Betrayal: The Awakening

by Kira Hillins

  Do not let your emotions get the best of you. Not this time. He killed my parents. Remember that!

  If Tristan killed her parents, why did he leave her to live a wonderful life with the sweetest couple in the world? Why did he give them enough money to live three lifetimes? It made no sense.

  As she trailed through tall weeds, she thought of Jack and how disappointed he was that she was going to England without him. She explained the entire story, minus vampire Tristan. It wasn’t an easy task. She’d told him that her trip to Manzanita was to research her real family and find her heritage. What she’d found led her here.

  Jack was suspicious after Betty slipped out Tristan’s name, but he let her go without a fight. Now, here she was alone in a field, and the sun was getting ready to set.

  Anna knew her strength, and unfortunately her weakness. A little fresh air in daylight went a long way in exhilaration, but this task at hand, as the sky darkened, became a little intimidating. With any luck, the lights of the house would pop up soon. Hopefully, she didn’t find Tristan had become some perverted, creepy old man waiting for a young woman to pass by.

  As the sun touched the hillside, Anna shuddered. It cast an orange glow over the green hills and short, bushy trees. It was peaceful and wondrous. She tried to concentrate on it instead of her nightmares.

  Yes. These were the pastures of England where knights rode into great battles and villagers sowed their fields. Nighttime at the castle brought celebrations, where women strode in beautiful gowns, curtsying with a smile as a duke or prince waltzed by. Candlelight lit the path to a horse and carriage. Glass slippers fell off on the way to a pumpkin.

  Anna’s visions came to a painful, abrupt halt when her foot hit a large stone. “Clumsy!” She cursed as she fell to the ground. Wincing in pain, she held her foot and whined loud.

  At least a prince hadn’t seen this. He might think twice about marrying the clumsy damsel now in rags on her ass near a pumpkin and mice.

  She stood and brushed the dust off the back of her jeans. When she reached to pick up her backpack from the ground, she stopped to look at the giant stone at her feet. She looked around her. Chills spread over her skin. More of these crumbled stones and slabs were scattered throughout the field as far as she could see.

  Was this Tristan’s castle at one time? Had she found what she was looking for?

  Excitement rushed through her as she walked the ruins. It was much bigger than she thought it’d be. No way could she get through the entire place unless she stayed up all night.

  She searched for light, for anything within the rubble that might resemble a house. Unable to spot anything, she puffed a sigh. Maybe she’d grasped at straws by taking the journal seriously. The address on the envelope, not really an address, just came from a general box in the area. Tristan never lived here, but only used this place as part of his con.

  She stepped over stones and climbed slabs that looked like it might be part of the old foundation. She found a small hideaway to protect her from the night then dropped her backpack on the ground.

  She pulled her flashlight from her pocket then shined the light around the eerie field. With the light fog rolling in, the place looked like a cemetery, and maybe it was. So many people had died in the destruction of this once magnificent castle. Tristan had allegedly died here and then came back to life—as a vampire.

  What a joke. This may have been someone’s ancestor’s home, but it didn’t belong to Tristan. It was preposterous to fathom that he had been the owner four hundred years ago. To be out here searching for ghosts, or the undead, as Mac would have it, was ridiculous. More likely, Tristan was holed up somewhere in a New York City high-rise still laughing about all of this. Maybe he even watched her to make sure she stayed on this absurd goose chase.

  She lit a small fire then surrounded it with some of the broken stones she’d found on the ground. She thought for sure she’d be scared, being out in the middle of nowhere, but for some reason she felt safe, relaxed, and after eating a can of soup with crackers, full.

  It was a gorgeous night after the fog dissipated. Now it didn’t look much like a cemetery anymore. The stars twinkled brightly, a beautiful and absolutely wondrous thing to see. With no high mountains around her and no city lights to blemish the view, she felt like she could see the universe.

  Her eyelids grew heavy. Exhausted, she nestled into her sleeping bag. She closed her eyes. The dead woman’s face taunted her.

  Anna glanced around, as if the very corpse stood out there somewhere, waiting for her. The sky didn’t seem glorious anymore. Serenity left as she sank inside her covers.

  The sounds of the night hushed into complete silence. Something was out in the field, watching her, rustling the brush as it moved around her. A low moan disturbed the stillness in the air.

  Anna dragged her backpack over her. The silverware inside the front pocket clanged together. The moaning stopped. She peeked over top of her blanket, but saw nothing. For a long while, she held as still as a statue, blending in with the rubble. Her hands trembled as she clutched her backpack tight, careful not to make a sound that might call unwelcome visitors.

  She tried to stay awake, but her eyes burned with fatigue. So tired, she couldn’t keep them open any longer. If someone came into her camp and murdered her, it wouldn’t matter now.

  Birds chirped around her. Light, glorious light, coaxed her into waking, though her eyes remained shut. Just a little longer.

  Something warm touched her face. It was instant wake. Eyes wide, Anna focused on the fat white creature tickling her cheek with its tongue. A sheep with wool as thick as an Arctic jacket stuck its nose on hers. The animal’s voice chimed in her ears as if it had succeeded in becoming an alarm clock.

  Anna sat up. Frightened by her sudden movement, the sheep bolted toward the group grazing in the field. It moaned—the same sound that’d spooked her last night.

  Anna laughed. To think that sheep wandered the ruins of a historic castle, one she couldn’t wait to explore. With the sun already setting, she didn’t have much time.

  “Damn it!”

  She leapt to her feet. She tossed a few logs onto the dwindling fire, then walked the grounds in hopes she’d find the house. The thought of staying another night in the wilderness alone sent an icy chill up her spine. Dread crept over her as the sun hit the horizon.

  Her shadow glided with her across a large broken slab. By the amount of sediment on its top, it’d been moved. Within the space where it used to sit, buried in the dirt, was an old iron ring attached to a rotting wooden trapdoor.

  She bent down and traced the ring with her fingers, wiping away a few particles of rust. To open it, or not to open it? What exactly would she find down there?

  She tugged hard on the ring. The door opened up with a creak. Dust and the scent of rotted wood permeated the air, filling her senses. She put her hand to her mouth then coughed.

  Being a doctor had its perks, but it was never as exciting as this. Like an archaeologist, she’d made an incredible find. She shined her light inside the dark hole. The steps were broken. If she wanted to see what was down there, she’d need to jump. With her luck, she’d find herself falling into a bottomless pit. Nobody would ever find her.

  She found a long, thin tree on the ground. With a heave, she dragged it over to the hole. It took effort, but she managed to stand it up and slide it down inside. Much to her delight, the end hit the bottom.

  Her skin rose with goosebumps. It was dark down there. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she wouldn’t like what she found. But this was what she’d come for, and there was no turning back now.

  She set aside her fears then mounted the tree. After a deep breath, she climbed down. When her feet hit the floor, she brushed the bark chips off the front of her clothes then glanced around in the darkness.

  Despair lived here. The smell, though not as strong, reminded her of the dank dungeon in Tristan’s house. She shined the light around her. Old
furniture and paintings were spread around the room. A suit of armor stood beneath a red tapestry, one that welcomed her memory of the house in Oregon—Tristan’s décor.

  She scanned the wall and found a painting of the castle that brought another memory of her time with him.

  “This was my home until a demon brought it to its knees.”

  It was an odd thing to say to a child, but she’d listened in awe. She’d sympathized with the devil. What an idiot she was to believe in him.

  She scanned the rest of the room. To find something old and rich as this place was a feeling of accomplishment. She wasn’t the first to find this dungeon. With the moved slab above, someone was here before. Why hadn’t they claimed this find and taken all these amazing things to a museum?

  She shined the light along the farthest wall. Three open chests welcomed her intrigue. She strode across the dusty floor then flashed the light inside one. There were hundreds of gold pieces darkened from the time spent here. As she inspected a coin, she felt like a pirate who’d found the treasure she’d spent her entire life looking for. This belonged in a museum and not in an old ruin.

  She balanced the flashlight on the edge of the chest and reached inside the next one. She enclosed her hands around the cold steel hilt of a sword then lifted it out. The circular patterns on the blade were eccentric, like a king’s weapon—magnificent and heavy. She couldn’t imagine wielding such a thing in battle, holding it above her head to strike down the enemy with a mortal wound. No—she’d fall backward and land on the ground. It’d be a swift death.

  There was an indigo gem in the hilt with a small indention next to it where another would fit. The guard curved out into wolves’ heads on each side, and brought back another memory she’d tucked away.

  “The wolf is my family crest, passed down from my father and his father before him. I did not earn my father’s respect before he died, so I am undeserving of it.”

  A deep growl came from the far corner of the room. Anna whipped around. She dropped the sword from her hands. The weapon fell with a clatter that echoed throughout the room.

  She cringed as she grabbed up her flashlight then huddled in the space between the chests. As the growling began again, she searched her pocket for her mace. It was gone. Crap. It must’ve fallen out near the camp.

  She followed the sound with the light to a small cot on the back side of the room. Something moved beneath the blanket. No matter how much she tried to scream and run, she couldn’t get her legs to move toward the tree. Instead, she took small steps toward the cot.

  What are you doing? She pulled out her cell phone. No service. She’d seen movies where the female was murdered in this same situation. Curiosity killed the cat. Anna, you dummy. Get the hell out of here!

  She stepped toward the lump that moaned like the zombie in that same horrible movie. Her toe hit the hilt of the sword. The short clatter of steel on stone sent a whirlwind of fear through her veins and a plethora of goosebumps over her skin.

  She stuffed her phone in her pocket. Breath held, she tucked the flashlight under her arm. She bent down then gripped the weapon in both hands. With it held out before her, she made her way to the cot that now looked empty.

  She dragged the blanket back. Nothing. A hefty puff of relief escaped her mouth. Thank God no zombies or ghouls jumped out. She touched the cold mattress. In a dank place like this, rodents probably scurried across the floor. She shuddered at the thought of one nibbling at her feet.

  She was ready to get back to the campsite. She needed to get some sleep before venturing home tomorrow, empty-handed. As she carried the sword toward the chest, the flashlight fell from her underarm. The lens cracked on the floor. The light went out.

  Grumbling over her clumsiness, she picked it up. “Idiot,” she whispered, banging it against her forearm until it came back on directly into a ghastly face. The edge of the sword held fast to his cheek. Blood, black as the night dripped down the blade like sap from a tree, making its way to her trembling hands.

  She opened her mouth and screamed. The flashlight fumbled from her hand and she dropped the sword. The clang was loud in her ears. Plastic crunched under her feet as she ran to the tree and hopped on.

  As she climbed, she scraped her arms on the small knots sticking out around the rotting bark. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, she would get out of this hole, sprint up the path to the car, and then get the hell out of here. She would make it to the safety of the town, if she could just get out of this damn hole.

  The tree cracked. She inched downward several times. She reached for the ring of the door. Then down she went. Backward. Back in the hole she’d tried to escape from. She braced herself for the painful impact. It came hard and fast, but didn’t hurt as bad as she thought it would. A sore rump, maybe a headache would follow, if she survived the psycho who was down here. Of course I won’t survive. She’d invaded his space, and now he was going to kill her.

  Anna lay on her back. She peered into the dark sky above. This would be the last time she’d ever view the stars again. Now his prisoner, she had no choice but to give up and die.

  Light glowed from a table next to the cot. Anna turned her aching head to find a man peering at her from beneath long dark locks. He looked like Tristan, but skeletal, as if he had starved his body for several years.

  “Tristan?”

  “Yes.” His whisper was weak.

  Why would he stay in this horrible, cold dungeon? “Am I going to die now?”

  Tristan’s bone-framed cheeks rose with a grin as he spoke ever so softly. “That is not for me to decide.”

  He collapsed on the cot. His growl, a low, gurgling rumble, sent a chill over her.

  She strode to the cot. His frame was thin and frail. The shadows under his eyes were startlingly dark. It was obvious he suffered from severe malnutrition.

  “For all the horrible things you’ve done, all the people you’ve hurt,” she whispered through chattering teeth, “you deserve this misery.” Saying that to him didn’t feel right. Her heart sank as he looked up at her with solemn black eyes.

  She took pity on him, but then maybe it was the doctor taking over, sworn to save all lives. No matter how badly she wanted to leave him here to die, she couldn’t do it.

  “You need a doctor.”

  “Anna.” Tristan closed his eyes. “Go away and let me rest.”

  Rage sparked inside her. “I’m going to take you to a hospital so you can get proper treatment. Don’t argue with me!”

  “Leave me be.”

  “I certainly will not.” Eager to get him off the cot, she took him by the hand. He was cold as ice. “You’re suffering from hypothermia. If you don’t get treatment, you’ll die.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “It doesn’t matter right now. Come on.” With effort, she helped him to his feet. She draped his arm over her shoulders. He’d lost so much weight, that he was easy to guide to the broken tree.

  “How am I going to get us up there?”

  She glanced around the room. A large blue tapestry hung over the rectangular table where the lantern was lit. She ducked under his arm and stood him upright. Seeing he somewhat had balance, she turned to retrieve the tapestry.

  He caught her by the hand and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Hold on,” he whispered.

  “What are you—?”

  They flew up through the trap door. She squealed, delight furthest from her mind. When they landed on the stone slab outside, she fell to the ground.

  Defying the laws of gravity was just not feasible. Then, she’d seen him in the air before, long ago when she was a child. But that’s all it was, childhood imagination. How was this possible?

  Tristan collapsed beside her. Shaking off the disorientation, she crawled to his side. His breath was shallow. The grumble in his stomach grew louder. In this state, he may not live long enough to get to the hospital.

  She tugged on his hand. “Come on, Tristan. I know you
can get up. My camp’s not far from here. I have food.”

  He didn’t respond. He couldn’t die without confessing to the murders of her parents. Most of all, she wasn’t going to allow him to die without her killing him first.

  Anna ran on wobbly legs to the campsite. She retrieved the canteen of water from her backpack, gathered a package of crackers and her soft blue blanket, and then hurried back to Tristan’s side. She lifted the canteen to his lips, but he turned away.

  “You know what I need.”

  Those icy fingers clawed at her back so much it hurt. “No. You only believe it’s what you need. You’re ill, Tristan. I’ll help you get better. But right now you need to drink and eat.” She lifted a cracker to his lips, but he wouldn’t open his mouth. “Please, just eat it.”

  He closed his eyes. “Go home. Let me die in peace.”

  “I’m not leaving. So just tell me what you want me to do.” With a sigh, she flipped the cracker from her hand. As it broke into pieces on the ground, the grumble inside him came again. “I won’t stop pestering you until you eat. I’ll stuff a cracker down your throat if I have to.”

  “You are as stubborn as I remember.” He lifted his cold hand to her warm face, but only for a moment before it fell back to his chest. “I am too weak to hunt.”

  “Then I’ll find something.”

  She inspected his pale, weak body. The dark circles around his sunken eyes made him look like something straight out of a horror movie. How he managed to keep his clothes on was anyone’s guess.

  She pulled out the extra flashlight she’d stuffed inside her backpack and turned it on. With a quick step, she left the low light of the campfire to go in search of something with blood, an animal slow enough to catch—the sheep.

  With the light shining before her, she ventured out in the tall grass. She felt like a hunter in the fields of Africa, searching for the perfect trophy animal to hang on her wall. Her weapons were a flashlight and a pair of trembling hands.