Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Hathor was spellbound and did not notice his self-reproach. Servaes was all around her. His body fitted along hers in stroking caresses, his legs intertwined with her legs, his hips to her hips, his chest to her chest. The hot, scalding length of his erection nestled into the crease of her leg, between her hips and thighs. With growing urgency, she rubbed herself against its taut smoothness.

  Hathor ached at the sight of his beautiful, immortal expression and knew this was where she would spend forever if he would let her. She took in the sight of his unmarred chest, the defined curves of his muscles, and begged him with her body. Her legs spread, wrapping around his waist. She opened herself to him, and he claimed her with a wild, fast stroke. Hathor gasped, feeling the pleasure of his possession, the fullness of him inside her quivering body. Servaes leaned back to better press within her. Her hips met his thrusts with uncontrolled surrender.

  Their heated groans grew in unison, building with passion and pleasure until they screamed their mutual release loud into the chamber. Hathor cried out, trembling. Tears came to her eyes at the power of him, his touch, his everlasting claim. As he fell against her sweat-laden chest, to lie weakly between her breasts, she couldn’t move but to breathe. Her arms fell to the side, resting by her head, and her legs fell from his body.

  The crackling of fire marked the time. Slowly, Servaes raised his head. But instead of the loving gaze Hathor expected, his face was full of loathing and torture. He pushed himself away from her, not bothering to don his clothing as he turned from her to the fire. His forceful hands shoved deeply into his hair, pulling it at the roots in his suffering.

  Hathor stared at him for a long moment, the fire-bronze glow on his skin, the trim line of his pale back thrown into ravishing contrast of light and dark. He was a statue, strong against the test of time, untouched by age or illness. Hesitantly, she reached her hand to feel him. His dark eyes pierced her with their mythical depths. She saw the power of his nature swimming in his gaze, unhidden and raw.

  She didn’t back away. Despite the warning she felt in him, she went to him, unafraid. Her hand moved over his back, free from the sweat of exhaustion. She came to her knees, running her fingers into his hair to loosen his hold. When he relaxed, she pulled him to her chest, kneeling as she held him to her.

  Servaes heard every excruciating beat of her human heart. He felt the life in her, the decency of her spirit. He was obsessed. He pulled away from her chest to study her face. Her wide eyes searched him, open and vulnerable and completely trusting. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him thus.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” he stated darkly. “We won’t do it again.”

  Hathor managed a small smile, not believing his words and knowing he didn’t either. They could no sooner stop their feelings than they could time. “Where are we?”

  “My home,” he answered in low tones. When she looked at him in confusion, he said, “Did you really think I would live in that little hole? I kept it for emergencies. This is where I sleep most nights.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, looking around at the sparsely decorated chamber dangling with cobwebs. Carefully, she said, “It’s nice.”

  “How did you get here?” he asked, weary. He couldn’t take his eyes from her ravishing face, lined with sweat from their efforts.

  Hathor’s body racked with shivers at the familiar sound of his voice. It was like a balm to her soul. “I don’t know. I just woke up.”

  “You said Jirí,” he prodded. He didn’t move away from her, but his expression didn’t encourage her affections either.

  “Yes.” Her hand cupped his cheek before falling to her lap. She sat back on her feet. “Jirí saved me from some of the others. They were trying to kill me. I was by the club, looking for you.”

  “Damnation, Hathor, you’re an obstinate woman. I told you not to look for me.” He pulled away from her, moving to stand in his agitation. “Why don’t you listen?”

  Hathor grabbed his shirt, uncomfortable to be naked with him so angry. She slipped it over her head. The voluminous folds drifted to her knees. It carried the scent of him. “You left me no choice. You weren’t going to come back to me. Now you, my dear marquis, might have forever to figure things out, but I don’t.”

  “The man you love is dead,” he growled.

  “The vampire I love stands before me,” she answered smoothly. Servaes cursed the light in her eyes as it glowed, confident in her words. Hathor stood to face him, her hand flying to her hips. “Now, I’ll admit, I do love the human form you presented to me. I understand the man you were is dead, but only physically. Everything I love is standing before me. Granted, your eyes are not as lighthearted and your smile not so ready. But love is not dependent on an easy smile. It’s much more than that. It’s the feeling of the sun and moon colliding within you at just a thought. It’s the sensation of drowning in pleasure with a brief glance. And that is only the beginning of what I feel for you. Can’t you understand? I need you. I’m not whole without you.”

  Servaes wanted to believe the pretty words. They flowed over him, begging him to accept them. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t damn her for her ignorance. “And what happens when you grow older? What of children and grandchildren and daylight? Won’t you want it all? Will you truly be content with a being that can’t even walk you through a sunlit garden? Will you be content knowing each dusk when I leave you I go to kill?”

  “But—”

  “No,” Servaes answered for her. “You won’t. What about after you’re gone? What do you think it will do to me? I’ll never be able to die and join you. I’ll be trapped for an eternity with only the memory of you to torture me. That isn’t something I relish. Already it’s hard for me to imagine my existence—damned and cursed as it is—without you. If not for you, then do it for me. Leave me forever. Don’t search me out again. If you truly think to love me, then go. Find a man who can give you what you deserve. Have a life of love, one that won’t be overshadowed by constant death.”

  “My heart can’t love another, you fool.” She tried to go to him. His gaze stopped her. He shook his head as he backed steadily away.

  “It’s my blood in your veins that makes you say such things,” he explained with damning rationale.

  “Stop telling me that. I’m like a pincushion with all the blood taken and given to me. Every time I turn around someone is trying to bite me. Well, I am through with it. Ginger, Vincent, Lamar, Jirí, and whomever that last one was—they can all rot. I know my mind.” Hathor’s chest heaved in frustration. This wasn’t going as she’d hoped. Her voice softened, as she watched him. “I don’t expect you to be lonely forever after I’m gone.”

  His eyes shot to her, wondering at her words.

  “For I’m going to be with you forever. I’ll be with you so long you will tire of me and grow fond of me a hundred-thousand times over.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “For one who can read minds, you’re pretty dense,” she teased. He wasn’t amused. “I want you to make me what you are. Turn me into a vampire so I can be with you. It’s the only way. I’m tired of being bitten and chased. End it for me. Make me like you. It’s the most logical answer.”

  Servaes studied her. Going over to his pants, he pulled them on. Slowly, he tied the laces at the sides.

  Hathor waited for him to answer. “Servaes?”

  “You don’t know what you ask.” He turned to her, looking at her graceful body in his shirt. He knew that the image of her now, before him in all her vulnerable charm, would never fade from his mind, no matter how many more centuries would pass for him.

  “Yes, I do.” Hathor took a step toward him. When he didn’t move, she turned her neck to the side. “Do it. Take my blood one last time. I know it’ll hurt. I saw you on the docks. But the pain won’t last. Now, take it. It’s what I want to happen. I want to change and be with you forever. It’s the only way either of us will find happiness.”

  Se
rvaes lifted a hand to her cheek, caressing her softly. He smelled her blood, her yearning. He felt his own love for her pumping in his veins, the emotion sweet after so many years of nothing. The power of the feeling nearly choked the life from him. “You could’ve been free of me. You could’ve left me to die that morning by the stairwell. You should have let me die.”

  “I will never be free of you.” Her eyes closed. She stood waiting for him, her body tense and nervous.

  Servaes leaned forward, baring his teeth for the bite. Freezing in midair, he studied the rose tint to her complexion, the fine lines of her soft face and delicate lids. He heard the thud of her heart, and then he felt her shake. Slowly he drew back, covering his fangs with his lips.

  “You might never be free,” he whispered, “but you must forget about me. I won’t turn you. I won’t be the one to damn your soul.”

  “Then I’ll find someone else,” she threatened. “Jirí—”

  “He won’t,” Servaes denied easily, knowing it to be true. “Jirí won’t change a woman.”

  “Well then, I will find someone who isn’t a sexist pig,” Hathor fumed. “Maybe that creature who probably brought me here. Maybe he’ll help me.”

  “Who?” Servaes questioned, remembering that she mentioned before that someone else had taken her blood.

  “I don’t know. He was older than both you and Jirí. He was very powerful.” Hathor went over to her jeans, pulling the denim roughly over her hips. Servaes felt a surge of jealousy in his chest. “Then let’s see you try to run from me for the next eternity. I should very much like proving you wrong as you make love to me every night.”

  “You’ll have to kill,” he stated, knowing he was losing the battle against her. She stiffened in determination.

  “I’ll find another way. Or I’ll do like you, feeding off those who deserve death.” Hathor grabbed her bra, threading it on underneath his shirt. She stared at his naked chest, trying not to feel longing when she looked at him. Then, for good measure, she added, “Besides, with as much blood as I’ve been forced to swallow lately, I’m starting to develop a taste for it.”

  Servaes frowned.

  “Maybe someday we’ll find a cure,” she said, getting her bra hooked and unthreading her arms.

  “There is no cure.” He rushed for her, taking her brusquely by the arms. Lifting her up into the air, his voice contorted to the sound of thundering demons. “Don’t you understand? There’s only death. You don’t know what you ask for.”

  “Put me down,” Hathor insisted calmly through clenched teeth. Her lips set in a hard line. “You had best find your rest, lover. Even I can feel the approaching sun.”

  Servaes dropped her, knowing she was right. Hathor fell to the ground, tumbling to her knees with a gasp of pain. Turning her head to him, she watched him as she stood. A battle of wills lit in their eyes, neither one daring to back down.

  “Get in,” he commanded. The coffin lid slammed open with a single gesture. The casket vibrated at the movement. “I’ll take you back to your aunt at dusk. She is worried about you. From there you’ll leave London—forever.”

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” she lied, knowing he couldn’t sense it. She rubbed her sore knee gingerly as she glared at him. “If I were to get in next to you now I might try to shove a stake through your chest.”

  “So be it,” he growled, relieved he wouldn’t have to suffer the torture of her nearness. The coffin lid crashed shut with a reverberating thud. Servaes was gone from her sight. Hathor walked over to the coffin. She stared down at it for several minutes, feeling his returned glare from within. Then, after enough time had passed to make sure the sun was over the horizon, she tapped the lid lightly with her nails. She felt him refusing to reach up to her.

  Hathor smiled, putting on her socks and shoes. Keeping his black shirt, she tied the material at her waist as she went to the door. Opening it up, she saw the gentle stream of sunlight filtering in from overhead.

  “See you later, lover,” she directed at him with a snarl in her thoughts.

  “Hathor,” he returned in warning. She heard his knuckles crash against the lid of his coffin. She slammed the chamber door behind her. “Damn you Hathor, get back here!”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The day passed in a blur. Hathor walked the streets of London, stopping about midmorning to call her aunt. Georgia came to pick her up, eyeing her niece’s solemn expression with concern. Hathor managed to get the whole story out on the ride home, skipping the part where she and Servaes had made love in front of the fire.

  “So what are you going to do?” Georgia asked. She smiled kindly, walking with a newfound energy around the car to the house. She wrapped a tender arm around her young niece.

  Hathor let her aunt help her. She would’ve had to be a blind fool not to see the healthy glow on her aunt’s face. She wondered at it, but didn’t ask. “What I said I would do. I’ll find someone else to turn me. Maybe the one I was telling you about, Jirí.”

  “Is that a good idea? I thought he wanted to kill you,” Georgia asked with concern. “Won’t Servaes be mad?”

  “Damn Servaes and his anger,” Hathor spat, too tired to see straight. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him or else I would already be like him.”

  “He only denies you because he loves you, Hathor,” Georgia said logically. She detected the truth of it when he gave her the blood. Servaes was tormented by the idea of making Hathor’s existence a bleak and cursed life, as his had been thus far.

  Georgia found it quite admirable of him to sacrifice his own happiness for what he thought would be best for Hathor. Just as she knew her niece would never give up until she was either dead or immortal like him. Hathor only wanted to be with her vampire. The truth of it was in every whispered confession.

  Turning to the stairs, Hathor climbed them one by one. Her shoulders slumped in dejection. Her head hung toward the floor. “I’m going to bed. I can’t think straight right now.”

  “All right, dear,” Georgia said quietly. “I’ll wake you up before nightfall.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The cold stare of greenish hazel looked into the darkness. The gaze gave away nothing as Jirí lifted his hand to press the coffin’s lid up from his face. To his surprise, he noticed the soft glowing of a lamp on the black satin lid. He frowned, sitting up in a gentle glide to look around the room.

  “Good morning, Jirí,” Hathor stated. She watched him from the big plush chair. She ran her thumb over the edge of her nails lazily, as if she had been there all day waiting for him to wake up. “Or should I say, good evening?”

  “M’lady,” Jirí nodded, curious as to her visit. He detected Servaes’ recent touch and her human heartbeat. He wondered what she was doing in his chamber.

  Hathor studied him. Quietly, he came out of his coffin, moving to stand before her.

  Hathor pushed up from her chair and walked over to him, calm and sure. Staring him in the eye, she said, “You must be hungry.”

  Jirí smiled a wickedly entrancing grin. Hathor brushed her hair back over her shoulder. She presented her neck to him. He held back, knowing what she wanted him to do.

  “Where is Servaes?”

  Hathor shrugged, but otherwise gave no indication she’d heard him. “You know why I’m here. Get on with it.”

  “Do I?” he asked, his smile widening.

  “I want you to turn me,” she stated bluntly. “You know Servaes won’t do it. It’s what I want. Servaes is too noble to do it. He thinks he’ll damn my soul to hell or some such nonsense. But he’s wrong. I have seen his soul, and it’s not in any hell, unless you count the hell of his own making. He’s my salvation and I his. You don’t have any qualms about giving the dark gift, do you, Jirí? I saw you turn Servaes without a moment’s regret. You enjoyed it. You enjoyed the power of it. So do me this favor. Drink, Jirí, and turn me. What’s it to you anyway?”

  “I do not change women,” he stated simply, his s
mile never wavering. He felt her troubled heart and deep love and was sorry for it. He was sorry Servaes hadn’t taken her. It was clear she was willing—willing enough to chance death in finding him again.

  “Make an exception,” she countered. “I don’t expect you to take care of me after. I’ll owe you one.”

  “How did you find me, m’lady?” If he wanted to, he could have ripped the answer from her mind. He found talking to her too entertaining. He waited instead to see what she said on her own.

  “It’s an interesting balcony. I merely found the bridge, turned north and here I am. Though I’ll admit it was somewhat of a climb up. Luckily, someone found me and let me through their window. I told them I was in love with the man in this room and was going to propose to him tonight.”

  “Quite the cunning liar.” Jirí laughed. Hathor saw approval in his eyes.

  “I don’t usually lie. I had to. I’m left with no choice. So won’t you get on with it?” Hathor once again turned her neck to his mouth and waited. “The sooner the better for both of us.”

  “I know you do not lie often,” he stated by way of casual conversation. He brushed past her to sit on the couch.

  “Come on.” Hathor went to step in front of him. She grew impatient. “Hurry before Servaes tries to find me and stop me.”

  “Nay, m’lady, I will not change you.” Jirí’s words were calm. “It is not for me to do so.”

  “Then what will you do with me? I know you’re not going to let me go.” Hathor sighed, walking back to her chair. She fell into the cushioned seat and looked at him, openly disheartened by his refusal. Although, it hardly surprised her.

  “I have been ordered to bring you back to the tribal council if Servaes didn’t change you afore I got to you. You are not changed, so I will take you.” Jirí waved his hand. “So even if I had a desire to change you, I cannot.”