Awakening (Fire & Ice Book 1)

by Karen Payton

  “I’m just starting at the lower levels. We’ll work our way back to the exit,” said Douglas and the decline into cooler air covered his twitching face in a layer of sweat.

  “I see,” Connor said, mildly. Surveying the surroundings, he was impressed by the sturdy construction. He used the echo of Douglas’ footfalls as a form of sonar to map the tunnels and calculate the sizes of the caverns they fed into. He could smell the copper water tanks when they passed the kitchen cavern and his quick eyes caught a glimpse of a large Jacuzzi-shaped pool beyond, in what looked like a laundry room. They’ve clearly been here for years.

  “Not much further now,” said Douglas. “We’ll start at the storage caverns. We have valuable artefacts and personal effects stretching back to before the bloo-”

  Connor grinned. “Bloodsuckers? Think we can call a spade a spade, Douglas. It is just us two, after all.”

  Douglas’ chin went up as he said, “Harry will be along in a minute.”

  “Sure he will.” Connor nodded slowly, smiling when Douglas increased his pace and finally darted into a tunnel which ended at a roughly-hewn cavern.

  As they emerged from the tunnel mouth, Douglas stepped aside and pressed his back in to the rock-lined wall, saying, “Here we are.”

  Connor inspected the archway just up ahead.

  He would have to dip his head to pass under it. On his left, a large boulder sat, cradled between parallel rails which crossed the threshold. Behind it, a coiled industrial-strength spring was held back by a lever, which, when released, would shove the boulder along the tramlines and seal the archway. Ah, a prison cave. Connor darted a glance at Douglas’ sweating face. Does he think it will trap a vampire?

  Connor assessed the weight of the boulder, the tensile strength of the spring, and calculated the speed at which the trap would close. He suppressed his amusement and said, “After you, Douglas.”

  “Oh no, please.” Douglas reluctantly released his grip on the wall and extended an arm. “After you.”

  Connor grinned. I’ll bite, he thought drily. He obligingly stepped over the threshold, and listened to the shriek of metal as Douglas pulled the rusty lever. The rumble of rock grating over stone filled the air and the boulder raced across the opening. Dirt plumed into the air as it crashed into the opposite wall and ground to a halt.

  <><><>

  Relieved to be escaping Harry’s probing questions at last, Rebekah pushed aside the hanging tapestry which served as the door to her uncle’s private cavern, and stepped out into the deserted corridor. I’d better hurry. She could hear Harry struggling into his boots, and if she were going to track down Douglas before Harry got his old bones moving, then it was now or never.

  Visitors were half-expected in the early days, but now, Connor, even if he was human, would be met with hostility and be locked up and interrogated until Harry and Douglas were satisfied. And that was where Harry would go now, to find out if Connor was a threat. And what if Douglas is dead? Rebekah tamped down the flare of tentative happiness at the thought. What if Douglas tried a Taser, or the cattle prod he found at the agricultural center? Perhaps it’s Connor who’s in trouble.

  She peered along the curved face of the tunnel wall and listened. Better to just find out. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward.

  Suddenly, a sandbag-nudge of cold weight knocked her off her feet. Rebekah squeezed her eyes shut as the rushing air inside the tunnels snatched at her clothes and chilled her face, but left her unafraid. I must be getting used to Connor’s unannounced arrivals.

  They emerged from the tunnel and into the refreshing damp evening air. The scent of dewy grass filled Rebekah’s nostrils as Connor beat a path across the meadow and headed back into the woodland. Slowing abruptly, his embrace eased and he lowered her gently to her feet. Dizziness hung on for a moment, the scenery still moving as if she was in the eye of a hurricane. A hurricane, indeed.

  She opened her mouth to complain, and he kissed her. His citrus scent slicked her palate, and her words not so much died-on-her-lips as drowned in the tidal wave of relief. She pressed into the sculpted edifice of his body. Running her hands up over his shoulders as though discovering the texture of skin for the first time, she pushed her fingers through the hair at his nape.

  Breaking the kiss and drawing back at last, he said, “Your fiancé, Douglas, is an idiot.”

  “He’s not my fiancé,” Rebekah said urgently. She had been in a world of agony thinking Connor might believe the lie.

  “I know that. I would have smelled him on you.” Connor raised his brow, and amusement danced in his eyes. “His odor is rank, by the way.”

  “I’m just glad you’re safe.” Rebekah breathed a sigh of apology. “What happened?”

  “How you have survived this long is a mystery to me.” He shook his head. “Did you know about the trap? The vampire cave?”

  She looked sheepish. “I know Douglas thinks we can capture a vampire for research, and the one thing he’s good at is plotting. That’s why I didn’t want you to come too close. He’s dangerous. But the rest, no. He has a vampire cave?”

  “Indeed, he does.”

  “Well, he kept that close to his chest. But then he would.” Rebekah met Connor’s gaze head on. “Greg would blow his top if he knew. His hatred of stupidity comes second only to his hatred of vampires. No way Douglas would let on.”

  Connor dropped down onto the grass and drew Rebekah down to sit beside him. He nestled her into his side, and when she realized they were in their glade, the thought warmed her. ‘Their glade’ had a nice ring to it.

  “He should listen to this Greg. As far as the vampire cave went, the man’s an idiot.” Connor said again.

  “I’m getting the idiot part,” grumbled Rebekah, trying to wriggle free, but Connor refused to budge, so she gave up. “Well, what happened?”

  “I took the tour. ‘Know your enemy’, as they say. A good look around was on offer, so how could I refuse?” He looked at Rebekah’s bemused expression.

  “What?” he asked, suddenly becoming serious.

  “Why did you come? I was so scared for you,” she whispered.

  “Oh honey, I came because you were scared. Your heart rate went berserk and your voice was shaking. How could I stay away?” he asked.

  “How did you know? You were in London.”

  Connor grinned ruefully. “I never left.” He rested his palm over her chest. “We are connected, I guess...” His smile reflected in his eyes. “You echo inside me somewhere.” He paused, and then murmured conversationally, “I nearly ripped his throat out, by the way, for laying his hands on you.” He bared his teeth in a brief reflection of wish fulfilment before smoothing his features again. “Anyway, the tour began at the vampire cave.”

  “So, how did you get out?” she asked.

  “It was pathetic, the ‘after you, this is our community treasury’.” Connor laughed. “The man thinks vampires are magpies. I pretended to fall for it. Once I was inside, he pulled the lever and sprung the trap.” His expression sobered. “I could have ended his life at any point, but he’s genuinely too stupid to see that. He thinks I’m still in there.”

  Rebekah raised her eyebrows. Stupid indeed, if Douglas had seen him fight; well I didn’t exactly see it, just heard it, and that was enough.

  “I have to say, you humans have got a lot to learn about speed. Two dozen vampires could have walked out of the cave before the rock lumbered into place. The man’s an idiot.” Connor lay back onto the grass, taking Rebekah with him. Turning onto his side, resting his chin on his hand, he plucked at her sweater and said, “So, where is my reward for rescuing my damsel in distress?”

  Giving up on the neckline, he peeled up the hem and spread his hand over her trembling stomach. “Ah, this is where it all began.” His fingers flexed, and he breathed in her scent. “That warmed concoction that filled my stomach.” He growled gently. “I can’t be without you, you do know that?”

  Rebekah grinned. �
�I was hoping your concern was more than just brotherly.”

  Connor’s grin was a blend of mischief and regret. “I guess Douglas has his uses. My backside is still sore from the kicking I gave it.” He plucked at the neckline of her sweater again as he met her eyes. “But seriously, Rebekah?”

  “Yes?” She knew everything rested on whatever he said next.

  “You have to live here. I have to know that you are not in danger from Serge.” He put his fingertip to her lips when she tried to protest. “I have given this some thought.”

  “I’ll watch over you. You will be twenty-four in three years. That gives us three years to make sure Uncle Harry - whose acting is superb by the way - is safe.” He stopped and the look he gave her said, ‘are you following this so far?’

  Rebekah experienced a Cinderella moment, glimpsing a future where nothing would ever be the same. His cool chuckle against her lips trailed goosebumps over her skin, and his fingers stroking her stomach scrambled her wits. Rebekah swallowed loudly and nodded.

  He whispered against her soft mouth, “Three years, and I will turn you. I’ll spend an eternity making you happy, but on this, you have no choice. Three years, and then you are mine.” He pulled back and examined her face. “Say, ‘yes Connor’, and then I can make love to you.”

  His eyes locked on hers while he unzipped her jeans. Rebekah knew her thundering heartbeat would be resounding inside him too, as he slid his hand down over her belly and dipped inside her moist warm center.

  “Yes, Connor,” she groaned, opening her thighs to let him in.

  A while later, Rebekah lay resting on his chest, and when he inhaled deeply, ruffling her hair, the sigh passing through him made her smile.

  He stirred purposefully. “You know I’m bluffing, hmm?”

  She looked up into his serious face.

  “You have as many years as you need. Nothing will happen unless you want it too. You do know that, right?”

  “I want it too,” she said simply.

  His smile was assured. “I know you do.”

  An hour of contentment slipped past before he stirred again. “We’d better get you inside, it’s getting late and I’m not much good as a hot water bottle.”

  “Do you have to go?” Rebekah knew the answer, but hope was hard to suppress.

  “Hey.” Connor arched a suggestive eyebrow and growled playfully. “I promise you, this is just the beginning. You’re stuck with me, and I can be very demanding.” His expression melted to serious. “I have to go back and cover our tracks, but when I have done that, I will come back.”

  “Good.” she smiled.

  “All I need you to do is stay safe. And that means no more wandering until I return, promise?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Connor started to groan but then he caught sight of her tense features and knew she was taking him seriously. The cold air became bitter, and with Rebekah’s skin feeling almost as cold as Connor, he enfolded her in one last embrace, before finally releasing her.

  “C’mon, we better get you home,” Connor said. When Rebekah refused to move, he added, “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

  He rolled up to his feet and pulled on her hand, and Rebekah had no choice but to go with him and stand at his side. With one last squeeze on his fingers, she let go and left the woods. Glancing back, she saw Connor watching her pick her way across the moonlit meadow, but the despair she felt only a few hours before no longer weighed her down.

  Chapter 11

  After Rebekah left, Connor did a lot of thinking while sitting alone in the tree line, listening to the slumbering heartbeats of the human inhabitants.

  If he did not know they were there, the signs would have been disrupted by the thermal currents rising from the sun-warmed fields, by the warm blood of rabbits, badgers, voles, and all the other white noise vampires habitually tuned out. But, he did know, and tantalized himself, using their heat signatures to track them beneath the ground. Mapping out the meeting areas, he kept track of what represented, for him, a potential meal. He would always be a hunter.

  What harnessed his hunger, what he had not been prepared for, was compassion. Because of Rebekah, the rest of the group were also off limits. Of course, Douglas also shared the eco-town with Rebekah. He could do nothing to change it, for now, and that frustrated Connor. He battled his demons. He could have let alpha-male instincts get the better of him and killed Douglas. No one would ever know. But Rebekah would, and he feared Douglas’ ghost would not let her rest easy in his arms.

  Douglas is a complication I can do without, but for now, Serge is the bigger threat.

  Connor focused on the task ahead, first returning to the farmhouse, burying the fallen bodies, and removing traces of the battle inside. Let Serge do his worst. Business as usual remained the best plan of action for Connor; that meant performing his scheduled duties at Storage Facility Eight, where vampires served the sentences handed down by the vampire council. All the sentences were of death, but inmates moved through three distinct stages. In the first stage, dehydration hardened their bodies to granite. In the second, which lasted decades, their brains were kept lubricated by just enough blood to allow offenders to think about their crimes. The third stage, by council decree, was the deliverance of having their skulls crushed.

  As the Doctor of the London Hive, Connor oversaw stage-three executions.

  He whipped across country from the farmhouse to the outskirts of London. In an abrupt change of course, he headed north, until the granite gray beacon of Storage Facility Eight glowered on the horizon. The blood-streaked glow of early dawn draped the sky in an inferno which softened the harsh rectangular silhouette to molten steel.

  Unlike the human farm facility, no wardens waited to grant access. The padlock on the gates was a token deterrent, giving passing vampires the hint that visitors were not welcome.

  The usual routine required Connor to punch in his access code, wait for the gates to disengage, and enter. In a moment of impatient rebellion, he scaled the perimeter fence and landed soundlessly on the other side. Circling the building, he checked his watch. High tide, good. His gaze swept over the swollen turbulent surface of the River Thames. Frothy white horses rode the waves, crashed into the towering concrete wall which held back the river and formed the plinth upon which the storage facility had been built.

  Turning the last corner, Connor arrived at the main entrance and combed his fingers through spray-soaked hair before thumping on the door three times. The musk of an Egyptian tomb plumed into the air when the steel door was eased open by an invisible hand, and Connor stepped inside.

  The atmosphere closed around him like a moist blanket, and he stopped breathing.

  The retreat of the vampire doorkeeper barely registered as Connor collected a flashlight from an alcove in the stone wall and moved off along the carved granite hallway, accompanied only by the wraithlike whispers of his own skimming footsteps.

  He flicked on the flashlight and swung it loosely at his side in time with each stride, the dim beam tracing an erratic arc over the flagstone floor. Its yellow glow barely disturbed the darkness, but scattered enough light to allow vampire eyes to see hundreds of yards with crystal clarity.

  When he emerged from the passageway and stepped over the threshold into the first level reception area, the warden materialized from nowhere, like an actor compelled to step into a spotlight.

  “Hello, Doctor Connor,” he said, as if it was yesterday, and not three months, since they last spoke. “I hope you are keeping well, Sir.”

  Connor’s eyes twinkled when the warden’s right hand flapped in an abandoned salute.

  Human habits were like ‘tells’ in poker. If you paid attention, a vampire revealed his life story in five minutes or less. Connor guessed the warden was born human in 1920, turned in 1950, and had served in the armed forces. An officer and a gentleman, then. Connor afforded him that courtesy.

  “Warden James, it’s nice to see you. What have we tod
ay? I understand there are stage-threes to pronounce?” Connor replied.

  “Indeed, Sir. The stage-two chamber has forty-seven offenders locked-in. The stage-threes have received a maintenance dose of blood, and their state of consciousness is intact.”

  Connor nodded. “Are many stage-two inmates are up for progression in the next hearing?”

  The warden shook his head. “Most have a few more years remaining.” His voice grew stronger as speaking lubricated the disuse from his vocal chords. “Only three are eligible for termination in the next hearing,”

  There was no chance of reprieve for vampires in Storage Facility Eight. During the twenty-four hours in stage-one inmates were immobilized with a dose of muscle relaxant. Once the council passed sentence, there was no going back. Vampire dehydration became irreversible once it hit fifteen percent, and the penalty of locked-in syndrome - a fully conscious mind residing inside a granite hard body - spanned however many decades Principal Julian considered appropriate.

  “And, how is The Butcher?” asked Connor lightly.

  Something of a celebrity, and used by the council as a deterrent, The Butcher was first imprisoned in the mausoleum in London’s Kensal Green Cemetery in 1919. His sentence of an eternity of locked-in syndrome gave him all the time in the world to repent his crimes and put an end to his killing spree, which threatened to bring vampires to the notice of the blinkered human population.

  The warden smiled. “I doubt we will ever see another ‘eternity offender’. He has another sixty years before Principal Julian will even consider pronouncing him ready for skull crushing.”

  “A hundred and fifty years in which to ponder your crimes. You’d have to be a fool to risk that.” Connor shook his head at the chilling reminder. “Has he been fed today?”

  The warden’s head snapped up. “Not yet.”

  “Would you mind if I accompany you? Perform his annual check a month early?” Connor said idly.

  “But, of course.”