From the Dark

by Michele Hauf

  Preparing to whip the ax into the air, Michael swung around behind him, and just before he let go of the handle, he saw the tree. And the person bound by arms, ankles and neck to the massive trunk.

  “No.” He abruptly stopped the momentum of his swing, the ax still in hand. “You were going to kill her?” The word kill choked out as he gasped back a surprising rush of emotion. Rage crushed through anguish, and echoed out in a scream. “Isabelle!”

  “Michael!” Jane rushed up to him. Wild hair billowed out like flame dancing a triumphant reel. Her embrace about his shoulders didn’t feel right. Too possessive. She had betrayed him.

  She intended to sacrifice his blood master?

  He shrugged Jane off and turned to look at her. Finding her gaze in the fire-flickered darkness required him twisting her chin up to look into his eyes straight on. Touching her felt vile. Her breath on his hand burned like the sacred. “Do you hate me that much?” he asked.

  “What?”

  He thrust a gesture over his shoulder. “Isabelle. Why her? Of all the vampires in this world, you had to choose the one I would care to lose?”

  “I didn’t—”

  He shook her by the shoulders, not finding the proper remorse in her eyes. Seeing only the flames dancing there, and wanting to wrest her about and bind her to the tree so she could know the horror.

  “I didn’t know it was her!”

  “Liar! And I came back here to help you.”

  “Help? Michael, there is nothing you can do.”

  “Release her!” he growled.

  Jane flinched. He’d yelled right into her face. But she wasted no time in responding. “Daddy, do it!”

  Baptiste remained standing behind his daughter, arms crossed high upon his chest.

  “That’s your blood master? I had no idea, Michael. I—I didn’t know they were going to bring her.” Reflected flames glittered in Jane’s tears as they streamed down her cheeks. “You have to believe me, Michael. I would never do anything to hurt you. Or someone you love!”

  He ground his jaw tightly. She lied. She needed a vampire’s heart, the bloodthirsty witch. She would say anything to get it.

  Maybe.

  How convenient the timing of this ritual, that it had coincided with Jane getting full use of her magic. He had played into this game so blindly!

  Swinging the ax, it soared through the air, wrenching Michael’s shoulders and body around. The ax connected with the oak tree. The thick white rope split, releasing Isabelle’s feet. Another swing cut through the bindings about her neck, and finally, she dropped.

  Plunging to catch her before her limp body hit the ground, Michael slipped his free arm under her chest and knelt at the base of the trunk, cradling her body to him.

  Seductive even now, her exotic perfume crept into him and coaxed her heartbeats to follow. So slow, her pulse, but strong yet. He prayed they had not done anything like drug her.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing,” Jane answered. “Daddy brought her while we were inside dancing.”

  Michael winced to know he’d been spinning about with Jane while this had been happening to Isabelle. Shouldn’t he have known she was close? Felt her?

  You had only eyes for the witch.

  He glared at Baptiste, who stood before Jane, protecting with a forceful stance. His sneer revealed a glint of fang. “My daughter speaks the truth. I was the one who found Isabelle LaPierre, and thanks to the vigilante witch, we captured her easily. Jane had no idea the source would be your blood master. She protested, but there was no time. It is almost midnight! Will you sacrifice Jane so that bitch may live?”

  Not a bitch. But when had he ever truly known this woman?

  Michael hugged Isabelle’s lithe body to him. She stirred. Her fingers clutched for his shirt. Her tiny moan cut right into his heart. Pulse beats moved slowly through him, warning, but unable to fully return to a normal pace.

  “Have you drugged her?”

  “I have no idea what the witch did to coerce her,” Baptiste said.

  Which meant that yes, she had been drugged.

  “It is one or the other,” Baptiste demanded. “You cannot keep them both.”

  “Daddy, don’t say that. It is not Michael’s choice to make.” Jane stood backlighted by the great fire, arms wrapped across her chest, shivering. The red dress was sheer, shadowing her limbs in sensual play of darkness and glowing crimson. “I should have never attempted this. I didn’t want to harm her. Please, Michael, take her and leave.”

  “Jane, you’ve but moments!” Her father raged now, dismissing his calm demeanor with a stomp. “Do not sacrifice yourself for a fleeting love affair!”

  Michael set Isabelle upon the ground and placed the ax handle in her delicate fingers. Still groggy, she curled her fingers about it, and looked to him, her eyelids fluttering. Yes, fighting some drug—and a powerful one at that. There could be no other reason for her languishing strength.

  He smoothed the hair from her lashes and traced the scars at the side of her temple. She nodded once, and closed her eyes to settle against the tree stump.

  Breathing in through his nose, Michael drew in one more whiff of Isabelle. A survivor, this woman, merely going through life in pursuit of the addiction that demanded it be fed. If he had given her what she asked, he could have prevented this horrible moment.

  But who can know what goes on in the minds of others?

  He would know. Now.

  Michael stood and approached Jane. She took a step back, but her father did not move, and so she stopped.

  “Is he right?” Michael asked, the venom of his anger stabbing out in his tone. “Is it fleeting?”

  Trembles shook Jane’s entire body. “Never. I love you, Michael. I always will.”

  “Yet, you would harm someone who gave me this life?”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not. There is no question that you should take her and leave. Now.”

  Seeming to form her thoughts as she spoke, she avoided his gaze, instead flashing her eyes from the ground, over to the tree, and back to the ground between them. “It was good we had a chance to know one another,” she offered. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Jane, no!” Baptiste raged. “My daughter will not die because of you, vampire!”

  “Daddy! It is done.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Jane.” Michael stepped back, then turned and stalked over to the tree. He grabbed the ax. One final stroke of his finger across Isabelle’s cheek, the angry flesh like crumpled silk. He swallowed back the regret. She truly was a survivor. And if she would not forgive him for what he wished to do, then he could live with that.

  Resolute, he knew what had to be done. He’d come back here for one reason. And that reason remained.

  “Stand back, Baptiste!” Marching back to Jane, he growled and flashed his fangs as Baptiste made to step before his daughter. “Away!” he commanded the old vampire.

  “Do it,” Jane hissed to her father. “Please.”

  Slowly, Baptiste lifted his hands before him and stepped back. Two paces. No more. Michael did not blame him for wanting to stay close. The need to protect Jane hummed in the air. Though it was ironic—she could actually cause him the most harm.

  He shoved the ax into Jane’s hands. “Take me.”

  “What?”

  “Do as I say. I was being selfish up at the house,” Michael said. “This is something you need. Or you will die. I don’t want that. I love you, Jane.” He twisted his grip on the ax handle, their clenched fists touching. “I came back here to offer my heart to you. Emotionally, and…physically.”

  “No!”

  “Jane,” her father cautioned.

  “Michael, I will do no such thing! What reason would I have to live—for ever—without you?”

  Tears burst anew from her eyes, raining upon Michael’s wrists. He could smell her pain, and feel it in the erratic race of her pulse. He could feel the truth in her words.
She had not intended for this betrayal, it had all been her father’s doing. And that Crosse bitch. He’d deal with her later.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  “But.” She sniffed back the torrent, but the tears would not cease. “I—I need your heart.”

  “Then you shall have it.” Michael tore open his shirt and dropped it to the fire. “Take my heart, Jane. It is yours.”

  “No,” she whispered, the ax shaking in her hands.

  “You must be quick,” he said. “There isn’t much time.”

  “No!” She tossed the ax to the ground between them. “How can you torture me like this? I love you, Michael!”

  “Jane.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. Everything faded into the background, the blaze, her father’s expectant sneer, Isabelle’s tiny moans from near the tree. Just they two stood alone, bonded by the magic they had given one another. “You can do this. We can do this. Take. The blood. From my heart.”

  “No—”

  “And then bring me back.”

  Jane opened her mouth in a gape. “Wh-what?”

  “Use your magic, Jane. Use our magic. The sex magic. It can work. I know it.”

  And if it did not?

  The sacrifice was worth it.

  “It can’t—”

  “It’s worth a try. You have to.” He picked up the ax and forced it into her loose grip, tightening his fingers around hers so she wouldn’t drop it again. “Together, we are strong, Jane. Look into my eyes. Can’t you see yourself? You already have my heart, now you’ve just to use it to save your life.”

  “You’re not that strong, Michael. Maybe if you had my blood you could use real magic, but—”

  “You must try, Jane!” Baptiste yelled.

  Michael smirked at the father’s eagerness. The old vampire had nothing to lose—save a daughter.

  “I would rather die.” Jane crossed her arms, steadfastly refusing Michael’s attempts to wrap her fingers about the handle.

  “Fine.” Stepping back, he swung the ax in a full circle before him, like some ancient battle sword, and then swung it to hook in his grip against the curve of the blade. “I love you, Jane. Don’t let me down. I want you around for eternity.”

  And he gouged the ax up into his chest. The tip burned through flesh. The sickening crunch of cartilage cracked.

  Michael cried out. For the first time, his voice frightened the angels, and Heaven cringed. The bonfire consumed his cry.

  He would not allow her to go through this alone. He’d ransomed his heart to her days ago. And he wasn’t the sort of man to give things lightly—especially his heart.

  Michael opened his mouth in a silent scream. It hurt like no sun ever could. But he did not stop, pressing the blade deeper into his body.

  He fell to his knees.

  A second died. A heartbeat broke in two. Jane’s pulse severed from his own, leaving his body.

  Blood spurt from his chest. Jane, all crimson and fire, knelt before him. Her mouth stretched open. But he couldn’t hear her scream, only the drumbeat of his own manic heart.

  Blood spattered Jane’s face.

  Michael smiled. This was the right thing to do. And if he didn’t survive? Then he would go in peace knowing Jane would live.

  “I just…wanted to give you life,” he managed.

  The bonfire crackled wickedly.

  “I love you, Jane.”

  Chapter 25

  “M ichael? Can you hear me?”

  An angel called to him. So distant. Fading, slipping away. Sounded familiar. And he’d thought he could never make it to heaven.

  “Michael!”

  “Hurry, J-Jane.” Michael slapped his chest. Blood splattered his face. So much of his own blood. “Drink.”

  “No.”

  “Now! I did this for you. Don’t let it be in vain!”

  “Quickly, Jane,” her father encouraged from somewhere Michael could not see. “Plunge your hand inside his chest. Take what you can.”

  Michael slapped his hand over Jane’s and moved it to the hole in his chest. And then he blacked out.

  “Is he dead?”

  Jane heard her father’s question, but she was too frantic to answer. Soaked with her lover’s blood, she swiped at her face to clear her vision.

  It was done. She’d completed the ritual.

  And all she wished for now was her own death.

  Baptiste knelt on the grass next to her and laid a hand over Michael’s exposed chest beside Jane’s trembling fingers. The ax had cleaved through flesh and cartilage, and had fitted itself between ribs. Jane could see bone.

  “You did what was right,” Baptiste said. “He wanted you to do it. You cannot blame yourself. Ever.”

  “Just tell me he’ll live,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to live unless he does!”

  “He may heal,” Baptiste offered. “He is young. Strong. And if he has taken some of your magic…”

  “Not enough,” she said. “Never enough. He’s staked himself! The heart is damaged.”

  Her father stuck a finger into the wound.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “I can feel the heart. It’s still beating. Though…”

  “Your blood!” She gripped her father’s wrist. “Please?”

  Honeyied eyes darted between hers, reading her heart, knowing her as only he could know her. Don’t let me down, Daddy. Let this be the one you accept for your daughter.

  “Of course.” Baptiste bit into his own wrist and Jane quickly pressed it over Michael’s mouth.

  “Is it working?”

  “He is drinking. I can feel him draw it out,” Baptiste said. He winced, and bowed his head over Michael. “Very much. But it won’t be enough. I have not fed for weeks, Jane dearest.”

  And like that, Baptiste’s wrist dropped way from Michael’s mouth. Jane slapped his face gently. “Michael? Don’t go. Please, I need you.”

  Baptiste spat into his palms. Once. Twice. And again. He slapped his hands together and rubbed.

  Jane guessed his next move. Her father pressed his palms to Michael’s chest. The vampire’s saliva acted as a healing agent against a simple bite. Could it prove effective against a great hole cleaved into a man’s heart?

  Baptiste worked his fingers inside the wound, causing Jane to wince at the intrusion. She knew it was for the best, or at the very least, the only hope Michael had. He drew out his hands and spit on them again.

  She wondered if there was enough magic in her arsenal to bring back a dying vampire. Likely not, unless it included a very involved spell and chanting and instructions from a grimoire that she did not have.

  “How could I have done this? I’ve betrayed him. Daddy, I only wanted to love him. It was wrong, so wrong.”

  Her father’s arms wrapped about her shoulders, but he didn’t try to pull her away from Michael. Jane’s fingers slid across his chest. Pressing her palm over the open wound didn’t help, but the act of attempting to stop death—no, it didn’t change a thing in her heart.

  This night she had lost her heart with the swing of an ax.

  “Move aside.” Another woman’s voice.

  Jane frowned. She had forgotten all about the other. Michael had held her so covetously. He’d bowed his head over her and nudged his nose into her hair. Cherished. Witnessing them together had cut deeply into Jane.

  Isabelle plunged to the ground between Jane and Baptiste and pushed aside Baptiste. The linen suit was smeared with dirt and blood. She looked a tattered angel.

  She leaned over Michael, her long white hair dusting through the blood.

  Now she saw how beautiful the woman was, even the scars that ravaged half her face danced delicately with the reflection of the flames. She didn’t know what to say, so she said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Get over it, witch. I saw the whole thing. He did this to himself. Obviously, because he loves you so much. The idiot.” She surveyed Jane for a moment, her bloodshot gold e
yes darting back and forth between Jane’s. “Another witch. I cannot seem to get myself far enough away from your insane lot. And you call us the dark? You are wicked! And you,” Isabelle addressed Baptiste, “a fellow of the blood?”

  The female vampire shook her head and focused back on Michael. “I hope she’s worth it, Michael. Now, sit back. Let me see what I can do.”

  Chapter 26

  “L isten to me. Wake up. Don’t die. You said you weren’t going anywhere. Michael!”

  The angel had returned. And this time she was angry.

  A great whorl of fire burned in his chest.

  Michael choked. Swallowed back blood. Sweet, rich liquid, laced with a familiar memory. Not his own. He’d taken blood? From whom?

  “Michael? They’ve left. I made them go. We’re alone. I’m not going to let you go. Michael!”

  “J-Jane?”

  What was that awful ache? And yet, more than being painful, it pulsed, tugging, almost as if it were cleaving together and making itself strong.

  “Yes, listen to my voice, Michael. Concentrate. Try to find my heartbeats.”

  “Can’t. You’re not…there.” He sighed a long breath, expelling streams of the unknown blood as well. “Whose blood…in my mouth?”

  “Daddy’s.”

  Her father had given him blood? Stunning.

  “And Isabelle’s.”

  Now that was even more remarkable. He couldn’t be hearing right. The angel was wrong. He had descended to Hell where everyone lied and a vampire was forced to swim in the blood of others for eternity, always drowning, never living.

  “She’s safe now, Michael. My father took her back to town. But if you want me to have him bring her back to you, I will.”

  Isabelle LaPierre. The bloody mistress of his fate. La Belle Dame sans Merci, indeed.

  Jane. Goddess of light.

  There was no question who he had chosen.

  “Michael?” Warmth traced his cheek. She touched him. He recognized that pulse.

  “Isabelle,” he murmured, for he couldn’t find his voice yet. “Did she…take from me in return?”