My Demon's Kiss

by Lucy Blue

  “Brautus…” Without thinking, she ran to him, hiding her face in his shoulder.

  “Hush now,” he rumbled, holding her with his good arm. “It’s all right.” She wrapped her arms around him, desperate to believe him. “It will be all right.”

  Simon awoke from unquiet dreams to find Orlando and Raymond, the peasant from the woods, standing over him. “The sun is down,” Orlando said, looking grim. Simon had released him from the catacombs at dawn, but they had barely spoken, the vampire saving his confessions for the night, when he would be wakeful enough to defend himself.

  “My lord, you must come,” Raymond interrupted. “My lady needs you in the hall.”

  “Is she all right?” Simon asked him, getting up.

  “For the moment,” the man answered, pale and obviously frightened. “Please, just come.”

  He made it to the hall just as Isabel was running to the arms of her Black Knight. “My lord,” Kevin said in obvious relief as he came to meet him. “Christ save us, come and see.” Brautus scowled at him as he passed, still murmuring comfort to Isabel, but she didn’t look up from his shoulder. And once Simon saw the bodies, he was just as glad.

  Two were the brigands he had murdered himself, looking no better for their day spent dead in the woods, but the third was worse somehow, a man he had never seen before. “Where did you find them?” he asked, pretending to wince at the wound in the first one’s thick throat as if he hadn’t been the one to put it there. “Were they together?”

  “Aye.” Kevin stood just at his elbow. “We were just telling Lady Isabel, they were left in a sort of witch’s pattern in the woods.”

  “Witches my arse,” Brautus scoffed. “You there, Sir Crusader—I thought you killed this wolf.”

  Simon looked back at him, suppressing a smile. In a different world, he would have been quite fond of Brautus, he thought. “So did I,” he said. He made a careful examination of his second kill to satisfy his audience, then moved on to the only one he needed to see, the handsome peasant. “No wolf did this.”

  “No, my lord,” Wat said eagerly. “I said as much myself—I said it looks as though he died of fright.”

  “Nay, Dad, he looks too peaceful,” Kevin objected. “Look at his face.” Hannah let out a sob, and Isabel made a small sound from behind them as well.

  “Hush,” Simon warned, giving each man a look that they returned with an understanding nod. “Enough.” He turned the dead man’s head to one side, silently praying he would not see what he was almost certain he must, but there it was—a pair of tiny puncture marks in his throat.

  “Look there,” Kevin said, pointing, and Wat made the sign of the cross with a whispered oath.

  “I see it.” Simon touched the almost dainty wound. The marks were too close together; no man’s bite could have made them. But it was almost certainly the kill of a vampire.

  “Susannah,” Hannah said from behind him. “Someone has to find her.”

  “Find her?” Simon said, turning around.

  “She never came back from the dance,” Isabel explained. She looked as pale as the others, but she was no longer huddled in Brautus’s arms. “The men had gone to look for her when they found these men lying dead in the woods near Mother Bess’s cottage.”

  “Not even hidden,” Wat agreed. “Out in the open for all the world to see.”

  Simon drew the dagger from his belt and pierced the dead man’s breast over his heart.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Glynnis squeaked, reaching for her husband.

  “No blood,” Wat said in an awestruck whisper as he held his wife.

  “There wouldn’t be,” Isabel said, reaching Simon’s side. “Dead men don’t bleed.” She touched Simon’s arm and nodded, bracing herself not to be sick.

  He plunged the dagger into the corpse’s heart and twisted, making Hannah scream. But the spurt of blood that should have come did not. A thick red foam formed just around the blade, but that was all. Simon looked at Wat. “No blood.”

  “Holy Christ,” Hannah cried, sinking down on a bench as if her legs would support her no longer. “What is this devilry?” she said as Kevin went to join her. “What has taken Susannah?”

  “I don’t know, love,” Kevin said, holding her close. “Maybe she’s still all right.”

  “Let us hope,” Simon agreed, trying to sound like he meant it. Some vampire had killed this man, a vampire with the delicate mouth of a woman or a child. Hannah had the truth of it. Something had taken Susannah. “Double-bar the gates,” he said to Brautus, wiping the dagger and returning it to his belt. “Set a guard on the wall over the drawbridge and in back as well. Keep watch over the lake.” He met Isabel’s eyes with his own. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Isabel watched him leave the hall, frozen in shock. He couldn’t really mean to just charge out into the dark by himself. Orlando was standing just opposite her, staring at the bodies with the strangest look on his face she had ever seen, almost a smile but frightened as well. Feeling her eyes, the wizard looked up, and his face was ashen under his long, gray beard.

  “Simon, wait,” she called, her paralysis broken as she hurried after him.

  She caught him in the archway and drew him back into the shadows of the corridor to the hall. “Where will you go?” She held him by either wrist. “How will you find Susannah?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ll start where those men were found…” He saw tears in her eyes. “Darling, no.” He drew her to him and held her close, feeling her tremble as she clung to him, feeling her tears on his skin as she cried, her face pressed to his chest at the opening of his shirt. “Shhh,” he murmured, stroking her hair, desperate love washing over him in a wave. “It’s all right.”

  “It is not.” She clung to him with all her strength, her heart pounding with fear and love combined. She couldn’t let go of her wits this way; she must be brave for Charmot. But she didn’t want to be brave. She wanted to cry and let Simon hold her; she wanted him to keep her safe.

  “No,” he agreed, kissing her brow. “But it will be.” Suddenly the very idea that some other demon might try to come here, might threaten his beloved, filled him with an almost blinding rage. “I will find it.” He drew back to frame her face in his hands as he made his promise. “Whatever is in the forest, whatever has taken Susannah and murdered her lover, I will find it, and I will destroy it.”

  “And what if you cannot?” she said. “Did you see Orlando’s face?”

  “What?” He let her go, confused. “No. What does Orlando have to do with—”

  “He’s frightened, Simon.” Raymond passed by them, headed for the wall, no doubt, and she drew him deeper into the shadows. “When the first woman was murdered, Orlando barely batted an eye. When we suggested you might be in danger in the wood by yourself, he acted like it was some kind of a joke, like we were fools to even think it. But now he’s afraid.”

  “I’m sure he is not,” Simon promised with a smile.

  “Ask him.” Watching him smile, so brave and careless, all she could think of was what he would look like if he was wrong, his bloodless body laid on the floor of the hall, his throat torn open, his eyes staring sightless at the beams above. “Does he know what killed those men, Simon?” she asked. Simon is my only hope, the wizard had told her his first morning at Charmot. My warrior and my salvation. But just what did he mean for Simon to fight? “Does Orlando know what is in the woods?” she asked her lover now.

  “No.” Her question caught him completely off guard; for a moment the lie would hardly come out. “Of course he does not, no more than I do myself.”

  “Are you certain?” Is he lying? she thought. He sounded unsure, not his usual manner at all. But why would he lie? “Simon, if you know something, I need you to tell me, not protect me. I am not—”

  “You are not a child,” he finished for her with a smile. He cradled her cheek in his hand. “Trust me, love. I know that.” He kissed her sweetly on the lips, and
she allowed it, kissing him back. She wanted to be strong, to make him tell her the truth, but she couldn’t be certain he hadn’t told it already. She didn’t want to fight with him, not now.

  “Be careful,” she said, brusque with feeling, fighting the near-compulsion to throw herself into his arms again as he drew back.

  “I will,” he promised. Brushing a final kiss across her brow, he left her, following another man into the courtyard.

  She went back to the hall where the corpses were being carried away. Glynnis and Hannah were huddled together in a corner, Hannah obviously in tears. Isabel’s heart ached as well, remembering Susannah in this room the day before, how happy and pretty she had been. How could she be gone? What sort of monster could have wanted to hurt her?

  Mother Bess was sitting by the fire, so close the cinders were in danger of setting her skirts aflame. Kevin had said the bodies had been found barely a stone’s throw from her door. “Mother Bess,” Isabel said, going to join her. “Are you well? Is there anything you need?”

  The old woman looked up, startled, then she smiled. “Come and sit with me, my lady.” She took Isabel’s hand between her own. “To think that I should live so long,” she said softly, a tremor in her voice.

  “You will live a great deal longer, Mother,” Isabel said with a smile.

  “Brave little girl.” She gave her hand a squeeze before she let it go.

  “I’m not a little girl anymore,” Isabel answered. “And I don’t feel very brave.”

  “Not to worry, child,” the old woman said with a nod. “Your mother had the sight; her vision was true.” She touched Isabel’s cheek. “But you are such a pretty thing.”

  “Thank you.” In truth, she had no idea what the dear old creature was talking about, but she supposed it really didn’t matter. After all that had happened, she felt like she might babble a little herself.

  “Your mother knew you would be pretty,” Mother Bess said, searching her face with eyes grown cloudy with age. “She said you would charm the wolf.”

  “The wolf?” Isabel repeated. “Mother, the wolf is dead. Simon killed him, remember?”

  “The wolf cannot die, my darling. You know that. Even your fool of a father must have told you that.” The last of the bodies was carried past them, the soldier with his throat torn out, and they both made the sign of the cross. “Much that is dead can still rise.”

  “My father would have called that superstition, Mother,” Isabel said with a smile. “Is that why you call him a fool?”

  “The Norman would not see fire burning in his bed,” the old woman scoffed. “But your mother loved him; she would have no other.” A tear slid down her withered cheek. “She knew he would give her our champion.”

  A cold tremor passed through her, though why she couldn’t have said. “I think you must be upset, Mother Bess,” she said. “You’re not talking sense. Let me get you some broth or some wine—”

  “You need not be afraid, child,” the old woman said, catching her by the wrist with surprising strength. “You will beat him in the end.” With her free hand, she caressed Isabel’s cheek. “But you will mourn your man, I think. I grieve for that young man.”

  “Simon?” Any other time, she would have humored the woman without paying her any real mind. But tonight her words were so near to Isabel’s own fears, they seemed to reach her very heart. “Do you mean Simon?”

  “He has a mark on him as well,” Mother Bess nodded. “But I cannot read it.”

  “Why do you say I will mourn him?” Isabel demanded. “What do you think will hurt him?”

  “The wolf, my child,” the old woman said, sounding surprised by the question. “The wolf will bear no rivals.”

  “’Tis a dark, ill night, old mother,” Brautus said. Isabel had been so engrossed in what Mother Bess was saying, she hadn’t noticed him behind her. “A cottage alone might make a poor shelter, don’t you think?”

  The old woman drew back from Isabel, glaring at him. “Tell me what you mean,” Isabel insisted, more confused than ever. “What wolf?”

  “You should burn in hell, old man,” Mother Bess said. “You and your fool of a master.”

  “You should have some soup and give your bones a rest,” Brautus answered her. “And your tongue as well.”

  “She knows nothing?” the old woman demanded, gesturing at Isabel. “You have told her nothing?”

  “And what should I have told her?” he scoffed. “My lady is too old for fairy tales.”

  “Maybe I’m not,” Isabel interrupted. In truth, whatever the ancient crone thought she should know, it didn’t sound like any fairy tale she had ever heard. “Tell me.”

  “Things are bad enough already,” Brautus said. “We don’t need this old witch making matters worse with a lot of pagan foolishness.”

  “Tell me, Mother Bess,” Isabel repeated. “Pay him no mind; this is my castle, not his.” She took the old woman’s hand. “Who is this wolf who cannot die?”

  The old woman touched her cheek and smiled. “You are so like your mother.” Then her expression clouded, her gaze stealing over Isabel’s shoulder to Brautus. “But yes, I am hungry,” she said, letting her go. “I will have some soup.”

  “You are needed in the kitchen, my lady,” Brautus said. She turned to glare at him, and he smiled, looking tired. “I swear to you, poppet, it’s nothing.” He touched her cheek as well. “Haven’t we got enough to frighten us already?”

  Isabel wanted to argue, but what would be the use? “I will bring your soup, Mother,” she said, getting up. “We can talk later.” Giving Brautus a final baleful glance, she headed for the kitchen.

  When Simon returned to the castle, he found Orlando waiting in the stable. “Did you see the girl?”

  “Not a sign.” He climbed down from Malachi’s back. “How are the others?”

  “Frightened but quiet.” Isabel was right, Simon thought; the wizard looked frightened himself.

  “Orlando, it’s all right,” he said, unfastening the horse’s saddle. “I killed two of those men myself, and the third…” He let his voice trail off, loath to even say it.

  “The third was killed by the girl,” Orlando finished for him. “Did you turn her?”

  “No, I never saw Susannah last night either.” As he unsaddled and rubbed down his mount, he explained how he had spent the night before, starting with a slightly censored version of his time with Isabel and ending with the vampire he had made, the knight, Tristan. “He bit me back,” he said with an incredulous smile, still shocked to think of it. “And you were right, by the way. I could never have done that and not known it. I’ve never felt anything like it.” He stroked Malachi’s neck. “I suppose Tristan must have turned Susannah.”

  “A new-made vampire with no one to show him how?” Orlando said. “Not likely.” He sat down heavily on a bale of hay, wiping his face with a cloth.

  “Then who?” Simon had never seen his small friend so worried, even the night they had met. “Orlando, what are you thinking?”

  “Kivar.” He looked up, pale and grim. “It is Lucan Kivar.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Simon almost laughed, the thought was so ridiculous. “Kivar is dead—”

  “No,” Orlando cut him off, shaking his head. “Not dead, just driven from his solid form, from his vampire body.”

  “Which amounts to the same thing,” Simon said.

  “No, it does not.” He took his seer’s stones from his pocket and rattled them in his fist. “If somehow he has found another host, another way to possess a human form; if he has found you—”

  “He would have attacked me long ago,” Simon pointed out. “I agree that something strange is happening here, strange even for us, but why should we think it has aught to do with Kivar?”

  “The way the bodies were arranged,” Orlando said. “Two killed by you, his vampire son, and one by a vampire daughter.” He shuddered. “It is an old device.” He dropped the stones on the straw-covered floo
r and bent over them for a moment. “I see nothing,” he finished with a sigh.

  “Because there is nothing to see.” Simon hated the notion that he was somehow connected forever to the monster who had made him, that he was Kivar’s vampire son. He hated it so much that Orlando had learned long ago not to say it for fear of sending him into a rage. That he was doing so now only proved how worried he was. “That kind of pattern is known here, too, you know,” he said. “These people come from druid stock, remember? A native vampire might think he was a warlock, might try to use the old magic to cure himself or to gain more power.” But Tristan wasn’t from this plain, he thought in spite of himself. “In any case, we should keep a close watch on those bodies tonight.”

  “Yes.” Orlando gathered up the stones. “Come then.”

  “You go; I’ll be along.” He scratched Malachi between the ears before he left the stall. “I want to make certain Isabel is all right.”

  Isabel paced her tower room, a dozen different terrors spinning in her head. As soon as she heard Simon’s footsteps coming up the stairs, she flung open the door and rushed into the corridor to meet him. As soon as she saw him, she threw herself into his arms.

  “I was so scared.” She clung to him with all her might, her cheek pressed to his chest. You will mourn him, the old woman’s voice spoke in her head.

  “It’s all right, love,” he promised. “It’s all right.” He kissed her, and she rose up on tiptoe to reach him, her arms entwined around his neck.

  She kissed his cheek, his jaw, his throat, fear becoming passion in a single moment, a kind of lover’s madness. He lifted her off her feet, carrying her back into her room, and she wrapped her legs around him as well.

  “Did you find Susannah?” she asked as he kicked the door shut behind them.

  “No, love.” He kissed her deeply. “I’m sorry—”

  “No, don’t be sorry.” She kissed him, crushing his mouth under hers. “You’re safe.” She held him to her, caressing his hair, weak with longing as he kissed her throat. “I need you to be safe.” He pressed her to the cold stone wall, his hips pushed hard against her, and she slid down his body, her legs still twined around his. “I need you.” She dragged up her own skirt, melting as his mouth found hers.