve.

  Like a fist, hope gripped her heart. "Will she.. .Stephen?"

  Drake nodded. "She says she can." His mouth flattened grimly. "We'll see."

  The woman withdrew a dirk that had been strapped to the inside of her arm. Deidra recognized it as Stephen’s. She drew the sharp edge of the blade along the inside of her forearm, cutting herself.

  Blood welled up, spilling over her arm. She pressed her open wound to Stephen’s mouth, sliding her other hand under his neck and tilting it so that his mouth and throat opened.

  The scene before her was so grotesque and obscene that Deidra had to look away.

  "What is she doing?" Deidra asked hoarsely, keeping her eyes averted.

  "Vampires subsist on blood. She is...feeding him." Drake’s voice was thick with distaste, but he did not look away.

  After several minutes Deidra chanced a look back. The woman pulled her hand away and wrapped the sleeve of the shirt around her wound. She rose to her feet gracefully and turned to face them.

  Drake looked from the woman to Stephen’s still body. "Well? He still looks dead to me."

  "Patience. Come, start a fire and let us sit and rest. We must talk."

  Drake gave Deidra a look that said he didn't trust this woman, but then he shrugged and began walking around the clearing, picking up kindling.

  Deidra did the same, all the while steal­ing glances at Stephen. Her eyes deceived her, sending her heart leaping when she thought she saw his chest rise, only to realize it was all in her mind. The baob­han sith had restored hope to her heart, yet Deidra was afraid of what would hap­pen next. Nothing? Would he remain dead? Or would he wake as something terrible? She tried to imagine Stephen subsisting on blood, and the idea—so contrary to her own life—was repellent.

  When a fire crackled, the three of them sat around it in silence. Drake ate bread and cheese and dried meat, while Deidra picked at a bannock. The baobhan sith ate nothing.

  "When he wakes," she said, breaking the silence with no preamble, "he will be hungry. He will not know himself, and he will not know any of us."

  Drake stopped chewing and stared at her. "What are you saying?"

  "I am saying that you both are potential food for him. He will not touch me." The woman's large green eyes turned on Deidra. "I sense that you love him very much. Will you make this sacrifice for him?"

  Deidra's mouth dropped open. It closed and opened several more times before she could form a coherent sentence, "You mean.. .let him feed on my blood?"

  “Are you insane?" Drake shouted, stand­ing up, hands fisted, body leaned forward as if ready to strike.

  The baobhan sith rolled her eyes. "Sit down. I do not mean that she must die. She can simply let him partake of some of her blood. Or she can become one of us."

  Deidra closed her eyes, her stomach turning at the idea of drinking blood every day.

  "Don't look so disgusted, child. You would be able to be with him forever."

  The woman's expression did not match her tone. She looked bitter and disillu­sioned, her smile more of a smirk. She didn't believe her own words.

  "I don't really know that living forever is such a good thing," Deidra said carefully.

  The woman's lips curved appreciably. "You are clever. It does have its draw­backs."

  She raised her brows quizzically, look­ing from Deidra to Drake. "So what are we to do? He needs blood and soon."

  "Will animal blood work?" Drake asked.

  She nodded. "So long as it is fresh. Very fresh."

  Drake stood and grabbed his latch and arrows. "I'll be back." He disappeared into the trees.

  Deidra wrapped her arms around her knees. She was so weary. Her eyes burned from all the crying. Her mind buzzed, overstimulated. She'd passed the point of exhaustion and wouldn't have been able to sleep or relax now even if she'd wanted to. And she didn't want to. She needed to be awake when Stephen woke.

  The woman stared at Deidra with such frank curiosity that Deidra felt her face flushing. She laid her cheek on her bent knees, hiding her face. The woman was beautiful, even as filthy and road-worn as they all were. Deidra felt like a dustball.

  She rolled her head so that her chin rested on her knees. "What's your name?" she asked the woman.

  The woman straightened, surprised and wary. "My name? Why?"

  "Because I don't know what to call you."

  This seemed to give her pause. "Why not call me what everyone else does? Vile witch. Blood sucker. Filthy leech. Dead thing."

  Deidra managed a weak smile. “I’d rather not."

  "Well then, you can call me Hannah."

  "Hannah. That doesn't sound Scots."

  "No. I'm Irish. It probably doesn't sound Irish either. My name is Aedammair. It
means 'fire.' But I haven't been called that in..." She scanned the sky, as if it held the answer, then shrugged. "In a very long time."

  Deidra could see that. Fire. Her hair was such a brilliant red that it looked like a sunset. It caught the light from the fire like metal.

  "How long?" Deidra asked.

  “Too long.”

  "Why Hannah? That sounds nothing like Aedammair."

  Hannah sighed heavily, as if the thought of unloading such a story wearied her. "Some other time, mayhap. Your lover is waking."

  Deidra's heart jerked, her head swiveling to the ground where Stephen still lay. She saw nothing at first, just the dark oblong shape of him, lying motionless. Then a groan and the shape shifted.

  The frantic fluttering of Deidra's heart brought her to her feet. "Stephen?" She took a step forward. She needed to see him, to touch him, to know she had not killed him.

  Hannah rose in one graceful move and put a hand out, stopping Deidra. "Do not go any closer."

  Deidra's belly knotted. She laced and unlaced her fingers, eyes locked on the moving darkness. He had just been dead and now he wasn't. It was a miracle.

  "Where is Drake?" Hannah muttered, eyes scanning the trees around them.

  "What's the matter?" Deidra asked. Hannah’s unease transferred to Deidra, making the lacing of her fingers change to a twisting.

  "He's waking and Drake has not returned. This is not good."

  "Is he dangerous?" Deidra asked, strain­ing to see Stephen in the darkness.

  Hannah's mouth flattened. "You may get to be a blood witch whether you wish to or not."

  A shock went through Deidra and she took a step back, hands to her throat.

  "What?"

  Something rustled and moaned in the darkness. This time it sounded anguished, as if he was in terrible pain.

  Deidra stepped forward again, con­cerned. "What is the matter with him? He doesn't sound well."

  Hannah turned to her, her eyes grim. "He's not. He's just been dead, remember? But he will be fine, so long as he doesn't do anything he later regrets."

  "What the hell!" Stephen shouted from the darkness, then moaned again. He sounded hurt and confused, and it tugged at Deidra. She wanted to go to him, to help him.