Awakening (Fire & Ice Book 1)

by Karen Payton

  Julian had never noticed the stench of decaying vegetables which hung over London in summertime before that day, but, kneeling there in the gutter, trying not to gag at the smell of her blood, he did.

  The vibration of footsteps pounding through the sidewalk beneath his knees signaled Garrett’s return. The young man bent over double, fighting for breath as he gasped, “He’s gone, Sir.”

  Julian’s glazed stare watched Eva’s blood meander along the gaps in the flagstones, transforming the horrific into almost beautiful intricate designs.

  “He disappeared in the direction of the Old Kent Road. I left a copper chasing him, but I don’t fancy his chances either, Sir.”

  Julian said with quiet determination, “No matter. I will find him.”

  Looking up, Julian’s vacant green stare was cold and brittle in the fading light. Garrett’s expression shifted from sorrow to dread at the look in his master’s eyes, and Julian looked away.

  “I’ll help, Sir-” Garrett said slowly, stopping when his master shook his head.

  This was something Julian needed to do alone, and the inexorable path which led to an encounter with a vampire was set. In the weeks which followed weeks, he crossed into territory a man of his standing would never usually have entertained. Even his young footman, Garrett, being in service, with food and lodgings provided, considered the East End streets Julian rampaged along to be below his station.

  And so, feeling invincible, or caring little if he was or not, Julian wandered the streets of London, a silent ghost aching for revenge. One night, frustration having transformed his attitude from gentleman to pugilist, and looking-for-a-fight etched into every line of his body, Julian thought he saw him, the man who ran through his nightmares.

  He set off in pursuit, and when his lungs burned, and there were only shadows everywhere his eager gaze darted, he pulled up short and gave in to murderous rage. He punched out at the crumbling damp brick walls which closed in on him and felt nothing as he tore the skin from his tightly clenched knuckles. No longer thinking, just drowning in vicious intent, he strode along the cobbled back-alleys and shouted mindlessly for the bastard to show himself.

  As he paused to draw breath, a savage blow shoved him sideways into the rough-hewn face of a tavern wall, and a cold vise closed around his neck.

  The raucous amusement drifting out through the nearby open window of the bar mocked the pain slicing through his body. He could barely breathe, let alone laugh.

  Julian’s arm snapped with the force of the collision and he gritted his teeth, groaning. “Kill me,” he ground the words out. “Do it now, I welcome it.” He closed his eyes, wanting to die.

  Moments passed, and still he waited, until his arm lost all feeling. Hot ash tingled in his fingertips and his grinding teeth ached. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared into a sculpted marble face.

  The vampire’s lip curled as he laughed. “So keen to die,” he mocked. “You want to join her, hmm, your beloved Eva?”

  The sound of her name galvanized Julian into action. He snarled, his legs jerking as he kicked out, trying to shove himself away from the wall. The grip on his throat tightened. The vampire dug his thumb into Julian’s jugular, deliberately rolling black clouds through his brain until his body sagged, and the coarse brickwork bit into his scalp.

  “Well, Julian,” he spat. “Sadly for you, happy endings bore me. Suffering seems more fitting, for an eternity, if you are strong enough.”

  Julian’s anger shifted to crippling alarm. The worst his imagination could conjure was a sadist, intent on making his death a long and painful one. His mind raced feverishly until he felt the razor-sharp pinch on his neck as his flesh was squeezed between two blades. Searing pain traveled up his carotid artery and paralyzing fear flooded in.

  He had not seen the vampire move, and his blood starved brain fancied that glinting eyes in darkened sockets still bored into him. When the white face floated back into focus, its grin revealed darkened teeth, which appeared decayed, until a lap of his tongue wiped them clean. His slack jaw allowed Julian’s blood to run down his chin.

  I thought those were my last moments on earth; but I was wrong.

  Julian folded the memories away, putting them back into the box inside his head. The safe place where all the treasures of Julian the man were protected from the bloodied vision of the day Eva died, and that now, ironically, stained every day of his continued existence as Julian the vampire.

  Julian stroked his thumb over the leather-bound volume of ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’ cradled in his palm. The story was hard to read, just as those revealing monsters are meant to be. Dr. Jekyll thought he was chasing a killer, unaware that the killer resided inside him.

  Julian liked to think the vampire legend was true; in 1886, Robert Louis Stevenson saved a suicidal vampire from plummeting to his death in the highlands of Scotland, and the encounter inspired him to write the book. It was rumored he wrote the first draft in a three day frenzy, and was himself, like a man possessed. Did the vampire bare his soul? No one will ever know. But, imagine doing battle with the killer inside for centuries.

  “I just hope Connor knows what he’s doing.” Julian raised a hand and dragged a fingernail down over the cold glass. The pane shrieked in protest as he scored a line into the surface. Killing leaves a mark. I’ve not killed in anger for many decades, and I cannot see anything changing that.

  That thought sustained him; even 'in love', Connor would never cross that line. He had known the man for ninety-three years and never seen him out of control. Surely, he won’t do anything foolish now.

  Chapter 16

  The domed roof of the meeting cavern reverberated with the dying notes of a harmonica, and Rebekah caught sight of a glint of silver as the instrument disappeared into a breast pocket. A shock of sandy hair framed an unusually solemn expression on a familiar face, and she wondered what was wrong. As her lips formed the question, the tall man’s name shifted in her mind like a jumbled anagram.

  Ah, Sandy. The last harmonic note faded into silence, and her thread of concentration dissolved with it. What was I going to say?

  The scraping sound of a shoe on hard-packed earth called her attention back to the front of the room and turning her head caused a moment of giddiness as the room continued revolving.

  Standing still required more effort than it should. Rebekah’s legs trembled, and she stared at a patch of moss on the meeting cavern wall to help maintain her balance. She plucked absently at the skirt of the white dress; longer than any she had ever worn before.

  Am I playing dress-up? How did I get here? Rebekah glanced down and saw a pair of clichéd white satin slippers. Maybe it’s a dream. I would never wear these. Her head was filled with tightly-packed cotton-candy thoughts which whispered, “This is not how it should be.”

  The half-a-dozen wooden benches creaked in unison as the congregation sat down. She focused on the man beside her and felt nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. A few dozen spiders scuttling around in her stomach made her feel queasy.

  Her knees trembled and she longed to sit down, but fingers biting into her arm made moving impossible. A creaking voice began talking, and Rebekah felt a bubble of warmth swell inside her when she noticed George standing in front of her.

  His tone was heavy as he read a long sequence of words which made no sense. She was suddenly four years old, and pouring the buttons from her grandmother’s sewing box out onto the polished table until they cascaded over the edge. George’s words felt like grandmother’s buttons, the more she tried to catch them, the more they slipped through her fingers.

  Their only burial service so far had been performed by George, when a young man, Adam, died of cancer. Getting the chemotherapy or radiotherapy treatment he needed had been beyond their power. However, Uncle Harry could offer morphine. The decision was Adam’s to make. God’s opinion aside, most here were just glad when he no longer suffered.

  George was not ordained by the church, but it
created a new tradition that the ‘elder’ of their community became the chosen one. New world, new rules. But, this isn’t a burial. So, a marriage, maybe? Eligible men outnumbered the women four to one, and the eco-town had tiptoed around that one. Until now, it seems.

  Got it. It’s a wedding. A sense of achievement pierced the cloud cover in her brain like a ray of light, and she felt pleased with herself. We’ve never had one of those before. A wedding. I must love him, then.

  Rebekah looked expectantly at Douglas, but his pasty complexion and bullish features left her cold, and a shudder rattled through her insides.

  He put out a hand which swallowed hers. Looking down, all she could think was how fleshy and big it was, and the spiders in her belly scuttled faster. The recoil of disgust lay inside somewhere, but her dulled body couldn’t summon the energy to act upon it. Even through the fog, fear clenched a fist around her heart. This can’t be right.

  All eyes were on her. Turning her head, she met Uncle Harry’s rheumy, watery-eyed stare. He seemed older than she remembered. Standing beside him, Thomas clenched Leizle’s hand in his, and her pinched face was paper white, except for the red-rimmed eyes. Ah, poor Leizle, maybe this is a burial.

  George cleared his throat loudly. “I do,” he prompted, when he had her attention.

  “Oh.” Her brow creased in concentration. I do what? “I do,” she said, responding to George’s frantic eyebrows.

  Douglas grinned, and his meaty hand closed more firmly on her fingers. Rebekah looked up into his face. The smile he wore didn’t reach his dull-gray eyes, and tears blurred his image as the caress of his hand became a spiteful squeeze.

  His clammy heat made her long for an elusive arctic chill, the crystal clarity of cold.

  Although the slack smile on Douglas’ dough-padded face held her trapped in horrified fascination, another face nibbled at her consciousness, a face with a chiseled jaw-line and dramatic cheekbones. A face where a smile moved the muscles into an entrancing expression that took her breath away.

  “You may now kiss the bride.” George’s voice was joyless.

  A relentless tide of panic shoved bile into her throat as Douglas drew her in close beside him. His hot palm curled around her waist, and his face closed in.

  <><><>

  The exhilaration left from the battle with the guardsmen stretched sinew and muscle tight, and Connor unleashed the energy in a burst of devastating speed. He stayed within touching distance of the shade cast by the hedgerows and trees rushing past at his side him as the weak rays of autumn sunshine struggled to break through the clouds.

  The thick fabric of his greatcoat rubbed his cheekbones when he tucked his chin deep down inside the buttoned up collar, and his leather gloves creaked over hands he folded into fists.

  Calculating what Serge’s next step would have been once Connor was dead, boiled a bitter cauldron of hatred in his gut.

  As he hit the top of the hill near Swanley, tuning into Rebekah’s signature shouldered aside all other considerations. He accelerated hard, eating up the distance and descending into icy calm. I will find her, and she will be all right.

  Connor arrived at the eco-town, reduced his speed abruptly, and stepped into the shadowed opening of the tunnel. He gathered his wits and walked down the pitch-black passageway at a sedate human pace. In silence, he slipped behind the heavy sackcloth curtain marking the boundary of the inhabited space, and the flames of wall-mounted torches spat in reproach as the condensation on his cold skin plumed clouds of vapor.

  The congregation in the meeting cavern drew him, but he still couldn’t feel Rebekah. His smooth features disguised the tension inside as he took an inventory and came up empty. Although, there was another heartbeat, a slower and less vibrant echo of the one he sought.

  Sweeping his attention throughout the underground space, Connor did not detect any hotspots outside the cavernous room. They are all assembled here, then. Some kind of ceremony?

  The moment he took to savor the cluster of heartbeats filled his mouth with venom. He advanced without care, knowing their dulled human senses made sneaking up on them unnecessary. In any case, their concentration was on the two figures standing at the far end of the cavern. Following their lead, his eyes narrowed when they locked onto Rebekah’s back.

  He pulled her altered scent across his palate, and when it stung his throat, his anger flared. She’s been drugged.

  Seeing Douglas lay his hand on her jerked Connor forward, and Rebekah started as he materialized suddenly at her elbow. He searched her drained features, the glazed dilated pupils and deadened responses, and his anger shifted to cold rage.

  There was no spark of recognition in her eyes, and he realized his fury scared her.

  The draped white silk clinging to her curves became a shimmering waterfall with the trembling of her knees. Connor’s anger became iced with guilt; his fingers itched to rip away the wedding dress and to turn back the clock.

  “What have you done to her?” Connor glared into Douglas’ suddenly flushed face.

  Douglas’ hand dropped away in surprise, leaving a sweaty stain on Rebekah’s skin. A triumphant grin emerged. “Ah, Rebekah’s friend, just in time to toast our happiness. Rebekah is my wife.”

  Connor visualized snapping Douglas’ neck like a dry twig. Problem solved. He forced out a derisive laugh as he said, “Sad to say, Douglas, I hadn’t finished with her, yet. I’m here to take what is already mine. I might return her when I’m done.”

  Connor hoped Douglas would lose his temper. He was wired and ready, and, as he had once told Rebekah, humans were ridiculously slow, so he would have enjoyed the moment to its fullest.

  Studying Connor’s set features, Douglas’ satisfied expression struggled to stay in place and perspiration erupted on his skin. The fear-fermented odor stirred Connor’s urge to hunt, and only Rebekah’s eyes boring into him held him still. Her scent was more compelling, so for now, Douglas would survive another day.

  “Is she worth dying for?” Connor asked quietly.

  Grinning at Douglas, Connor sensed Rebekah’s body heat plummeting as shock took over.

  “I’m done here,” he said dismissively, his eyes narrowing. “I’m taking what is mine.”

  Rebekah shivered when his arm closed around her, and the predator surged inside him. But, even though her fear saturated him in excitement, he clamped his jaw tight and suffered it.

  Douglas’ throat, however, was not so safe. So, with a firm grip holding what was precious to him close, he left. Connor heard the muttering voices of the stunned gathering trying to make sense of what they had seen. I guess the cat is out of the bag.

  Connor rushed along the tunnels, shielding Rebekah’s face with his hand to protect her from the chilled blast of gusting air. He recounted each of the horrified faces he had seen. Greg hasn’t made it back yet. I was right to come.

  As they broke out of the eco-tunnel entrance and into the meadow, Connor shielded his own face too, dipping his chin until the raven’s wing of his thick hair fell forward. Turning his head, he brushed his lips over Rebekah’s forehead as she clutched at his neck. He frowned when an errant gust of air whipped his hair back, and a ray of sunshine breaking through the early morning cloud cover touched his face. His skin tingled where the blood capillaries shrank in protest until, he buried his face deeper in to Rebekah’s hair.

  Finally, Connor entered the woods and settled Rebekah into his chest, his speed easing from hair-raising to the soothing rhythm of a rocking cradle. When the stillness of the heavy air offered a blanket of warmth to Rebekah, he came to a careful halt.

  Knowing Rebekah’s legs would not yet support her, Connor lowered her gently onto the ground. His hands were reluctant to leave her skin, and it was hard to let his head rule his heart and smoothly retreat to a distance at which she would feel safe.

  He ran his fingertips over the stinging skin on his brow, and, feeling the fretwork of hardened silvered-threads that glistened like veins in ros
e quartz, he grimaced. A warning shot. Physician, heal thyself, he thought ironically. My next feed will repair the damage, but still...

  He shed his coat and gloves, not taking his eyes from Rebekah’s face.

  She settled on the soft bed of grass in their glade, hugging her knees and shooting nervous glances up at Connor, who stood a few yards away. He drew comfort from the blend of fear and sexual attraction in her scent, and the hormone-induced cardio workout pumping through her veins almost made him smile. Will the feelings of apprehension and anticipation be familiar to her? He hoped so.

  Connor ran every opening line he composed through his head, but fear held him motionless. He could not yet let his relief swell into joy. I’ve found her, but I don’t have her back, yet.

  He knew his anger had terrified Douglas and he’d been blunt and callous. But I came because she’s mine. My Rebekah would know that. But, does this scared girl?

  Every time he moved, her head jerked, and she fastened her wide-eyed gaze on his feet as if he was a rattlesnake about to strike. And she wasn’t far wrong. What he wanted to do was strip her bare and make her remember him. Them.

  It had been a long night. He wanted to be at the part where he could enfold her in his arms and love her, and make good on his promise to keep her safe. He knew it was only one of her agonizing heartbeats away. But, how to get her to realize that? Where do I start?

  He plunged his hands through his hair, and when she flinched, he sighed. “Hey,” he called softly through the gloom, still ten feet away. “Do you remember me? Us? At all?”

  Rebekah glanced up through damp lashes. Her thoughts were clearly written on her face, and Connor was encouraged by the conflict playing out across her features. Finally, she gave a half-hearted shrug.

  “Okay, well, do you feel like you’ve been here before?”

  A frown settled on her face, and she suddenly groaned.

  Connor backed away. He saw the goosebumps on her skin, and the thought that her flesh crawled because of him, cut him open.