In the morning, she woke feeling well and manic with excitement, as if she’d volunteered for some insane, exhilarating stunt, like flying on the wing of a biplane.
I’m going to see him again. He will not kill me, or even harm me. I shall get the better of him! What a challenge, to outwit him; not a mere man, but an actual devil!
Will he come tonight? A warm tremor of desire went through her. She danced around the room.
Then she noticed how late it was. Why hadn’t Mary come in with her tea?
Pulling on a dressing gown, Robyn went onto the landing and saw that the door to Alice’s room was still closed. Softly opening it, she found the room in darkness, the curtains closed.
“Alice?”
She looked at the figure in the bed, and shrieked.
Now she knew why no one had heeded her cry in the night. From Alice’s room, she ran upstairs to Mary’s, her heart racing and her mouth sticky with fear.
Like Alice, Mary lay unconscious and pallid, breathing in shallow sighs. And on her throat, too, were the fading crescent scars of Sebastian’s fangs.
* * *
Cesare’s plan took shape swiftly. Now, when he addressed his followers, he did so from the dais, one hand resting on Kristian’s ebony throne. No one suggested that he was being presumptuous.
There was much to do before Violette returned from America. The date of her arrival in September loomed in Cesare’s mind like doomsday. “When Lilith comes,” was a phrase he often repeated to his flock. It always sent a wave of terror through them, like the backdraught of Satan’s wings.
Cesare felt happy, fulfilled. Vampires were arriving at Schloss Holdenstein unbidden, alarmed by rumours, by the growing knot of blackness in the Crystal Ring, or by some instinctive knowledge of Lilith that rippled through the ether. His little band numbered twenty, and more would come. They know they’re in peril, he thought, and they’re coming to me for help!
Further proof that my leadership is ordained by God.
The need to survive had tamed even Ilona. Cesare was paradoxically grateful for her mischief-making; it had revealed Simon as less than perfect, thus enabling Cesare to be more forceful. The trinity was powerful – Cesare saw Simon, John and himself as fire, earth and air – but he was careful to keep slightly apart. John was right. He should trust only himself.
The plan was going well. More vampires joined the crusade every day, and Ilona was beginning the work she did so well. In secret, though, Cesare’s happiness was tainted by doubt.
Despite Simon’s assurance, “Not the first, but the best,” Cesare couldn’t force Sebastian out of his mind. He remembered Sebastian’s visit in the last century; a vampire more wayward even than Karl, who’d dared to challenge Kristian. Cesare hated to think that Simon had asked such a rogue to take power.
And what arrogance, to have turned Simon down!
Sebastian became a shadow in Cesare’s mind that had to be exorcised.
And then there was Lilith herself.
In moments of clarity, when his crusading fervour cooled, Cesare would sit alone in the inner sanctum and dredge through his deepest fears. I’m bringing an army together, united by hatred of the Enemy – but what do I really know of her? How can I send them against her, when I haven’t faced her myself?
Am I a coward?
No! He clenched his fists on his thighs, but the words circled like a litany: when Lilith comes, when Lilith comes…
Cesare looked up to heaven and thought, I must prove my courage.
I must face her alone. Just once.
He called John and Simon and asked gravely, “How can we actually destroy her?”
“I don’t think she can be destroyed,” said Simon, “but she can be hurt and bound. Ask yourself what would hurt her most.”
Cesare couldn’t conceive of vampires caring for humans, so he couldn’t answer. John, though, spoke at once.
“Destroy her ballet! She killed Matthew because he threatened her dancers.”
Cesare was suddenly full of excitement and ideas.
“We can’t touch her yet, but we can strip away everything around her,” said Simon. “Take her ballet, take those who shelter her. Leave her alone, exposed.”
“Alone and threatened, she’ll be at her most dangerous,” Cesare said, shuddering. Sometimes he felt the ache of long-faded scars on his back, childhood terrors.
“Yes, but also at her most vulnerable.” Simon’s gilded face showed no fear. “When she returns from her travels, we’ll wait a while to lull her suspicions…”
“And then,” Cesare breathed, “then we’ll welcome her home.”
* * *
Every Sunday, Robyn went to Trinity, the Episcopal Church in Copley Square. This was part of her pose, to seem more acceptable to Boston society; what could they say about a woman who attended church and did charity work? The word “hypocrite” sprang to mind, but she didn’t care.
She wasn’t religious, but she loved the church, with its Romanesque solidity, its arches, turrets and pointed roofs. The interior, all dark wood with a wealth of paintings and decoration, felt warm. She liked to sit in the gloom and study the glorious La Farge and Burne-Jones windows. To flood her senses with their stormy purples, bright greens and peacock blues was spirituality enough for her.
But this Sunday she prayed.
Please, God, let Alice and Mary get better.
Please forgive me. Let them get better and I’ll never fall again.
* * *
To tease Robyn, Sebastian kept away for a few days; to tease her, and tantalise himself. Meanwhile, he explored the city, enjoying the separate worlds of wealth and poverty, the churches, burial grounds where he could seize a victim between the gravestones as befitted his true nature. From the grand bow-fronted houses of Back Bay and Vermont Street to the tenements of the North End, he hunted invisibly in the night; and then he’d walk along the harbour, staring past ships and ferries to the black-sapphire water. Clearing his mind.
Yet everywhere he went, he imagined Robyn beside him, sharing the silver beauty of the night… imagined himself driving his fangs into the tender flesh of her neck.
The worst she could do to me, he thought, is to leave home and vanish by the time I go back for her. And she might do so to spite me… but I doubt it.
One evening he crossed the Charles River to explore Cambridge and amuse himself among the students. There, as he wandered through the stately tree-filled squares of Harvard University, he realised he was being followed.
Strange sensation of dimensionless entities watching him, like the time Simon had found him in New York… And then, with a stab of alarm, he saw two glimmering figures, one pale, one dark.
If Simon found me, why not Fyodor and Rasmila? he thought. But why?
For a moment he was back at Blackwater Hall, two hundred years falling away… He took a step forward. The black shape resolved into a lamp post, the white one a sliver of light between two buildings. Sebastian stood aghast at the tricks of his own imagination.
Again he found himself thinking of Simon and Ilona – and of Violette. He loathed these intrusions. His gaze swept up, past a library’s pillared frontage, past shimmering elms and beeches, to the night sky.
“If you interfere with my existence,” he said softly to Violette or anyone; perhaps to the demons in his own soul, “you will regret it.”
The sensation of being followed faded, but left him empty, unsettled, thirsty for more than blood.
That feeling drove him back to Robyn’s house.
He stood on her terrace, watching her in the parlour: a glowing jewel-box of safety. She was alone and looked so innocent, curled up with a book like a little girl. But she kept breaking off to sigh and gaze at nothing.
Sebastian watched for a long time, motionless. Second nature for a vampire to observe as if he’d turned to stone, transfixed by the object of fascination.
Thoughts of other vampires left sourness in his mouth. He needed Robyn to
wash the taste away.
Presently she put her book aside and walked around the room, adjusting ornaments. She appeared to sense something… And at last she came to the French doors.
By the time she opened the doors to the night, Sebastian was standing on the small lawn, beneath a lemon tree.
She started. He savoured the wave of nervous heat she radiated. Then she descended the steps towards him, demanding, “What the hell are you doing here?”
In a pyjama suit of ivory silk, her hair loose over her shoulders, she looked astonishing. Lustrous eyes wide with anger, one hand clasping the jacket at her throat, blood blooming in her cheeks. He could have devoured her. When he said nothing, she grew angrier.
“Have you been watching me?”
“Naturally. You are a very pleasing sight. Do you mind?”
“Yes, I mind. Damned right I mind!”
Clearly he’d underestimated her anger. She was alight with rage.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come outside,” he said, smiling.
“Why the hell couldn’t you knock on the front door like a normal man? You know, telephone first or leave a card. I’ve been going mad, wondering if you were coming back or not, you god-damned –”
“You said you wanted to see me.” His tone was cool, and he knew how he appeared: too still and pale, his eyes hypnotic but unfeeling. He enjoyed his power to frighten her – yet her brave spirit intrigued him.
“That was before I found out what you really are!”
“I thought it was obvious.”
“I’m talking about Mary and Alice!” she cried. “I found them when you’d gone. You went to them and – how dare you do that to them!”
Sebastian laughed. Robyn seemed ready to kill him.
“You have no cause to be jealous,” he said.
“What?” She caught her breath. “Jealous?”
“I did nothing carnal with them. It would have taken too long.”
Her mouth dropped, eyes opening wide. He continued, “I am joking, my dear. I have no designs on your servants. But blood is blood. It’s the one thing I absolutely must have.”
She glared speechlessly at him.
“You invited me back,” he added, “knowing what I am.”
“Don’t you dare blame this on me!” She came closer, pointing a finger at him. “If you ever touch Alice or Mary again, I’ll –”
“What?”
Her voice fell. “I’ll never see you again. What can you do about that, unless you kill me? And that would kind of defeat your object, wouldn’t it?”
Sebastian exhaled softly. She was right, and she’d won a small victory.
“I don’t want to kill you, and there’d be no pleasure in forcing you. And I mind very much if you refuse to see me. You look cold, Robyn. Won’t you invite me inside?”
“Oh, you need an invitation now?” She studied him, her eyes glittering. Then she relented. “All right. Come in.”
He followed her, watching her hair swaying against her upright back, the rich curves of her hips. He closed the doors. Robyn went to a lace-covered table and picked up a small object, closing her hand so he didn’t see it.
“Where are Alice and Mary?” he asked.
“Mary’s in the kitchen. Alice, at a concert with friends.”
Sebastian spread his hands. “So, no harm done.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” She turned to him. “They were both in bed for a day, not as sick as me, but bad enough. I don’t think Mary remembers, although she jumps at every little noise. But Alice… She knows what you did. She won’t talk, but I see it in her eyes.” Head drooping, she pressed a fist to her forehead. “What am I doing, letting you in?”
Sebastian went to her. Her head jerked up. She looked dishevelled, flushed, wholly irresistible. Obvious why men lost their heads over her; almost shaming, that he wasn’t immune. He longed to touch her, but sensed she would shake him off.
“Robyn…”
“Does this mean anything to you?” She opened her fist. In her palm was a silver crucifix on a chain.
“No.” He regarded the cross, unmoved. “What does it mean to you?”
She bit her lip. The gesture was so unconsciously erotic that it was all he could do not to seize her. “My mother’s Jewish, my father’s Unitarian and I’m a cynic. And a sinner. So I guess it ought to mean something, but it doesn’t.”
“But you go to church.”
“So?” Another flash of anger. “Have you been following me?”
He shrugged, leaving her to guess. “Well, I was once a Catholic, severely lapsed, so there you are,” he said lightly.
“Oh, well.” She let the chain slide through her fingers. “I wanted to see if you would scream and leap through windows, like Count Dracula.”
“I can, if you’d find it entertaining.” Sebastian was looking at her more softly now. Her fear was fading. “But not in response to a piece of metal.”
He allowed himself the luxury of touching her. He rested his left hand on her shoulder and rolled strands of her brown hair between his fingers. She didn’t flinch.
“You were trying to protect yourself. I don’t blame you,” he said gently, “but you can’t.”
Dull pain, laced with tenderness, fleeted across her face. She pressed his hand to her cheek, swallowing hard as if she wanted to stop but couldn’t.
“I think we should go to my bedroom,” she said. “Don’t you?”
* * *
They dived through lakes of flame and smoky light, joined from mouth to loins. No bed beneath them, nothing of Earth to constrain them. Sebastian felt that he’d transported Robyn into the Crystal Ring and now they fell through the clouds forever, entwined.
This was even more glorious than the first time. They knew each other, but there was more to learn. This time, to his delight, Robyn didn’t fight her feelings but absorbed him, craving sensation, passion, release. His body slid over hers; he loved her moist heat, all her natural scents. Her eyes were half-closed, her throat taut, fingers kneading his back, nails scratching him, her limbs and breasts heavy against him as they rolled over and over, striving to consume each other.
Robyn climaxed beneath him, blood rising in her face, her heart clamouring against his chest. All through him, he felt her heartbeat. Folding her elbows behind his neck she clung to him, rocking, almost weeping.
He followed her into the mindless light. Every sensation brought overwhelming pleasure, almost unbearable. Robyn… ah, God… I am lost in you now…
Her eyelids lifted, her expression changed. Eyes ringed white with anxiety, she whispered, “You don’t have to – to feed this time… do you? Sebastian?”
He couldn’t answer. It was too late.
White heat swept over him. He became dimly aware that she was resisting, trying to keep his mouth from her neck. When she realised she couldn’t prevent it, she began to fight in earnest, squirming and hitting out and gasping.
Somehow she deflected him and his fangs sank into her shoulder instead. A taste of blood, not enough. He bit again, found a thick vein at last. Sucking hard, he quivered with bliss, while she went on struggling beneath him.
Stop now, said a subconscious voice. If you want this to happen again, stop!
One deep, delicious draught of her blood had to be enough.
The pleasure passed its red peak and ebbed away, leaving him weak with satiation. He rolled to one side, oblivious to Robyn’s distress. So he was shocked when she delivered a powerful slap to the side of his head.
“You bastard!”
He caught her arm to prevent a second blow. She wormed away from him and sat against the headboard, clasping a pillow, her knees drawn up. Scarlet threads ran down her collarbone, matting her hair.
“I asked you not to. I said stop!”
“And I told you before that I can’t.”
Robyn, trembling with the after-shock, began to cry. She looked so lovely, curled up under the burnished veil of hair, that h
e wanted her again. But he could not feel remorse.
“It hurts,” she said angrily. “It feels horrible.”
Sebastian got up, brought a damp cloth and a glass of water from the bathroom. She glared. Giving her the water, he began gently to sponge the wounds he’d made.
“Look, Robyn,” he said softly. “They’re healing. Only faint marks, hardly there at all.”
“Haven’t you the remotest idea of how it feels?” she said bitterly.
“Of course I have. It’s when they take all your blood, all of it, that you want to be worrying. How do you think I became like this?”
She froze. He watched the enticing rise and fall of her throat as she sipped water. “Oh, God, will it happen to me?”
“No. We’re not infectious like the smallpox.”
“But you bring death by degrees.” Calmer now, she regarded him through narrow eyes. “What’s your bed like, I wonder? Black, with a white lining?”
“No, I don’t sleep in a coffin and I won’t turn to dust when the sun comes up. Now, tell me –” he caressed her cheekbone “– do you feel as bad as the first time?”
“No. Just dizzy. I’m all right.”
“Because I stopped, Robyn.”
Her eyes flashed open. “What if a time comes when you can’t stop?”
“We both take that risk.”
“No, I take it.”
“By your own choice.” Placing the glass aside, he lay beside her, pulling her towards him. “I won’t force myself on you.”
“I just wish you would love me without taking my blood,” she whispered. “Is it too much to ask?”
He pressed his lips to her warm, downy forearm, lifted her wrists to link them around his neck, and kissed her. She glowered dully, then gave a heartfelt groan and pressed herself along his lean body. He entered her again and she gave herself to him, liquefying.
“Listen to me,” he said into her ear. Her breath was a warm cloud on his neck. “Don’t fight me. Relax, then it won’t hurt. I won’t take much, I promise.”
Then they were on fire, melting, falling like comets through space… and when the moment came, his mouth slid gently over the contours of her throat. Finding the place, he bit into her.
The Dark Blood of Poppies Page 25