As Servaes moved, he couldn’t detect the motionless figure watching them from high on a surrounding tower. The vampire sat, surveying the immortal play before him like a cryptic gargoyle. The figure’s dark green cloak whipped about him, blending into the darkness, invisible to all but the stars. The old fingers pressed together to steeple under an aged chin. Slowly, a smile formed on his lips, only to disappear as the vampire blew undetected into the night wind.
As he swirled away, one thought left his mind, like the sweet lost melody of a song—hope.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Servaes whisked Hathor to the safety of his coffin. He had no choice but to take her past the other vampires as he sped through the Vampire Club. He was aware of the stares he received from the others. He didn’t stop to acknowledge their questioning glances.
Ginger glared defiantly, her eyes brazen and outraged. She grimaced in anger when she smelled Hathor’s change. Baring her fangs, she growled viciously, but was helpless against the fate of the once-mortal woman.
Lamar tried to step forward to stop Servaes from passing through. But a hand on his arm stopped him. Jirí came from the shadows, undetected by them until that moment. With a soft shush, he shook his head.
“You are all ordered by the tribal council to leave her be. She is one of you now, and you cannot touch her lest you break the sacred laws of our kind.” Jirí didn’t need to say more. The young ones glowered in anger, disappearing into a fine mist as they sought their beds. When they were gone, Jirí looked around at the decadent club, hating everything the place stood for. The young ones didn’t understand the power they had been given. They didn’t understand the gift or the curse. Perhaps Servaes had been right. They were a product of their time. The humans no longer understood either. Most of them didn’t even believe.
Shaking his head in disgust, Jirí mumbled under his breath as he left. He was tired. He wanted to sleep. Only duty to his tribe as their acting leader kept him awake so long. Until Vladamir returned to claim his place, he wouldn’t be relieved of his duties. Part of him had hoped Servaes would take over for him. It would never be. He saw that now. As he walked across the hollow stone floor, out the passageway into the streets, he whispered with a tired sigh, “I want to go home.”
Servaes’ bedchamber was dark when he carried Hathor inside, but he didn’t bother to light the fireplace as he laid her in his coffin. He settled beside her and curled around her body, pulling her next to him where she would be kept safely and soothingly in his arms. She shivered, opening her eyes to look at him.
Servaes gave her a reassuring wink. He wearily closed the lid on top of them, casting their bodies into the sanctuary of darkness, safe from the light of the sun. She smiled contentedly, despite her depleted state. Servaes felt his heart beat happily that she was his. His joy was tainted only somewhat with regret.
That day as they slept, instead of the dreamless void that was expected, they both dreamed of ancient skies filled with stone-carved birds. Neither of them could understand, only watch as the stone turned into an animal flying off into the brilliant sunlit sky.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The murky passageways leading beneath the city streets were painted black with darkness. Old sewers, newer subway stations, and forgotten caverns created a web of underground roads. The vampires didn’t mind the shadows as they hurried through, using the power of their eyes to see each bend and curve of their way. Their feet drifted soundlessly above the stone walk, not dirtying in the puddles of stagnant water that pooled beneath them.
Ginger held up her hand. Her pink hair was slicked back over her head, pushed out of her eyes. The black leather of her outfit hugged every nuance of her perfect body. Turning to the side, she motioned for her companions to stop. Her eyes glowed, but she said nothing as she motioned to them with her hands. She sniffed the air, smiling cruelly as she did. Then, tilting her jaw, she waved for her cohorts to continue.
Lamar handed her a brick before turning to grab several more from behind him. Vincent carried a bucket of wet mortar, placing it on the ground as if it was nothing. Quickly, they got to work, sealing the door of Servaes’ chamber like a tomb.
“What if he can push through,” Vincent thought. “He will not be pleased.”
“He won’t,” Ginger shot back with her mind. Even her thoughts whined with dissatisfaction. “He hasn’t fed yet tonight. He sleeps and he’s weak from changing the human whore. Once he discovers he’s locked in, he’ll feed on her, taking her life so he may be strong enough to escape. We might not be able to touch her, but he can. He won’t have a choice.”
Vincent and Lamar chuckled. They hastily completed their work without detection. The wall they constructed was three feet thick when they finished, compiled of nothing but brick and quick-drying mortar. Ginger let loose an open-mouthed howl as she screamed defiantly at the barricade, cursing the couple sleeping inside. The others laughed. The devious sound could be heard echoing the passageway as they made their way to dine.
Chapter Fifty
Servaes jolted awake at the sound of evil laughter. He blinked hard. His body was overly sore. Pushing up the lid of the coffin when he detected the night, he threw his hand over to the fireplace, lighting it with his will. Easily, he came out of his coffin without moving Hathor.
“Good night, Servaes.”
Servaes froze. He heard Ginger’s words clearly in his head. Hathor’s eyes shot open, looking pale and frantic as she gazed up at him. He rushed to the door, pushing at the heavy oak wood. It didn’t move under his strength.
Hathor pulled herself up, watching him curiously from their bed. Her lethargic senses were slow to take in what was happening. She too heard Ginger’s ominous laughter in her mind, but she couldn’t see the woman.
“Servaes?” she mumbled. “What is it?”
“Ginger has locked us in.” He braced his shoulder against the door, trying again to push on it. He used all his strength yet the door wouldn’t budge. A fierce growl left his lips.
Hathor grew scared. Her pale lips parted as she watched him. Servaes left off forcing the door and turned to study her intently. In many ways she was the same, beautifully innocent. But her skin was pale and tight against her face. Her shiny auburn hair was longer, trailing in delectable waves down her back past her shoulders, curling around the sides of her breasts. Her body had become leaner and was more graceful. Her eyes had changed too. They took on a supernatural shine, mingling with power and strength, swirling in a pattern of different colors.
The hunger hadn’t come to her yet. It was odd that it should be so. Regardless, Servaes had no doubt that it would come. When it did, it would be fierce and painful for her if he couldn’t feed her, and soon after the pain would come death—her death.
Hathor crawled from the coffin, forcing herself to stand before him. She stared at Servaes calmly. “There has to be another way out. The fireplace?”
“The smoke goes up thorough old pipes. They’re too small. I don’t have the power to travel through small places.”
“Why would she trap us?”
“It means we cannot feed. If we cannot feed, then we’ll grow weak. The bloodlust will take over, and we’ll attack each other. One of us will die.”
As he looked at her, they both knew it would be her. He was much older than she was. He knew how to wield his powers. Shamefully, he turned his back on her.
“Why couldn’t you have stayed away from me?” His words were a tortured denial of everything around them. “You should have listened. Now you will die anyway, and I will be alone.”
Servaes had tasted one night of happiness with her next to him. He had been given one night without loneliness. And now, because of the envy of others, it would be taken away from him. He would live for an eternity knowing he was the one who killed her.
“I won’t blame you,” she whispered, sensing his pain. She went to him, resting a hand on his tense shoulder. Her smile sought to draw out his. She was not suc
cessful. “I would give my life for you. I have given my life for you. I’ll never regret a moment. And neither shall you. I chose this path. I chose you.”
“When the time comes, I want you to drink from me. I want you to take my life. I won’t fight you. Then you will have my strength. You will be able to move the door. Go above to the streets and use your mind to call for Jirí,” Servaes instructed, not completely convinced it would be so. His fingers dug into her arms painfully when she thought to deny him. “You will do this. Jirí will protect and help you.”
“No, I won’t,” she said without pause. “I’ll call for Jirí now. He can come open the door.”
“No, we’re too deep in the earth. Jirí has left for far away and won’t hear you. Don’t you understand? We’re condemned to die.”
Hathor’s face contorted. She shook her head angrily. “I won’t give up now. I’ve gone through too much to roll over and die again. I won’t be forced to kill you. There’s no point in an eternity without you. All right, fine. You don’t want to kill me. I won’t eat you. Then we both die, or we both live.”
“But the bloodlu—” Servaes began.
Hathor held up her hand. “Damn the bloodlust! I don’t care. If all we can do is wait, then I say we wait. They’ll have to check on us sometime, won’t they?”
“Oui,” Servaes grinned. He couldn’t help himself. Her attitude surprised him, made him forget what they faced. “But we should conserve our energy, my sweet chéri.”
“Well, that pretty much rules out what I had in mind to pass the time.” She smiled, and then blushed when Servaes’ eyebrows rose. Hathor laughed, turning from him to pull the high-backed chair before the fire. Her arms lifted it easily. She smirked at Servaes and playfully batted her lashes as she held the chair in one hand and then the other before setting in down near the bearskin rug. “This is kind of fun. What else can I do?”
“Not much yet,” he answered. “After you’ve eaten, you’ll be stronger.”
So it was that an unspoken agreement was formed between them. Neither mentioned what they faced, talking as if they merely waited for an unknown friend to come to their door. Hathor sat in the chair. Servaes sat on the floor next to her and stretch his legs toward the fire.
“I can hear and see extremely well. Look at that stone. I can detect every grain in the texture from here.” Hathor pointed at the fireplace in awe. The stone she stared at was several feet away. “And everything is so rich and vibrant. It all appears to have its own life. Even the blue tapestries.”
Servaes chuckled. Hathor’s hand lazily kneaded into his hair, stroking it back over the arm of the chair with her long nails. She ignored the splendor around her, content to stare at his dark locks.
“Can I cut my hair and nails?” she asked. “They’ve gotten so long.”
“No,” he answered, “not for many years.”
“What will happen if I try?”
“It will grow back the same, and you’ll be the weaker for it.” He turned to glance at her. “But don’t worry. You look beautiful.”
“More beautiful than before?” she wondered aloud.
“Different,” he affirmed, not wanting to remember her rosy cheeks replaced by her pallor. Not that he cared about her looks. He loved her for her, and her face didn’t matter.
“And when do I get my teeth?” Hathor asked, feeling her mouth with her finger.
Servaes again angled his head around to look at her. She opened her mouth to show him the flat surface. He hummed thoughtfully. “You should have gotten them already, I believe. But I have never turned anyone before. I suppose it is different each time. They will come.”
“I don’t feel very hungry,” she whispered. Her smile faded.
“Neither do I,” he admitted. “It’s strange, that. We should have awoken feeling the twitches of it, especially after what was done.”
“Can I take a bath?”
“Not in here,” he mused with a chuckle. “In general, oui. But you will hardly have a need of one unless you prefer. Most of us get out of the habit.”
Hathor again stroked his hair. It slid through her fingers like cobwebs of the finest silk. Seeing he’d moved the trunk that had been in his emergency tomb, she asked, “Will you read to me? In French?”
Servaes glanced at her curiously. He followed her gaze to his trunk. “You don’t speak French, do you, mademoiselle?”
“No,” she answered with a pretty smile. Servaes grinned. She folded her arm by her head, curling her legs up into a ball on the chair. Snuggling into the soft cushion, she continued with a low murmur, “I want to hear it anyway. The sound of your voice comforts me, and if I can’t have you, I want to hear you. Besides, maybe I’ll learn to speak it by listening.”
Servaes went to his trunk, digging to the bottom to pull out a dusty French book. Smiling, he swiped his fingers over the cover. A cloud of dust rained through the air, lit by the fire’s orange glow. Opening the cover, he read, “Le Rouge et le Noir.”
“Le Rog—” Her accent was atrocious and Servaes winced as if in pain.
“Are you going to listen or butcher my native tongue?”
Hathor giggled. She playfully slugged him in the shoulders, but said no more. She tilted her chin regally, waiting for him to continue. Servaes grinned, turning once more to the yellowed pages. Flipping over to the first chapter, he began to read.
Chapter Fifty-One
Hours passed before the flickering of the firelight. The soft, smooth accent of Servaes’ voice wove a spell over the chamber as he read the old novel. Hathor didn’t understand a word he said, content to relax and listen. Halfway through he stopped and closed his book. He glanced over at Hathor, seeing her eyes closed. Slowly they opened, turning to him with a quiet gentleness. Her heart filled with love for him, his beautiful face—his strong, tender presence.
“Can’t you at least kiss me?” she asked with a yearning sigh.
“No, ma petite,” he whispered, lifting his hand to stroke her hair. His long nails trailed over her whitish cheek. The touch was electrifying. “It would not be wise. We cannot seem to stop ourselves once we start.”
“But I’m not in pain, and I’m not suggesting we fly around the room while we do it.”
Servaes chuckled. The idea had some merit.
“I know it’s strange that the hunger hasn’t come. It’s been almost a day, and I too am not hungry,” he admitted. “Mayhap, it takes a few days for some. The exact details of my changing are dim. Perchance I gave you too much blood. I don’t know.”
“Then what will one kiss hurt?” She leaned forward, offering her parted lips to him. Her long, thick lashes fluttered over her eyes. Her skin tingled, sending a little shockwave over her system, seeming to jump off her flesh onto him, drawing him to her.
Servaes couldn’t resist her. He moved forward to press his mouth to hers. Murmuring against her lips, he said, “Je t’aime, Hathor.”
“I don’t know what you just said, but all right.” Hathor lifted her hands to touch him. Her vampire blood heightened her senses. With lightly hovering fingers, she pulled him forward to her. Her lips brushed against his in a light caress. Servaes held still for a moment, just feeling her next to him. She was warm, and her breath still panted. His smiled, knowing she only breathed out of human habit. His hand dipped into her soft hair as he kissed her.
Hathor drew back. Servaes’ lips were a bit warmer than usual, though they held a familiar chill. She licked her lips, gazing down at his mouth. “Make love to me.”
Servaes groaned, the sound heavy with desire. He pulled back, shaking his head. “No, my temptress. We can’t. It will expend too much of our energies. We must find something to take our minds from it.”
Hathor gave him a doubtful grimace that appeared to say, “good luck, Marquis!”
“Shall I read some more then?” He cleared his throat, adjusting himself comfortably on the floor.
Hathor nodded, leaning back down to stare at the fire. �
��All right, but I don’t think I’m learning anything.”
Servaes chuckled, picked up the book, and thumbed to the page were he had last been reading. As he began to speak, his heart thumped steadily. Their future was uncertain, their past unforgettable, but for the present they had each other, and he couldn’t have been happier. For in all the things he had seen and done in the world, sitting next to her reading was the simplest, most treasured memory he would have.
That night, as dawn encroached upon the outside world, Hathor and Servaes remained quietly waiting. Servaes read most of the book, setting it aside when he grew weary of talking. Leaning his head back, he felt Hathor again stroking his hair. He smiled, almost content, almost feeling human again.
“If you are a marquis, then what does that make me?” she asked.
“Hathor Vinceti,” he answered. “We would have to marry for you to receive a title.”
“Oh,” she whispered. In all the strange excitement and intrigue, she hadn’t thought of that. She hid her thoughts from him, as she stretched. “I’m still tired.”
“It should go away.” Slowly, he stood, holding his hand out to her to pull her to standing. “It’s almost dawn. We should get inside the coffin.”
Hathor followed dutifully behind him, her gaze straying to his firm backside with longing.
“Stop that,” he directed at her without a backward glance.
“What?” Hathor shot back, as innocently as she could muster.
Servaes lifted the coffin’s lid for her, letting her crawl in first. Hathor lay on her back, shooting him a naughtily coy look. Servaes grimaced playfully and then, with a sigh, he moved in next to her.
“This is going to be a long day,” Hathor told him.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” Servaes chuckled, closing them into the darkness. But despite their longing, they didn’t touch each other more than necessary as they fell asleep. Neither of them wanted to admit to the fear surrounding them nor lay voice to the end. They hoped if they didn’t speak of it, it wouldn’t come to pass.
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