by Lucy Blue
“And why should I believe you?” Smoke was beginning to rise from his clothes; she could smell the leather of his boots beginning to burn. But how could she save him? If she released him, would he kill her?
“Get out.” His demon eyes were pleading, and his voice was tender, even as it twisted in a wolvish growl, the voice of her beloved. “Get out, Isabel.”
“I will not.” She was coming closer, moving through the light, and he roared in frustration, the chains that held him squealing in protest, ready to give way as the demon inside him fought to be free. “I cannot.”
“Isabel, no!” He thrashed in his bonds as she came closer, screamed as she reached out to touch his cheek as if her hand might have been made of molten iron, his lips drawn back from the terrible fangs in a snarl, the final warning of the wolf. But she was not afraid.
“Yes.” She touched his mouth, touched the fangs and looked into his glowing demon’s eyes. “I love you.”
“No,” he tried to answer, tried to warn her, but it was too late. With a final roar, he snapped the chains and crushed her in his arms, rolling to the blessed cool of the darkness as the sunlight finally reached the empty cavern wall. Pinning her beneath him, he arched over her, sinking his fangs into her throat. Lacing his fingers with hers, he felt the cross she held pressed like a brand against his arm, but he didn’t care; the pain was nothing. All that mattered was the blood, the sweet, precious life of his beloved. The demon held him completely as he fed, adoring her and killing her at once, satisfied at last.
“Simon…” She stroked his hair, twining her leg around his as she had when he made love to her, and a delicious weariness crept over her, a will to surrender. His fangs hurt her, tearing her flesh, but it was an exquisite pain, as natural as breathing. The part of her that ached for him so dearly had been born for just this pain, or so it seemed as he held her. His hands caressed her as he fed, and she had never felt so loved, so needed. But it had to stop.
“Simon…” He heard her voice and cherished it, the sound as vital as the blood that fed him, and he felt her hand entangled in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt him. “Simon, stop.” She sounded calm, utterly fearless, the voice of the maiden on the battlements who had prayed for his immortal soul. The hunger inside him was waning, the demon slowly being sated, but her blood was still delicious, too sweet to leave a single drop untasted. He raised his head and kissed her, exploring her mouth with his tongue before he sank his fangs into her lip, drawing gently at the wound, still drunk with feeding, with the ecstasy of being filled at last.
“Simon.” She gently drew her mouth from his. She should have been frightened; she should have been confused, but she was not. Somehow she knew what to do. “Stop,” she said, caressing his cheek as he gazed down at her, his eyes deep brown again and rapt with wonder. “I love you,” she whispered, raising up to kiss his brow. “Love me, Simon. Let me live.”
“Yes.” He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close, and the demon fell away. She was his love, his Isabel. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek, cradling her head in his hand, and she turned her face to his and kissed his mouth.
“Ouch…” She winced, touching her sore lip and pulling a wry face.
“Darling…” He touched her cheek, heartbroken with remorse. “I hurt you.”
“No,” she started to say, then stopped with a laugh. “Well, yes.” He took her into his arms again, and she held him, weak but happy. “But I’m all right.” He kissed her again more gently, tracing his tongue over her lip, and the soreness seemed to dissolve, the deep puncture healed. “Saints,” she swore softly as he drew back. “That is quite a trick.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He bent and kissed the wound he had left on her throat, the tender flesh so cruelly torn it made him want to cry. “I could have killed you.” He kissed it again, but the punctures were too deep for his demonic magic to heal. “I wanted to kill you.”
“Brautus and Mother Bess wanted me to kill you.” He raised his head and looked at her, shocked. She smiled, touching his mouth. “They said it was my destiny to kill the wolf that would destroy my people,” she explained. “And we thought the wolf was you.”
“No,” he promised. “I swear it is not.” The cross’s chain was still entangled in her hand, and he bent and kissed it, kissed the cross and let it burn his mouth.
“Simon, no,” she protested, alarmed, as she pulled it away.
“I did not kill Susannah. I released her from the same curse that has fallen on me. I would have tried to save her, to give her some hope of salvation, but she meant to kill Tom.” The burn was already healing; he was strong again; her blood was strong. “I did not kill the woman you saw at the church. I saw her, and I fed from her, but I did not kill her.”
“Like you fed from me,” she said, trying to sound casual, not jealous. The woman had been slaughtered; how could she be jealous of her? But she was. She was jealous of every other woman he had ever touched, vampire or not, jealous even of the pain they had felt in his arms.
“No.” He brushed the hair back from her brow, her face so beautiful it hurt to look at her, but he would look forever if he could. “Not like I fed from you. Nothing has ever been like that.” He thought again of how close he had come to destroying her forever, and the memory made him tremble. “Why did you come looking for me? Didn’t you know I could hurt you?”
“I told you; I wanted to kill you.” The very idea made her feel faint. In truth, she was already faint, she realized, light-headed and weak from the loss of so much blood. But she couldn’t bear to let him go. “But I couldn’t do it.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I couldn’t watch you die. Even if you were a demon, even if you meant to murder me and everyone I loved, I couldn’t watch you die.”
“No, my love.” He kissed her eyelids, weeping with her. “Angel, please don’t cry.” She touched his cheek in wonder, her fingertips wet with his tears of blood. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No,” she protested. “Please, don’t…”
He kissed her, stealing her breath, desperate with love, and she held him, aching but content. “I love you,” he promised, kissing the corner of her mouth as his hand moved between them, raising her skirt. “I love all that you love.” He moved inside her, and she sighed, her body enfolding him, warm and wet. “I am yours, your demon.”
“Mine,” she murmured, rising to meet him as her eyes fell shut.
“I will protect Charmot.” He kissed her as he moved in deeper, his hands moving over her hips, up her sides. She was his, more precious to him than any holy relic or even salvation itself. She was his salvation. “I will protect my love.”
“My knight.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, swooning in his arms. She felt so weak, so fragile, but he held her; he loved her. She didn’t have to be afraid. “My demon.” He moved faster, and she laughed, the ecstasy beginning, every muscle in her body tingling with life. She reached to kiss him, clumsy with want, and he brought his mouth to hers, his tongue sliding over her own. She was the maiden, and he was the wolf; somehow she had won him to her thrall, not to kill but to love. She called out his name as her climax erupted, and she felt him breaking free as well, the waves that shuddered through her passing from her flesh to his. On and on it rose and fell until she thought her heart must burst, and still he held her, still he was with her, her vampire love, until at last the waves subsided.
“Isabel…” His voice seemed very far away, calling from a dream, but his body was close, his arms wrapped around her as he rolled onto his back, drawing her close to his chest. “Sleep, my love,” he murmured, kissing her cheek, and she let herself obey him, giving herself over to the dark. “Sleep until the night.”
Simon felt her arms go slack around him, her breath fall deep and even. Her heartbeat was still weak but steady; she would be all right. He held her closer, crushing her to him, fierce with love, but still she barely stirred. Kivar would never touch her. He would protect his
love.
An hour after sunset, Simon rode back through the gates of the Castle Charmot with Isabel cradled, still dozing, in his arms. “Wake up, darling,” he murmured as Brautus came to meet them. “We’re home.”
Isabel blinked, still so tired she could barely hold her eyes open. “Oh, dear.” Brautus looked like a thunder-cloud, standing on the steps with his fists on his hips.
“So at least you’re alive,” he said as Simon climbed down.
“Of course I am alive.” Simon lifted her down and started to let her go, but she swayed on her feet. “I’m fine,” she insisted as he scooped her up again.
“Of course you are,” he muttered, kissing her cheek as he carried her inside. Brautus followed.
Orlando was waiting in the hall with Mother Bess beside him. The wizard bent his head to his folded hands on the table as soon as they appeared, mumbling a prayer of thanks, but the old woman didn’t look relieved at all. “What have you done to her?” she demanded of Simon, as Brautus drew his sword.
“Brautus, stop,” Isabel insisted through a yawn. “It’s all right.” Simon looked rather stormy himself, she noticed, facing the captain with a challenge in his eyes. “Put me down.” He didn’t respond, so she gave his hair a tug. “Simon, put me down.”
He set her on her feet but kept a firm hand on her elbow in case she should wobble again. Brautus, old dragon that he was, looked ready to eat him alive, and he couldn’t blame him; in his place, Simon knew he would feel just the same. But he couldn’t afford to back down and beg forgiveness, not with Kivar so close and so ready to attack. All the way home, he had felt the ancient evil’s gaze upon them, watching from the woods, and whether this feeling was real or his fretful imagination mattered very little. Kivar would come. “Sorry, love,” he said, squeezing Isabel’s hand, his eyes still focused on Brautus.
“What’s that on your neck, then?” Brautus asked Isabel, looking at her no more than Simon was. They looked like a pair of angry he-wolves, squaring off to fight, and she, she supposed, was the bone they were disputing. “What did he do to you?”
“He bit me,” she answered, her tone matter-of-fact. “But I lived.” Still holding Simon’s hand, she turned and faced the hall, the others who were gathered there as always for the evening meal. “Sir Simon is my love and my choice,” she said. “He will be my husband.” She looked back at Brautus. “He will be lord of Charmot.” A murmur of wonder rippled through the room, and she held Simon’s hand more tightly. “Anyone who cannot bear his rule is free to go; I will do all I can to help you find a new home.” She looked back at Brautus and Mother Bess, standing together, an odd alliance indeed. “But this man will be my lord.”
“Congratulations, my lady,” Hannah said, coming forward to embrace her. “This is happy news indeed.”
“Aye, it is,” Kevin agreed. He glanced back at his grandmother, and from his expression, Isabel thought she must have told him much while they were gone. But still he offered his hand to Simon. “We will be glad to have Sir Simon for our lord.”
Simon smiled, a dozen conflicting emotions pulling at his heart. “Thanks, Kevin,” he said, taking the groom’s hand. He could see Orlando watching him in despair. This was just what the wizard had warned him might happen, just the distraction he had feared. Brautus was watching as well and looking no happier, watching Isabel. “And what about you, captain?” Simon said, letting her go to face him. “I have wronged you, I know, whether I meant to do it or not.” He looked at the old woman standing just behind him. “Those who call me a wolf are not completely mistaken,” he admitted. “But I do love your lady with all my cursed heart, and I will not give her up.” He offered his hand. “Can you let me have her?”
“Do I have a choice?” he grumbled. Isabel frowned, crossing her arms to resist the urge to reach out to him herself and beg him for her heart’s desire as she would have done as a child. Simon was not a treat or a toy; he was her love, and Brautus must accept him or decide that he could not. “Aye,” he said at last, clasping Simon’s hand. “I know I do not.” He pulled the vampire into an embrace. “But keep her safe, or I will be the one to vanquish the wolf.”
“I will,” Simon promised, more moved by this cold surrender than by the warmth of all the rest save Isabel herself.
“Excellent,” Isabel said with a laugh, and most of the hall laughed with her. They didn’t realize what had just happened; they only knew their spinster lady would be wed. “Simon, come,” she said, taking his hand and drawing him away from the crowd. “I have to show you something.”
“You should rest,” he answered. He touched the wound on her throat, now bruised to a black and purple welt. “Every time I think about it—”
“So don’t,” she cut him off, softening her sharpness with a smile. “That is what I want to show you.” She caught Orlando’s eye and waved him over, glancing at the crowd as it continued to disperse. “I think I may have found the way to help you more than you know.” She reached into her pocket as Orlando joined them. “You said when you first came here that my father came to you in a vision to send you to Charmot.” She looked at the wizard and smiled. “I’m assuming now that you were lying.”
“Yes,” Simon admitted. “I’m sorry, love—”
“As well you ought to be,” she interrupted, a glint of real temper in her eyes. “I mean to punish you for the rest of our lives for telling me such a lie. But in the meantime…” She handed him the druid’s map.
“What is this?” He had a vague recollection of Kivar’s trying to take something from her the night before in her room, but he had been too engrossed in trying to save her life to worry about what it was.
“A map to the catacombs,” she answered. “You said there was something at Charmot that could save you from your curse, and I took you to the catacombs because I thought whatever you were seeking must be there.” He was studying the map, a look of wonder on his face. “You and Orlando seemed to agree.”
“Where did you get this?” It was indeed a map to the catacombs, marked with the sign of the Protectors of the Chalice over the chamber where Sir Gabriel had made his study and a trail made in what his demon senses told him without question was his love’s own blood. “How did you know—”
“I didn’t,” she admitted. He handed the map to Orlando almost absently, looking now at her instead. “My father… he had made scrolls of his own, chronicles of the castle and notes on his study of the druids, and he marked each scroll in one corner with a code, symbols I could never read.” She explained how she had taken the scrolls from the study and how she had by accident discovered their secret. “I knew it must lead to whatever you and Orlando were trying to find,” she finished, suppressing a smile at the stunned look on his face. “Last night when you went to the churchyard, I finished it so I could give it to you when you returned.” She shrugged. “But we got a bit distracted.”
“Just a bit,” Simon agreed, smiling in spite of himself. In truth, he felt a little dizzy. All this time spent searching for the Chalice, he had barely believed it existed, believed he was doomed to be alone forever, a monster despised by all who knew him for what he really was. Now in a single day and night, Isabel had looked into the demon’s eyes and sworn her love, had fed him from her very heart and lived to love him still, had declared to all he was her choice, her beloved, vampire or not. And now, it seemed, she had given him the Chalice.
“So what is it?” she asked him now. “What are you trying to find?”
“It’s called the Chalice,” he answered. “According to Orlando, it can save me from my sins, make me a man again, not a vampire.” You are afflicted with death, my son, Kivar had said, not a curse. The Chalice is healing, not salvation. But Kivar was a liar.
“And you think it’s here?” she said, weak again with relief. “Orlando?”
“All this time.” The wizard was purple and seething with fury. “All these weeks spent searching, and all the time the key was hidden in your tower. Stupid, sil
ly girl—”
“The hell I am,” she retorted, making Simon turn his head to hide his smile. He had been about to leap to her defense, but she didn’t seem to need him. “If you two had told me who you were and what you wanted instead of lying to me and treating me like a leper in my own castle, I would have shown you my father’s scrolls from the very beginning.” She included Simon in her general glare. “Though I doubt very much you would have known how to use them, even if I had.”
“She’s right, Orlando,” Simon said. “Would you have known we needed Isabel’s blood to make her father’s code do its work?”
Before the wizard could answer, the sound of a bell from outside broke through the general hum of the hall. Someone was ringing the bell on the other side of the moat as if the imps of hell were hanging from the clapper. They looked at each other, Isabel going pale. Someone meant to summon the Black Knight.
“Forgive me, Isabel,” Orlando said, bending over her hand. “But now, I fear we will see just what this wasted time will cost.”
Kivar had not just stolen Michel’s corpse but his horse and his armor as well. “Will no one answer my challenge?” he called out in the French knight’s slurred and lazy voice. He made the destrier rear and turn about like a seasoned veteran of the lists. “Where is this Black Knight?”
“I’m dreaming,” Isabel said, standing between Simon and Brautus on the battlements with Orlando and Kevin close by. “I’ve had this dream before.” In truth it had been her constant nightmare since the moment she had heard the name Michel. Only now he was a vampire.
“It will be all right,” Simon promised, drawing her close to his side.