Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Her tears dripped from her eyes to his reddened face. Her love for him tore throughout her body in heart-wrenching surety. Leaning to him, she pressed her quivering lips to his. Closing her eyes, she cried against him, not moving away.

  Servaes’ mouth grew warm beneath her touch. Drawing back, she waited in wonderment as his features filled with color. His skin shaded with a bronze beauty. His lips darkened, his eyelids faded to a tired purple. When his eyes opened, slowly blinking in the bright light, Hathor saw the soft brown gaze of the man she’d seen in a king’s garden long ago.

  “Servaes,” she whispered in awe. The sound was barely audible. Transfixed in her stupor, she couldn’t move, only stare.

  Georgia sniffed behind them as she kneeled in the grass. Her fingers met with stone. Glancing down, she picked up two pieces of a broken rune.

  The breeze was light and warm as it caressed over their skin. The ground moved with the rustling of fallen leaves. Hathor shivered, afraid she was dreaming, afraid if she touched him he would disappear into thin air.

  Slowly his eyes cleared, searching the sky as he slowly sat up from the ground. The sun shone over him like a baptism to his new birth. He looked around in quiet wonderment, his eyes finally landing on Hathor’s rosy cheeks and puffy eyes. First, he smiled at her from the depths of his brown eyes, followed by the slow curl of his darkened lips. As the smile grew, so did the flash of his teeth—fangless.

  Hathor shook her head, unable to believe her eyes. Her breath came in pants. Tears blurred her vision. Slowly, she lifted her hand, reaching to touch him. His warm palm met hers, caressed by light. Feeling that he was real, she slumped in relief and she cried harder.

  Hathor fell forward into his waiting arms, weeping with joy and love against his chest. Her fingers moved over his hair, his back, feeling him. She couldn’t believe he was alive.

  Pulling back happily, she whispered, “How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are we human?” she asked in awe. “Are we free?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again. For the moment, he didn’t care. He leaned forward, pulling her mouth to his. Hathor moaned in happy contentment. She didn’t care either. He was alive and in her arms. Their love was all that mattered. Kissing him thoroughly, she didn’t want to let him go.

  “Praise the Lord!” Georgia shouted, clapping her hands in excitement. She clutched the rune pieces in her hand.

  A loud growl sounded around them. Hathor pulled back in shock, looking with wide eyes at Servaes. His smile faded to be replaced by concern. The growl sounded again, low and insistent.

  “What?” Hathor began, confused.

  Servaes looked down, grabbing his gut with a look of concern.

  “I know what that is.” Georgia beamed, getting to her feet. She put the broken rune in her pocket, intent on putting it away for safe keeping. The old woman chuckled gleefully. Clapping her hands, she danced toward the house. “I’ll be in the kitchen cooking.”

  “Cooking?” Hathor asked, confused, never realizing Georgia found the rune or that it even existed.

  Again the growl sounded. Only this time it came from within Hathor. She began to laugh. Servaes eyed her as if she were insane.

  “It’s your stomach,” she said, moving to kiss him lightly. She laughed against his mouth. “I suppose it’s been a long time since you’ve eaten food.”

  As if to prove her point, his stomach gurgled again. Servaes pressed his hand to his midsection as it twitched. A smirk found his features. He too began to laugh.

  “You don’t want blood, do you?” she asked.

  “No, the craving is gone,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what I want.”

  Hathor laughed, falling onto her back as he tackled her playfully to the ground. His eyes soaked in everything about her—her face, her warm eyes, her happy smile. All of it was bright and beautiful and inviting. She was a balm to his soul. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her next to him to stare into the blue cloudless sky.

  “I lied,” he said seriously. Hathor stiffened. “I do know what I want.”

  Hathor relaxed next to him. His eyes studied the trees weaving in the soft morning air. Kissing his cheek, she asked, “What? I am sure Georgia will cook you anything you ask for.”

  “All I want is you,” he murmured next to her hair. Their stomachs growled again, reverberating with their blissful laughter.

  Chapter Sixty

  Servaes refused to go indoors, enjoying a new life basking in the daylight. He took in Hathor’s beauty outlined by the sun he hadn’t seen for centuries. Her eyes flashed with the power he’d given her, but they were absent of the curse of death.

  Georgia made quick sandwiches with the promise of a great feast that evening to celebrate. Servaes didn’t care, relishing each bite like a child. Everything was so new to him—the play of light on his hands, the look of the brightly changing leaves as they danced on the trees in spotted beauty. Hathor watched him, smiling like a fool at each of his discoveries.

  After they ate, Servaes led Hathor over the gardens in the direction of the bench, where they had talked for the first time. Plucking up an orange fall leaf, he handed it to her. Hathor pressed it to her nose like a flower, delighting in the smell of fall.

  As they strolled, Hathor told him of the mysterious stranger that saved them, and of all that he said to her. The leaf twirled thoughtfully in her fingers as she spoke. “I felt them dying. He stayed true to his word. Ginger and the others are gone.”

  “I felt it too. I can still feel it,” he admitted. “And this man said he was your great-grandfather?”

  “Yes.” Hathor hugged herself to his strong arm. Even with the grim discussion of death, she couldn’t hide her joy. Neither could Servaes. It shone from the inviting, careless depths of his eyes. His handsome face took her breath away. He looked like the stranger who led her through the king’s garden, making her fall in love with him. Only it was better now, because she was given the best of both men—the human and the vampire. “Who do you think it was?”

  “I do not know. The only vampire I could call grandfather would be Vladamir, the one who made Jirí, but he has been asleep for centuries. I’ve never even met him. It’s said he will never wake up. The longer they sleep, the less likely it is they will rise.” Servaes sighed, turning serious. None of it made sense, yet here he was—in daylight.

  “Maybe we will never know,” Hathor admitted. “Maybe this Vladamir was right. Maybe there was some ancient curse on our souls, a curse somehow negated when we both died as vampires.”

  “It would explain how you were in France, though I’m not sure how you were on the boat to America,” he answered.

  They trailed silently over the grass to the cobblestone path. As they neared the fountain, she said, “I felt something else. I know what you did for my aunt. I want to thank you. I didn’t even know she was sick.”

  Servaes nodded but didn’t respond. He led her to the bench by the fountain. Sitting her in the shade, he came next to her. He watched Hathor’s face thoughtfully. His eyes almost looked frightened as he studied her.

  “What is it?” she asked, alarmed. “Do we need to get you inside?”

  “I want to ask…” Swallowing nervously, he blurted, “Marry me.”

  “What?” Hathor gasped. It was the last thing she suspected. In her surprise, she bumped her elbow on the stone edge of the bench, cutting it open. “Ouch.”

  “Here let me see,” Servaes tenderly leaned over her, his long hair falling over her shoulders as he pulled her elbow up. The small wound healed and faded. Her eyes widened in amazement. His mouth close to her cheek, he kept his eyes turned down as he nuzzled against her face. “Well?”

  “Our souls are already married.” She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with the power of her feelings.

  “I want you to belong to me completely.” His eyes finally swept up to gaze into hers.

  “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Servaes.” Hathor beamed. He
r eyes glowed with the light of a woman in love. They didn’t think of the vampire council, the elders, or of the threat they posed to the newly turned couple. As he leaned in to kiss her, she confessed into his mouth, “But I already belong to you completely.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Island of Delos, Cyclades

  Jirí faced the forbidding council of tribal leaders. Their pale faces glittered with the orange of the firelight. Theophania lounged over her chair, the metal of her bodice barely hiding her womanly charms. Chara sat in more ladylike repose, her risqué black dress clinging to her slender white form. Andrei busied himself looking at Chara’s cleavage, unabashed. Pietro stared at his feet, ignoring them all. Amon lifted his chin regally with feigned boredom. Vishnu matched his dark look. And Ragnhild scratched his nails absently into his arm, watching the little scratches heal behind the wounds he inflicted.

  With a sigh, Amon finally decreed, “He is still, technically, one of us. We must leave him be.”

  “But Servaes is like a mortal now,” Vishnu said. “He walks with the day and he knows our secrets.”

  “Then he is mortal,” Theophania stressed. “Vampires cannot walk in day. He has lost the dark gift.”

  Jirí said nothing, having told what he knew.

  “If he is mortal,” Pietro said, drawing the eyes of the council. He continued to stare at the floor in dejection. It was one of the rare times the vampire had spoken freely at a meeting in centuries. “Then we shall leave him be and have him watched to see what happens. He will be dead after a mortal’s life, but a blink of the eyes to us.”

  “I agree,” Chara said. “None of us wish to kill him. I say we leave him unless he poses a threat to us.”

  “Like all things, the evidence will be put down only in the sacred scrolls, hidden safely in the depths of the earth. My people, the tribe of the Vrykolatios, will guard the secret. No others will know of it. If it were discovered that a vampire has turned human, there would be chaos. Nothing will be made known until it is learned how it was done. It might have something to do with the unreadable human. If another surfaces, let them be brought to us immediately.”

  “Agreed,” the tribal leaders acknowledge in unison.

  “Fine,” Theophania said. “Now, what of this other business in London?”

  “Twenty-three dead,” Jirí stated. “Only the one named Vincent survived.”

  “Was it Servaes?” Amon asked.

  “No,” Jirí stated with self-assurance. “I spoke with Vincent. The others tried to kill Servaes and Hathor. Naturally, he claims to have nothing to do with it. He claims he is innocent.”

  Andrei snorted. Jirí smiled wryly.

  “Servaes and Hathor were tied to the ground by stakes that whole night,” Jirí continued. “Being changed as they are, they escaped and were not harmed by the sunlight.”

  “Then revenge shall not be taken against Vincent for this,” Theophania mused, “being as his crimes were against blood beings.”

  “Any idea how this happened?” Chara inquired, though her eyes were bored.

  “No,” Jirí answered. “The club was not popular with a lot of the older vampires. Methinks there is any number of them who could have done it, their numbers ranging throughout many of the tribes. More than likely, it had naught to do with Servaes and his woman.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Amon said. His ebony skin glistened with a light sheen of gold as he moved. His eyes shone with other concerns. “It was a nest of young ones. We should be glad to be rid of them. They were a constant source of irritation anyway.”

  “Then we shall claim they died from their own stupidity,” Ragnhild said. “That is what we will tell others. Jirí, see to it that the rumors are spread.”

  Having decided, the council stood, going to seek their rest. Jirí rose from his seat, walking over to one of the velvet-draped doors. He felt a hand on his elbow stopping him. The other members disappeared down the tunneled halls like whispers of dust on the still air.

  “You know he is not mortal, Jirí,” Pietro asserted quietly. His old eyes searched the Moroi leader’s face. “He is a daywalker now—immortal without our weaknesses.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jirí admitted, without surprise.

  “Will he be a threat to us?” Pietro inquired. He didn’t sound concerned.

  “No,” Jirí answered with confidence. “He will not.”

  “Let the others learn first that there is nothing to fear before you tell them,” Pietro said. Jirí nodded in agreement. “Or do not tell them at all. This council will do nothing. It never does anything.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  London

  “Will you miss it?” Hathor asked, smiling at Servaes from the balcony. Her dress was cut from the mid-Victorian period he was so fond of. The white gown was trimmed with light blue ribbons at the neck and sleeves. There were great slashes and sweeps of material forming the wide, full skirt. The satiny fabric swished pleasantly as Hathor moved. Servaes’ personal favorite was the way the tight bodice was corseted to reveal a good amount of peach-colored cleavage.

  The sun set over the land, flashing over her old-fashioned wedding veil, silhouetting Hathor in hues of orange and magenta. Her upswept hair picked up the red tints of the sun, shining like a crown over her flushed features. Servaes stared at his wife in awe, unable to believe that she was completely his—forever.

  Servaes wore an evening suit with black velvet cuffs and collar. The black jacket was a stark contrast to his white waistcoat and undershirt. The waistcoat tapered to the hips, the overcoat was fashioned with a short front and long tails in the back. All this was atop straight-cut trousers and plain leather ankle boots with flattened heels.

  His eyes glowed softly with life, making Hathor’s heart flutter. So much had changed in the days since their turning. Servaes insisted on a short engagement before marrying her, taking one day to gather their clothing and a preacher. They were married in the back garden with Georgia as their witness.

  Servaes flashed across the room at her question, startling her when he was instantly by her side. Her arms automatically lifted to his shoulders to rest against him. She gazed into his soft eyes, growing lost in their tender depths. She lifted her fingers to his hair, brushing a shortened lock back from his face. He had cut his hair short soon after being able to. She left hers long.

  “How did you do that?”

  “You will too in time,” he said, smiling against her lips as he kissed her. His lungs didn’t rise in breath as he smothered his lips over hers. Lifting his head, he scanned the distance. He felt a presence within the trees watching them. Hathor began to turn to follow his gaze. Smiling slightly, he brought her face back around to him. Lightly, he distracted her. “I might even show you how to fly.”

  “Really?” Hathor beamed in pleasure. “I can do that?”

  “Oui.” He laughed, holding her close. “We have an eternity together, my love. I can show you many things.”

  “And traveling through time?” she whispered. “Have you figured out that one?”

  “All I can say is that the gods must have allowed it.”

  “The gods?”

  “Rumors in the vampire world, my love, our second ancestors,” Servaes returned. “I’ll tell you about them later. They have no bearing here. I don’t know whether we can be called vampires anymore. Besides, the past doesn’t matter. All I want is right now, here with you.”

  “There is a lot for me to learn, I suppose,” Hathor said. “Will you miss being what you were before me?”

  “Miss what, drinking blood?” Servaes pulled up her arm. The faint stirrings of a gentle melody drifted on the air. It was a sound only they could hear. He began dancing with her over the balcony. The sun finished setting in the distance, casting them in the shadows of night. “No, chéri, I’ve been dying to try something called a cheeseburger.”

  “I guess there is a lot I can show you too.” Hathor giggled. “However, if you keep eating so much,
you’re going to get fat, and then I might not want to spend an eternity looking at you.”

  “Never, ma petite.” He brought her hand to rest over his heart. “Flying is good exercise. Besides, Georgia insists that I eat. I don’t wish to be rude.”

  Servaes swirled her higher off the ground, letting them float as they danced over the garden. The presence in the tree line disappeared. Servaes followed it with his senses until it was completely gone. He didn’t let Hathor detect his concern as he smiled for her.

  Hathor’s eyes sparkled, reflecting the stars. She gazed at his warm skin, so dark, so beautifully full of life.

  “Will you ever get tired of me?” Hathor asked softly, closing the distance between their dancing bodies until it was as if they were one being. “Eternity is a long time.”

  “No, my marchioness. Whoever controls all of this,” Servaes paused to wave his hand, holding fast to hers to encompass the world around them, “must know that we were meant to be together always. If what Vladamir told you is true, our love has been a long time in the making.”

  “And what of the council?” Her expression fell. “Will they just let us go?”

  “I do not know, ma petite.” His senses again turned to the trees beneath them. “But whoever they might send, we can handle together.”

  “I felt it too,” she whispered, nodding her head below them to the shadows. “It’s not over, is it?”

  Servaes’ lips parted with a sad smile, and he kissed her deeply as they waltzed across the gardens, through the Italian conservatory, over the tops of endless trees. Hathor sighed, her heart beating forever with his. He didn’t answer her, but they didn’t have a need for words between them.