by S. E. Lund
"Why am I so at risk now?"
"You did well at the SCU," he says, his voice dropping lower as if to stop others from hearing what he says. "You've just moved up from 'interesting but unproven' to 'invaluable and coveted'. Things will never be the same for you again."
"In what way?"
He shakes his head. "It's not for me to tell you this. You're not mine."
"What do you mean by that? I'm no one's."
He smiles briefly. "You better search through your mother's files and find something on what an Adept is. And read up a bit more on how it is between humans and vampires."
"Why don't you tell me?"
Then I have to place my order and I turn away from him. When I turn back, he's staring at me intently, his brow furrowed.
"Well?"
"Come and sit with me for a bit. We can talk."
I nod and move over to wait for my latte. He orders an espresso and comes to stand beside me. Once more, he stands too close to me.
Our drinks are ready and he takes his and walks over to a semicircular booth – the only place open. He gestures to it, all gentlemanly, and waits for me to take a seat. Then, he slides in beside me, once more far too close.
I try to sidle away a bit but he just moves a bit closer, as if he thinks I'm giving him more room.
I frown and turn to my latte, stirring some sugar into it.
"So, you were telling me about why I'm at risk now."
He takes a sip of his espresso and glances at me.
"You sure don't know much."
"No one's told me much. Why don't you tell me?"
He exhales, stretching out his arm on the back of the bench behind me. He turns to face me, his face conspiratorial. He nods to me as if he wants me to move closer.
"Every single one of us would kill to have someone like you. Will kill to get and keep you."
"Why? Am I strategic?"
"Every vampire wants someone like you because you can connect with us. Share emotions, sensations. Thoughts. Come on, Eve. Don't give me that. Haven't you thought about how touch telepathy would be very… enhancing to certain very intimate experiences?"
My cheeks heat at the innuendo. God, he's a cad.
"So you're saying it's purely sexual?"
"Oh, so you have thought about it." He grins, his eyes widen as if in delight.
"You're rude."
He actually laughs at that. "No, I'm not. I'm just honest."
"Well, if you're so honest, tell me why things will never be the same again for me."
"I'm honest. I won't lie to you, Eve. But I won't always tell you things. It's not my place."
"Whose place is it?"
"Michel's, of course, if he's going to claim you. Although by all rights, you should be mine…"
"Claim me?"
"Yes," he says and takes another sip, all the while staring at me, amusement clear in his bright blue eyes. "You know. Stake his claim. Take possession."
"I'm not a gold mine."
"Oh, yes you are. The mother lode."
"I'm not a possession."
He turns away and finishes his espresso. "Like I say, you better catch up on your reading. There's a lot you don't know about how things are done with us."
"With who?"
"Between vampires and humans."
"I've read about the Treaty of Clairveaux. I know you can't kill us anymore."
He nods. "Yes, but there's a lot more we can do than just kill you and the treaty says nothing about that. In fact, it gives us license to do everything but. Eve, I hate to be the one to tell you…" And then he hesitates, looking at me, frowning a bit.
"Yes?" I say, impatient to hear what he has to tell me.
"I shouldn’t. Michel should be the one."
"Can you at least tell me what an Adept is?"
He sighs. "An Adept is a human who shares a vampire's ability to enter into another's mind and body, sense their emotions, their sensations, their thoughts. It's very rare and so it's very coveted. Your mother was Adept. Usually, it doesn't pass from one generation to another but in your case, it was given a bit of help. There's a lot about you that is unique."
"If she was Adept, who claimed her?"
"Like I said, that's not for me to say. Ask Michel. Read the files at the SCU when you get a chance. For example," he says and eyes from under a frown. "You can't be compelled."
He takes my hand and turns to me abruptly, staring in my eyes, moving closer, so close that his mouth is just a few inches from mine. "Kiss me, Eve."
I frown and try to pull away. "Not on your life." I try to jerk my hand out of his grasp, but he's too strong. "You can't compel me so don't even try."
"No, I can't, but I can do this." He must release a brain hormone that makes me unable to resist him and he leans in closer, his head tilting, his lips almost touching mine. A little jolt of something goes through me. Fear? Or attraction?
"Don't." I'm, barely able to speak above the pounding of blood in my ears.
He pauses there for a moment, and I can hear his breathing, feel it on my lips, and it's fast. Almost as fast as my own.
Then he pulls back and lets go of my hand. "Nope," he says, his voice all matter of fact. "Can't compel you. I thought that Michel was just fooling me." He shrugs. "There's more than one way to skin a cat."
"What do you mean?" I say, confused. "And by the way, that's a terrible metaphor."
He grins. "Sorry. I forgot you're one of those cat people."
"How do you know…"
Then I remember that he's touched me quite a bit. He's probably sensed I have two cats.
He rubs his fingers over my hand, which is resting on the tabletop. "I just have to touch you to know anything I want to about you, Eve. Keep that in mind."
I pull my hand away. "Do you like making me feel uncomfortable?"
He turns and moves a bit closer. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" he says, all faux innocent. "I apologize, Eve. My intent is not to make you feel … uncomfortable."
What does he mean by that loaded statement?
God, being with him is like being with a naughty trickster. I can imagine him as the evil man with the curling moustache who's trying to take advantage of the innocent young woman in those old silent films, tying the damsel in distress on the train tracks…
"Look," he says and now his face is serious. Contemplative. Almost regretful. "I just feel bad, that's all. You were off the radar. Safe. Blissfully unaware. Now, here you are, right smack in the middle of things that are so much more dangerous than you can possibly imagine." He stares at me, the grin gone, the blue eyes now serious. "I'm sorry, Eve."
The abrupt change from leering cad to thoughtful man makes my head spin.
"Sorry for what?"
"For everything. Everything that happened. Everything that's going to happen." He shakes his head. "But the cat's out of the bag, so to speak and in keeping with the cat theme. There's nothing to do now but hang on tight." He takes my hand and turns it over, then presses his lips on my outstretched palm. "If you need me for anything, if you ever feel in danger, you just have to call me. I knew your mother. We were friends. She trusted me to look after you. I feel a certain degree of responsibility for you even if you aren’t mine. I will come to you at any time if you need me."
Then he lets go of my palm and finishes the last drops of espresso in his cup. He doesn't look at me, just stands and buttons his coat. "Gotta go. Being so close to you makes me realize it's time for a bite to eat," he says, grinning. "I'd ask you to join me for a meal, but I don’t know if food would satisfy me now."
Now the cad is back and the brief glimpse of a decent man disappears.
I turn my face away from him. "Goodbye, Julien."
"Good night, Eve."
Then he's gone and I sit alone in the booth.
I'm back in my apartment a few moments later, glad to be home, my nerves all on edge. I have a bath to warm up, and then return to my mother's files and start sorting
through them, hoping to find something about the SCU and the tests to be an Adept but can't find anything in the first new box I open. It's then I hear a knock at my door.
I go and check the peephole. It's Michel.
I unlock the door and peer at him. He has a big smile on his face.
"Hello," I say, unable to not smile back.
"I just wanted to come over, see how you're doing. I brought this," he says and holds up the manuscript. "I thought I'd read a bit for you."
I'm in my nightgown and socks, but I want to hear him read the manuscript so I open the door. He comes in and I can feel his gaze move over my body. My nightgown is to the knee and flimsy and I have no underwear on.
"You'll have to excuse me," I say. "I just got out of the bath."
He makes that throat sound and steps inside and takes off his boots and coat. I take his coat and hang it in my closet and motion to the tiny living room.
"I'll be right back," I say. "Make yourself at home."
I go to the armoire in my bedroom and take out the matching robe that goes with my nightgown and slip on some panties. Then I return to see he's standing in the living room, glancing around.
"Can I get you anything to drink? What would you like?" I point to the kitchen but stop speaking when I see his expression. He's smirking, a very wicked smirk, and I know what he's thinking. I can't repress a smile in spite of myself.
"Ah, those dimples," he says and reaches out to touch my cheek. "Remind me to make you smile more often. But now that I've tasted you, Eve, you must know I'll want you."
I frown and fear races through me.
"Don't be afraid," he says. "I'll want you but I won't drink your blood. I have donors."
He must do something to calm me, for I relax at his touch and then he drops his hand. I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water for myself for the night's events make me feel as if I've just run a marathon. He's serious once more when I get back. I sit across from him, the glass of water in my hand, butterflies in my stomach.
"First," he says. "I want to say how pleased I was by your performance tonight. If there was any doubt about your worth to us before, there can be none now. You're very gifted. I'll need to train you, of course, but once you are fully trained, you'll be so very important to us."
I can't help but respond to his words. I'm pleased that I did well. It makes me feel warm inside.
Then he leans over and takes my hand from across the coffee table.
"Just know that I never wanted this for you. I did everything I could to prevent it."
I nod. He did try to keep me out.
"Michel, tell me how it is between vampires and humans. I know there's the treaty. But beyond that."
He considers for a moment and inhales deeply as if steeling himself.
"The Treaty prevents vampires from killing humans for their blood. But it says nothing about the relationship between us. Eve, between humans there exist laws and rights and responsibilities. You are equal before the law. There are laws to protect you from each other. There are no such laws that govern relations between vampires and humans. There are no rights. There are no protections save one – the prohibition against murder." He glances away as if it’s hard for him to admit this. "In our dealings with humans, for the most part, you are our servants, our slaves. At the most, you are our subordinates. Never our equals."
I frown. "Why? Who would agree to that?"
"The Council. They knew that vampires would never consent to a treaty if it meant that we would be expected to treat humans as our equals. We're not. We are stronger, faster, more able. Our senses are sharper. Our minds faster. We can compel you. We can control you. We are your masters. Only humans like you – those who can’t be compelled, are immune to compulsion. You’re the wildcards. The problems."
"So you treat humans like servants and slaves?"
He nods. "That is the way it's done. You will find very few vampires with any power who treat humans as equals."
I don't say anything for a moment, the knowledge not sitting well in my gut. Slaves? Servants? Subordinates?
"What about you?"
He hesitates. "When I am with other vampires, I fit in. When I am on my own? I don’t tend to interact with humans. In my dealings with humans through the SCU, I rely on rank to determine how I treat a human. Most are automatically my subordinates."
I make a face. I don’t like that. Not one bit.
"I'm sorry, Eve, to be the one to tell you this. It’s the truth. My kind view you as food. As toys. As amusements. As tools."
"I don’t know what to say."
"When you're with me, when we are around other vampires, its essential that you adopt the proper decorum. You have to act subordinate or else you'll be at risk, at least until you learn to fight and avoid being ambushed."
I sigh and point to the manuscript. "Are you going to read?"
He opens it to the first page, running his finger under the text. He reads for a moment and then inhales heavily as if the words are painful.
"La pleine lune se lève, vitraux rouge des incendies dans la place du village..." he says, reading first in French, his voice hesitant, already filling with emotion. He sounds so cultured with his soft French accent. It contradicts the content of the words he reads.
"A full moon rises, stained red from fires in the village square where five heretics burn at the stake. The Crusades broke my family, estranged me from my brother and now have killed me. I died, not on the battlefield as befitting a knight protecting my father's estate, but in a bed in an abandoned castle at the hands of an ancient vampire who bewitched me."
He pauses for a moment, and I realize that this is very painful for him, and part of me feels incredible guilt that I'm intruding on his privacy.
But I don't stop him from reading.
~~~
A medic stands impassively at my feet. He checked me over moments ago, his face grim.
"This one," the medic says and points down at me. A woman on a horse comes into focus. She's blurry, but I can tell she's beautiful with the palest skin and ruby lips. She'll be the last thing I see in this world. God has taken pity on a dying knight to give him this last vision of beauty.
She slips off the horse and kneels down beside me.
"Will he die?"
"Yes," the medic says. "That's what you wanted, my Lady? The ones not yet dead, but who will not survive?"
"Yes," she says. "Only those. I relieve them of their pain as they lie dying. It is the oath of my holy order. The ones who are dead are already with the Lord. The ones who will survive do not need me."
The truth spoken so clearly brings tears to my eyes despite my resolve to die with honor. The medic makes the sign of the cross and helps her roll me over onto my side and the pain takes my breath away. I groan and grit my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut.
Please God stop...
"This is one of the Comte's loyal vassals," she says as she rolls me onto my back once more. "Bring him to my tent."
"If he's the Comte's, shouldn't he be taken to the city?" the medic asks, wiping his hands on his tunic.
"No." Her voice is firm. She takes the medic's chin in her hand, staring into his eyes. "Take him to my tent." The medic stares back, open-mouthed, as if bewitched.
"I'll take him to your tent," he says, his voice flat.
She turns away, re-mounting her horse, and rides off.
The two ragged young men set to work, unrolling a pallet, struggling to lift me onto it and every movement brings another wave of pain. All I want is for them to end my life quickly but that prayer goes unanswered like all the others.
I wake, lying on a table, my teeth chattering.
"Why aren't you dead, beautiful Sir Knight?" she whispers. "Your wounds would kill any man."
I hiss in pain as she removes my chainmail hauberk and undershirt. Finally, she lays her hand over my brow, and in a moment, a sense of bliss spreads through me.
"Beautiful Julien," the blonde
woman whispers, her face close to mine, her lips beside my ear, brushing my cheek. "Yes, I know who you are, Sir Knight. I've been watching you for a while. Should I be merciful and let you die or should I heal you and take you for my own? Do you want to die?"
"No," I gasp, for I don't believe in heaven.
She leans down and kisses my lips. "Then I'll heal you." She bites her own wrist, drawing blood with sharp white teeth, and places the wound over my mouth.
"Drink," she says, holding it against my lips, pinching my nose, forcing me to swallow or suffocate. I struggle, horrified at what she does, but she's so strong. "Drink and receive eternal life."
I swallow – my body forces me and after the first mouthful, an incredible need fills me and I must drink. I grab her wrist, and suck, for the blood is so sweet. And then darkness closes in once more.
An incredible headache pounds in my temples when I next awaken. The bright sun beaming in from the window beside the bed makes my eyes burn and so I throw a hand over my face and take an accounting of my body. I'm naked beneath a thick coverlet and my body feels as if I've just come back from battle.
Which, of course, I have – outside Carcassonne. I remember now. How have I come to this place? And more importantly, where am I? The rooms are unfamiliar.
Cradling my aching head, I sit up on one elbow and glance around. A fire blazes in the hearth, and beside it sits a woman with very pale skin and, due to some trick of lighting, with eyes that seemed to glow red in the firelight. A very beautiful woman with waist-length flaxen hair. She wears a thin nightdress and I can see the hint of a rosy nipple through the muslin.
"I remember you, but my apologies, my Lady. I can't place your name."
"You don't know me, but I know you, Sir Julien de Cernay, Knight Defender of the Comte de Toulouse," she says and crosses the floor to stand in the shadows at the foot of the bed. "Bastard son of Vicomte de Clarmont, identical twin of Michel, the very new Bishop of Carcassonne. You're finally awake. How do you feel?"