"Holy water," Father Adolph explained, and he dipped his fingers into it, saying a benediction over the pyre and sprinkling the glistening drops in a cascade over the wood.
They both jumped back in shock as blue flames shot up from the pile and leaped to the sky, lapping at the wood hungrily and blazing with an unnatural heat. The wood caught immediately and the flames stretched higher, singeing their faces with sudden heat.
Father Adolph turned away at once, taking the cup of holy water to the garage door. He moved methodically around the cracks of the entrance, sprinkling the clear liquid and praying in a constant stream. After a moment, Sebastian left him to it and turned back to the small bonfire.
He watched, mesmerized, as the fire blazed more and more brightly. Sticking up from the center he saw the remnant of the flute, its silver length blackening from the heat. He thought, just for a second, that he heard a long, clear note, the sizzling hot air of the fire traveling through its length, but it was gone before he could be certain.
The fire shifted, the structure of wood crumbling into the center, and it suddenly burned low. Nothing remained but charred ashes and the blackened flute. A final wisp of smoke rose, like an escaping spirit, and it was done.
Father Adolph returned and looked at Sebastian. The old priest had an odd light in his eyes. "We will get her, Sebastian," he said. "For this one as well as the others. It will end."
Then he turned and slowly walked away, and Sebastian watched him go. The young musician was less certain than the priest of the outcome of what they were about to attempt, but somehow the thought of that calm old man at his side was soothing. He turned and slowly walked back to his cottage. In his mind, the image of the flames still lapped at the pyre. He hoped it marked a beginning, and not another end.
Chapter Seventeen
Klaus hadn't been aware just how vast the range of mountains behind his village was. Never having been further than the end of the trail that led up to the shrine, he was amazed. When the night faded and dawn threatened to slip over the rim of the horizon, they were still running.
"Hurry," she urged him, and he pushed himself to limits beyond even the speed they'd maintained at all night, relishing the riffle of wind through the thick, shiny fur that coated his back. He bared his teeth, tongue lolling, and lifted his head, releasing a howl of purest freedom.
So far he had learned nothing. They had traveled, stopping only once to run down a rabbit, which he'd fed on greedily, and then turned upward once more. The air was getting thinner, not that this mattered any longer, and they had been running for a very long time, though he got the odd impression that she'd taken him in a wide loop, angling up one way, and then back downward from the other side. If she was trying to confuse him, or to make him lost, it wasn't working. He didn't know how, or why, but his sense of direction and perception of distance had sharpened to a preternatural level. He knew full well they could have reached their present position by going straight up the mountain, but he assumed she had her reasons. Maybe there was an impassable ravine there, or maybe she was testing him, or allowing him to test himself. Maybe it was to confuse pursuit. Perhaps it was just another lesson.
Just as he was certain she would run them to their death in the approaching dawn, Rosa dipped out of sight over a small hillock, and he dove over after her, catching a glimpse of her tail as she disappeared into a small cave. The darkness only a few feet in was nearly complete, and he felt a renewal of his strength as they moved further and further beneath the earth.
There was no light, but his eyes no longer needed any. His sight grew keener without the added distraction of refracted rays. The passageway widened and grew taller, and before long Rosa leaped through an opening in the darkness, like a hole broken through masonry, and stopped. Klaus jumped through after her and saw her standing suddenly beside him in her own form. He followed suit without thought, and again the sensation unnerved him. It was a whirling, empty moment of detached oddness.
"Welcome to my home," she smiled at him and took his hand, turning and moving forward again. As they went, he saw that there were unlit torches hanging in sconces along the walls, and an occasional moldy door broke the monotony of the hall's stone walls. The doors were of very heavy wood, and each was fitted with a single iron-barred window.
A dungeon, he thought. Nowhere was there the slightest crack to let in the light of day, and he sensed with his new perception that they were still a good ways underground.
"There are three levels of dungeons here," she explained as they mounted a spiraling stair cut into the stone of the mountain and began to move upward. "I've sealed them all, including the first floor of the castle over the years. It makes things so much more convenient. It also keeps out unwanted visitors."
He was amazed at the sheer size of the place. How had he never heard of it before? What ancient feudal lord had called this monolithic stone fortress home? And how had Rosa come to inherit it? More questions, but still no answers.
She led on, up through the next two levels and into the castle itself. All about them were signs of inhabitants long dead. Crumbling tapestries, corroded metal weapons and utensils. The furniture, what was left of it, was rotted and falling apart. Rosa moved straight through all of this, paying no more attention to it than she had the leaves and grass on the mountainside, but Klaus was fascinated.
Finally they passed through a final doorway, this one strung with beaded curtains that seemed quite a bit newer than the rest of the castle's furnishings. The other side was like night and day to the rest of the place. It was filled with all manner of opulent decadence. The walls were hung with paintings and oriental rugs. One corner held a huge bed made of oak, covered over in deep red satin sheets. It was hard to understand how he could perceive the color of things without light, but he could. It was like an aura or a vibration given off by each.
As it had been back at the Inn, one wall was covered in shelves and stands that held musical instruments. Klaus moved across the room slowly. He swept his gaze from side to side and stared at each new treasure in awe-struck amazement. There were paintings that were obviously the work of masters long dead. There were instruments there that would bring a king's ransom at an antique auction. There were even the cliché chests of coins and jewels he had read about and never believed in as a boy, overflowing in nooks and crannies with rubies, diamonds, and gold.
He spun to face Rosa, grinning like an idiot, and she came to his arms easily. He could decipher nothing in her smile. It was as devoid of emotion as the stone of the wall, but she moved against him, sending the newly ingested blood blazing through his veins.
"It's magnificent," he said at last, spinning her in a haphazard sort of waltz about the room. "Where did it all come from? Who are you, really?"
She continued to smile, a glitter rising to dance across the emerald surfaces of her eyes. "It has come from here, there, all over this planet, my love." she said. He ignored the deadness of inflection when she said the word "love" and drank in the surreal beauty of her eyes. "It is the refuse of a life of enjoyment, a journey of sin. You are a part of it now, a part of me. All you see, and infinitely more, will be yours."
"All I see?" he asked, pointedly running his eyes, and then his hands up and down the supple curves of her body. He filtered his fingers through the length of her hair, marveling at the new sensations the textures brought to his changed senses.
She laughed, then, whirled away and danced to the wall with the instruments. Deftly, she plucked a violin from its stand, whipped the bow up and drew it across the strings. With only a couple of quick motions it was tuned, and she had thrown back her head, concentrating.
The tones that sprang clear of the strings were like nothing he'd ever heard. She ran through a flurry of notes that was impossibly fast, winding back down to a wailing vibrato of low, rich harmony, and rushing back upward in a spiraling, arcane scale that sent chills rippling through him. Then the violin was back on the wall, and she stood coyly befo
re a great harp, carved of one solid piece of wood and standing taller than she herself.
The strings were like water under her fingers, rippling in waves, sending cascades of brilliant sound to echo about the stone chamber wildly, then mildly, driving his emotions first one way and then crashing them back the other.
"You play them all, don't you?" he asked finally, scanning the collection of instruments with appreciative wonder. "You play every single one of these."
She laughed again, returning to his side. "As will you, my love. You have an eternity to study, to learn, and you will find your abilities somewhat – enhanced."
He walked to the wall and pulled down a guitar. It was older than any he'd ever seen. The neck was thicker than he was used to, even thicker than his twelve string, and the strings themselves were not of metal, but of some sort of animal gut.
He placed his fingers on the frets, he strummed once, and the sound that came out was deep and resonant, beautiful. He ran his fingers experimentally up the scale and back. It was so simple. How had he ever been troubled by this? He ran through a bar or two of blues, whisked his fingers into a lead that rippled with power, echoing through the chamber, and then returned to a slower, mellower beat. He was entranced, fascinated by his own facility with the instrument.
"You see," she said, placing her hand gently against the strings to still them. "nothing is denied you now. You can do as you will, and the music will come to your call. In time, I can show you them all. Each will be your slave, your creative tool."
He placed the guitar back in its stand and allowed her to pull him about the room. He laughed with her when she tried on the jewels, placing long drooping gold chains across her breasts and removing her dress, standing before him in all her decadent beauty, adorned only in the gold and gems of generations crumbled to dust. He pulled her close, time and again, drinking in the scent and taste of her, memorizing the curves of her back, the long, slenderness of her legs, the silken tresses of deep sunset-red hair.
She danced away each time, teasing him, drawing him from wonder to wonder, treasure to trinket, until his mind reeled. He couldn't remember all that he had seen, nor could he forget any of it. It was a wonderland, a magic dream without end, only evolving to entrance him more deeply.
Finally, when the last of the chests had been toyed with, when the final painting had been admired, they reached the bed. It was a wonder in itself. Its expanse was far wider and longer than any bed Klaus had ever seen. Even as he was drawn down onto it, he noted its vastness. On the wall above it, imbedded in the stone wall with much newer cement, were manacles, chains, and other strange apparatus. It was several moments after he really looked at them that their purpose became clearer, and he pulled back, hesitating.
"What is it, my love?" she said, and suddenly her voice seemed full of mockery. "Is there something wrong?"
"No…" he lied, trying to erase the visions that filled his head, naked bodies chained and writhing on the wall, her lips caressing their flesh, drawing forth their life's blood and languishing on the red silken sheets.
"You will come to understand," she said, as though reading his mind. "You will grow as bored as I with the living, breathing, stupid cows of humanity. They exist to serve, and they exist to feed you. There is nothing more."
He grappled with his conscience as he struggled to form his next question. "Then, why would I have been different? Why, of all the 'cows' of humanity, have you chosen me? Am I a game, then, just another diversion?"
Her eyes blazed with intensity when she answered, and he allowed himself to be placated. "Never." she said hotly, insinuating her supple form against every available contour of his body in one graceful motion. "I have waited for you. You are an old soul, as I have said, and I have watched you for too long from afar. You will share my eternity. Anything that is mine will be yours."
Her lips brushed the lobe of his ear as she spoke, her hands moved over his body, caressing, teasing, and promising. He pulled her close and allowed his thoughts to drift away. It wasn't like any physical encounter he'd had in life. In some ways it was more personal. He felt her fangs gliding over his skin, felt her lips tremble against him whenever they passed too closely to a vein pulsing with fresh blood.
Pushing her to her back, he held her firmly in place and began a slow, sensual dance down her skin with his lips. She moaned as he nipped at her siin, and he felt the slight heat of the blood beneath her skin, calling to him. Nearly losing control, he pulled up slightly, moved back up to her throat and fastened onto her hungrily. He remembered the pleasure she'd brought him on the mountain. It was his time to share.
She struggled briefly, but he held her insistently, biting down and feeling the silken slide of his teeth through her skin. There was an immediate bonding, an unearthly pull at his soul that wrenched at him from every nerve in his system. His back arched, and his hands clawed into the silken sheets, lifting himself as ecstasy shot through his body.
She writhed against him, her throat impaled and the blood flowing slowly from her veins to his. As he recovered from the initial impact of the pleasure, he lowered himself again. He grew slowly erect and he glided up between her legs, not releasing his hold on her throat. He moved his hand around behind her head and grabbed a handful of her hair to hold her in place.
Rosa lay still, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. She moved to accommodate him, impaling herself on him with a rough thrust of her hips. As he entered her, he released his fangs, threw his head back, and released a cry that was almost a howl. He felt the odd ripple of his flesh that had earlier accompanied his transition from man to wolf and back, but there was no transformation.
As they slid hotly across one another, his mind was filled with visions, places he'd never seen. He realized with a flash of insight that he was sharing Rosa's memory. Blood that had flowed through her veins, was melding with his own.
The room fell away and a great roaring sound filled his ears. He saw a long string of faces, their expressions varying from ecstasy to masks of sheer terror. He saw the mountain, and he saw the castle, but it was different, alive. There was movement on its battlements, flowered beds of greenery running the length of the walls.
Then he saw the village, and a wave of déjà vu rippled through him that made him shudder. He felt himself move toward release, but the visions would not let him go. He saw the village of his childhood. His parents' home. He saw his mother, his father. The vision swirled, whisking away as Rosa wrapped him in a strong embrace, pulling him roughly down to meet her. He pushed against her desperately, trying to form the last image more clearly, trying to understand. It was his mother's face, and yet it was not. It was aged, only the eyes lived, and they were full of pain, pleading. And then they were gone.
She yanked him down with a loud moan, a growl of desire and need, and he felt himself spin away, returning to the room, to her. Her eyes were open wide now, wider than any he'd ever seen, and he surged forward to meet them, plunging himself so deeply into her that he felt the bed bow beneath them. He lapped at her neck, eagerly cleaning the blood that had oozed from the wounds he'd created. They were already healed, and he cleaned the blood from smooth, ivory-white skin.
It ended in a miasma of searing emotion. Their bodies were locked together so tightly that it seemed impossible that they were not a single entity. Klaus felt the contours of the bones beneath her flesh, and his mouth pressed to hers, sharing her breath. Her scent filled his nostrils, and the taste of her blood was on his tongue.
It was not like an orgasm. There was no release of semen, but more a flash of intense heat, of closeness and unity. He couldn't have said, later, how long they lay like that. He felt no fatigue, but there was emptiness in the aftermath of the experience, and a new hunger had been born. He glanced over at Rosa, who reclined like a well-fed cat beside him, her eyes scanning the length of him. She felt it too.
"What was that?" he asked finally. "What happened to me?"
She reached out, s
till smiling, and traced a line down the middle of his chest sending a shiver of desire through him that was almost frightening in its intensity. "I tried for a second to hold you back," she said softly. "I wasn't sure if you were ready, if you would even survive. I couldn't stop you. We are one now. Your blood already flowed in my veins. That made a connection, and it was a strong one, but it was incomplete. You needed me, but I was free to do as I wished.
"Now you have tasted of my life, and the bond is unbreakable." He thought he detected a short glitter of something in her eyes, possibly of release, or of momentary vulnerability. "I have waited for you a long time," she whispered, sliding up against him. He could feel her trembling against his skin, and he marveled at the new sensations that filled him. It was not love, not exactly, but perhaps more.
"There were visions," he said finally, breaking the silence. "I saw things, things from the past. I saw this castle. There were people here, moving about. The front wall was lined with flowers, and pennants flew from the towers. The gates were open, as well.
"I also saw the village, my home as it was when I was young. My parents were there. It was as though I'd walked through time and back into days that have passed. And I saw my mother, very old, very weak. She was asking for something, but I couldn't quite understand her. She slipped away, and then there was only you. What does it mean?"
"It may mean nothing," she said slowly, and he felt a tensing along her body that immediately alerted him that he might want to pay close attention to what she was about to say. "Most of what you saw is from my own past. We have become as one."
"And my parents?" he asked, turning to face her. "The image of my mother?"
"I know nothing about her," Rosa answered quickly, and he sensed the tension again, ever so slight, but discernible. "Your father, and his father, I knew. I have told you, already; it was I the men came to on the mountain. Did you doubt me?"
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