by O. M. Grey
And I endured.
He forced my legs apart, and I heard the thin cotton of my knickers rip before he clamped his hand over my mouth and had his violent way. Grunting and snorting and sweating.
And I endured.
Once finished, he shoved me aside, and I pulled my torn dress up, trying to cover myself.
Then, I wept.
I wished I could say it was part of my act, but it was indeed a devastating violation each time. A fresh trauma each time. Every assault, no matter how slight, strengthened my resolve. For even the slightest slight was too traumatizing, too horrible. Even when they used words to coerce or emotional blackmail to convince instead of physical force, it was too horrific. Each defilement, each exploitation, each instance of abuse reinforced my will and reminded me why I did this. Reminded me why I punished the guilty.
When I thought of the number of women he and men like him have destroyed, my heart burned in my chest, fueling my anger once again.
With the anger came the strength.
With the strength came the smooth satisfaction that I would be the last woman the miscreant would ever treat thus. I was far from the first, but I would indeed be the last.
“Well,” he said, smoothing his hair back and buttoning his trousers. “About the wedding, Caroline.” Another arrogant snuffle. “I’m afraid I couldn’t bring myself to marry a tarnished woman. After all, I am a Stanton. You won’t speak of this, of course. It will be our secret. No one would believe you, anyway, you odious harlot. No one. You would be shamed and shunned from society, as you well should, giving yourself like that to a man. As your betters have done before, you will endure or you, too, will end up in Bedlam with that crazy bitch, Sarah Ann. You may show yourself out, and you’ll do well to keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, I should be quite happy to shut it for you.”
“No.”
Just one word.
“What did you say to me?”
“Yes, Nick. I suppose you don’t hear that word often, do you? Well, many say it, but you don’t hear it. Isn’t that right?”
“You’re already mad, you cheap tart. Get out!”
“No.”
“Get out this instant, or did you like that so much you want to go again? I’m ready. I’m always ready for the delights of women, sweet Caroline. Perhaps I can shut your mouth for you tonight. I’ve just the thing to gag you good and deep. In fact, I think when I’m done with you, you might never speak again.”
“It wasn’t just Miss Daughety, was it, Nicholas? Those twins from the park that day in the rain a few months back, them too. I noticed they disappeared from society after that day. Oh yes, I’ve been watching you. Shattered, they were, weren’t they? Their family hid them away in shame and even before they had come out in society. Barely sixteen, were they not? They had to cancel their debutante ball, if I recall. What horrors did you show them, Nick? What about Amelia Kensey and Lydia Flaharty? What about Nancy Howard? And those in just the past half year. How many before, my love?”
“You’re daft, woman. I said, get out!”
Right before those big blue eyes, I shifted, changing out of this broken virgin’s body into my own. Well, at least my preferred visage. My true self even I couldn’t bear very often. Only when I needed my full power did I use that form. Humans were weak, especially cowards like this one, so I just shifted from the young, blonde virgin Caroline back to myself, Constance Saggese.
Now it was he who was frightened. Finally, something genuine showed in his eyes. Fear.
His fear was delicious.
CHAPTER TWO
ARTHUR
Another morning alone.
There was something worse about being with someone and feeling so alone, so unfulfilled, than just being by oneself alone. The afternoon light peeked through the heavy curtains, creating just enough visibility in my bedchamber to see that Avalon was already up.
The only thing worse than waking up alone was waking up next to her.
Eternity would be impossible.
I thought back to when I was to be the King of England, all those centuries ago, and I watched a scene from my play. My wife, Catherine, had been perfection, but we were not meant to rule together in the end.
I died, or so everyone thought, and she married my brother. My fat, arrogant brother who became the most notorious king England had ever seen before or since. I was forgotten to antiquity, even by her.
None of it seemed real anymore. Too long a life. Perhaps, I was just bored with it all.
Avalon certainly bored me. Just like every woman before her. Every women since the perfection of Catherine. I had thought Avalon was special, different somehow. But, she’s not. Same as any other warm body, really. I should know better by now, really. Still, at times, after lifetimes alone, it was nice to have the company.
Honestly, I didn’t know if I would ever be satisfied.
Dragging myself out of bed, I donned my dressing gown and headed downstairs for tea.
“Arthur, did you see the news today?”
Avalon’s voice reached me before I entered the room. Her supernatural senses were even stronger than mine, perhaps because they were so new. She had not yet learned to mute certain things. After a while, one must learn to filter or go insane, as there was far too much noise about the living. Still, it had only been a few months since I turned her, and mornings like this I regretted that decision. I wanted silence in the mornings, but it was continuous chatter and questions and noise.
Just some peace.
“Of course not, darling. I just woke up, as you well know.” She sat at the small round table near the window, overlooking Kensington and Hyde Park. A white table cloth covered the table, and Thomas had already brought out tea for her. There was a brightness about Avalon that I sometimes resented. Today was one of those times. She gazed up at me with affection, eyes full of adoration, and when she spoke, her voice held the delight of a woman in love.
How very common and utterly dull.
“Look who got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” She put the newspaper she had been reading down on the table. After brushing a stray sable lock off her face, she raised her teacup for another sip, her vibrant green eyes fixed on me over the porcelain cup.
“It’s afternoon, Avalon.” I plopped down in the chair beside her, and she leaned over to kiss me good morning, but I turned my cheek to her, which took some of her cheeriness away.
Good.
No place for such frivolity so early in the day.
“It’s morning for us, Arthur. Really? Are we going to do this again today? You’ve been so impatient with me of late, and I just don’t understand why. What’s gotten into you? Weary of me already, my love?” She forced a cheerful tone, but a slight tremor of fear undercut it. “We do have an eternity together now, so I would appreciate some effort to be kind.”
I cringed at the thought of eternity with her, but hid it well. I hoped. Else, I’d have more emotional nonsense to contend with, and I was not in the mood. “It just takes some time to adjust, as you well know, Avalon. Darling. I have been a bachelor for over three centuries, so just be patient with me, woman. All right?”
“Fine.”
“I need a haircut,” I said, running my fingers through the ruddy mop, smoothing down the night’s sculpture. “Perhaps this afternoon before the festivities. I’ve heard talk of a new barber who’s supposed to be very good. Near Fleet, I believe.”
“I like it a little long, Arthur. It becomes you.”
“I don’t.”
“I could cut it for you.” She reached over and in an expression of loving kindness, brushed it back behind my ears. Any excuse to touch me. “I used to cut Victor’s on occasion.”
“Yes, and didn’t he look fine?” I spoke with more than a hint of sarcasm, pulling out of her reach. Victor. I was so sick of hearing about her dear dead friend Victor. Would she ever stop bringing him up? So he died while we were hunting vampires. It happened. Dangerous work, that.
Yet, she blamed me. I know she did. Besides, it’d been months now.
I scowled at her, and she turned back to her tea, cheeks flushed. Before I could say another word, Thomas entered with a pot of fresh tea. He was acting as both butler and driver for the time being. I had yet to find a new butler since Cecil’s betrayal and subsequent demise.
Well-deserved and painful demise.
“One drop or two?” Thomas asked.
“Make it five, Thomas. Rough night.”
“Of course, M’Lord.” Thomas turned the spigot on the wrist contraption that fed directly into his vein. I had it installed on Thomas until I found a new butler, which would no doubt take some time. It was always such an ordeal to find good help, especially good, discreet help that would feed me his life blood if necessary and cover up any indiscretions or blunders. Although, my chance for carnal indiscretions had greatly diminished since Avalon and I had begun cohabiting. I hadn’t really thought about what it would mean long term before I turned her, how it would infringe on my freedom and erotic desires. She had been dying in my arms, so what else could I have done? I loved her, so I had been thinking with my heart.
Never a wise guide.
Yes, rash action, that.
Five drops dripped into the cup of hot tea, making the brown water blissfully murky. The gauge strapped to Thomas’s wrist bobbed as the blood left his veins, then steadied again when he closed the valve. The coppery scent opened my eyes and improved my mood ever so slightly, but it was a start.
“Lady Avalon?” Thomas turned to my immortal beloved and offered her his wrist.
“No, thank you, Thomas. I think I’ve had enough for now. Must watch so as not to encourage the hunger too much, lest it become insatiable. I truly wish to stay in control of those particular urges. You understand, don’t you?”
That was her biggest problem. Control. She always had to be in control of everything. As for the blood lust, well, I had to keep a lid on that, didn’t I? I had taken great pains to remain subtle about steering her away from her new natural urges, plucking the strings of her morality, convincing her of my innocence when it came to drinking people, and, especially, killing them. Too much power there. Couldn’t have her becoming too strong too soon. No. That would indeed be a risk I wasn’t quite willing to take just yet. Best to ease into this, keep her in check and all. Besides, had to stick with my original story, didn’t I? Noble, tortured vampire, reformed by the love of the right woman, and all that nonsense. It was getting rather tiresome.
“Perfectly, mum. Will there be anything else, M’Lord?”
“Not at the moment, Thomas. There’s a good man.”
Thomas clicked his heels and bowed. His shoes, shined to perfection, left impressions in the plush carpet as he made his way across the room. His lanky frame disappeared through the door, and Avalon spoke to me once again, interrupting the lovely momentary silence.
“Did you see the news?”
“Didn’t you already ask me that? And I already answered.” I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, tempted to plug my ears from the continued prattle, but instead ran my fingers through my hair, making it stand on end, hoping to get a chuckle out of Avalon.
Didn’t work.
“Yes, love. Perhaps I should be clearer.” Words slow and articulate, she tried to control her anger. Always control. “Would you like to see the news, Arthur? I think it would be of great interest to you.”
“Read it to me.”
“Very well.” Avalon spread the paper out flat in front of her, smoothing out the wrinkles and made sure everything was just so before continuing. Maddening.
I craved whimsy. Spontaneity. Passion!
Then I caught a glimpse of that adorable tiny “o” just in the exact center of her mouth when her lips were set, and my heart leapt. There was my love! Oh! Sweet Avalon! The day brightened, and it had nothing to do with the sun outside, for it was another very cloudy day in London, as luck would have it. I did love those grey days. Leaning forward, I rested my chin on the palm of one hand while sipping my spiked tea with the other, gazing at Avalon with complete devotion.
She looked up and smiled when she noticed my change in aspect, shaking her head. “Well! Good morning, my changeling,” she said. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
Avalon had taken to calling me that because of how fast my mood shifted, or at least she claimed it shifted. From being cold and cruel, as she put it, to being warm and loving. She said I’d been like two different people.
Bah! A woman! Telling me about mood swings!
Daft.
Of course, I was cold and cruel. I was a vampire, after all. But I was also quite loving and kind. Complexity, thy name was Arthur Tudor. Ridiculous, this notion of personality shifts. I was who I was, and that was all there was to it. I didn’t need her assessment of my behavior or bloody insight into my psyche. Still, even her judgments could not ruin my mood. “Just read the news, Avalon. What is so interesting?”
“This,” she said pointing to the front page of The Times, “Young Aristocrat Goes Missing.”
“Yes. So?”
Avalon gaped at me.
I was being difficult. I knew it, but I didn’t care. It was my house after all. My tea nook. My window overlooking London. The room held but a faint remainder of what it was before she moved in. If I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts, I could remember the way it was before her. Quiet, except for the sound of the crackling fire and distant commotion of life outside. The clink of the teacup on the saucer, the slight hiss of the gaslight in the corner. Perfection.
After she sat back down, content to read the paper and drink her tea in silence to avoid any more of my blatant abuse, I spoke again, “Thomas really tries, you know, but he doesn’t make a cup of tea like Cecil did. I must find a proper butler soon.”
She didn’t respond. Splendid. Now she was cross with me. For what reason? Because I had the audacity to be myself? Life was so much simpler when I was on my own, or with Catherine. It’d never been like it was with Catherine. A queen in every sense of the word. Perfection. Nearly four hundred years later, and I’d yet to meet her equal.
Avalon sniffed, and I noticed a crimson tear slip down her stone cheek.
So it began.
“Please, Avalon.”
She wiped away the tear, smearing it into the white canvas of her cheek, and gazed out the window down to Kensington Road with her back to me. “I’m fine, Arthur. Finish your tea. It’s Yule, after all. We have the ball tonight, just a few hours away.”
“Of course. Tell me about the news story, darling. I’ll behave.”
“It’s just about your friend, is all. I thought you would be interested. I mean, you two haven’t been as close since he accosted you in the street, but he’s still your friend.”
“Ah! Good ol’ Nick’s gone missing, eh? He accused me of being a vampire.”
“You are a vampire, my love.”
“Indeed, but it is rather impolite to accuse one of being the undead in the street! With people about. Preposterous. Besides, that’s not why we’re no longer close, Avalon. I forgave him on the spot for that slight.”
“Why, then?”
Because of you, I thought but didn’t say it. I did know better than that.
Ol’ Stanton and I would exchange stories of sexual conquest and prowess, and since Avalon, well, there wasn’t much to tell. The same woman over and over. How altogether boring. I hadn’t even bothered for a while, and that had started to get to me as well. Men must ejaculate, after all, mustn’t they? It was how we were made, to spread our seed, and I was growing ever so weary of spreading it on my own.
“Never mind, Avalon. That’s business of men, not women. What did the article say? He’s gone missing, you say?”
“Yes. And under such strange circumstances. Just disappeared. He was with his fiancé, a Miss Caroline Weisenburg.”
“Fiancé? Ha!” I slapped the table and barked out laughter, startling Avalon. “A German
one at that. What a laugh. Nick is not the marrying kind, my dove.” I looked down on Avalon, so naive and innocent to the ways of men. How tiresome. “She must’ve been quite special indeed for him to put up such a show. Or quite difficult. He’d done so only once before, I recall. Sarah somebody, if memory serves. Master, he is. Probably just saving himself from the prison of marriage. What does the lady have to say about his vanishing act?”
“Girl, more like. She was only seventeen, paper says, and she’s gone, too.”
“He does like them young, doesn’t he? I miss the ol’ chap.” What times we had together. He understood me, and he almost surpassed me in debauchery, but I did have the advantage of my long existence. Still, in just a few years, he had given me quite the challenge to keep up. Renewed my own fervor, he did. Good ol’ Nick.
“Perhaps they eloped?” Avalon offered, ever the hopeless romantic. Emphasis on hopeless.
“Nonsense. Let me see that.” I snatched the paper from her to read the article myself. “Ah! Here’s the rub, sweetheart. This is written by W. D. McFerret, London’s ambitious journalist. Shameless,” I said, slapping the newspaper with the back of my hand. “Aspiring author trying to make a name for himself in the papers first. American at that. This is sensationalized drivel, Avalon. Don’t believe a word. I’m astounded at what passes for news.”
“Aren’t you even curious? Perhaps a new mystery is exactly what we need, Arthur, to get back our spark. Something to rekindle our love,” she said, reaching out to touch my hand, but I turned the page, pulling it out of her reach, pretending I didn’t see her trying to touch me, trying to bridge that ever-widening gap.
“Nonsense,” I spat, shifting away from her ever further, and read more. The article was indeed intriguing. “Seems blood was found in Nick’s parlour, along with upset furniture, which isn’t too surprising. Nick did like it rough now and again. Looks like you’re right, my darling. This is rather strange.” I looked up from the paper, but Avalon was gone. “Perfect.”
I found her up in our bedroom, weeping. “Avalon. You were right. That is interesting, and perhaps we could do a bit of investigating on our own. Would you like that?”