by Amy Miles
Nicolae holds his hand aloft, amazed to watch as his flesh begins to knit itself back together. The pain recedes and the blood flow stops completely. New, pale flesh seals completely over the wound in a matter of minutes. A four-inch scar is the only reminder of his blunder with the knife. He grins up at Fane. “Wicked.”
Six
The sound of blood dripping down to the floor is music to Lucien’s ear. He taps his foot to the beat, humming as he works. His knife is sharp, easily peeling back layers of human flesh. His stomach growls with need but he reins himself in. Now is not the time to feed.
The screams of the two priests died off less than an hour ago. He misses them, the way they carried up to the great heights of the cathedral, echoing through the vast hall. He had very much enjoyed their pleas for mercy, offering him anything in the church’s possession to spare their lives.
That made it all the more fun when he started carving.
After the BBC fell silent about the four working girls slain in the red light district of Amsterdam, Lucien knew he needed to up the ante. Perhaps the crowds weren’t large enough nor the location popular enough.
He needs to remedy both of those.
Investigators are no closer to finding a lead to tie the two murders together, nor have they released any details about the bites. Although the police may have trouble sleeping at night, the rest of the world is still in the dark.
After tonight, that will not be the case.
He reaches for a cloth to wipe the blood from his hands and steps back to admire his work. Three crosses have been nailed to the wall. The two priests hang from the outer crosses, their hands and feet nailed to the wood. Their clothes have been removed, save for their shorts, and their chests laid bare, flayed alive with a knife.
But his eyes are not drawn to them, for they are merely for effect. The real jewel hangs in the middle.
The girl’s head is tied to the side, covering a single bite mark over her artery, in traditional vampire fashion. Her long blonde hair brushes against the floor from her upside down crucifix.
Her arms stretch out on either side of her, large galvanized nails piercing her wrists. Her feet have been placed one on top of the other, a nail driven through the tops of them. Blood seeps from the wounds, trailing toward the floor.
She is exquisite even in death.
Lucien kneels, brushing her cheek with a gentle caress. “Whatever are they going to make of you, my dear? Will they be smart enough to realize you are more than human? That your heart recycled the blood of a four-hundred-year old girl?” Surely, her burnt orange eyes should make her supernatural nature obvious to even the most daft of investigators. “It is such a pity to lose such great beauty, but sacrifices must be made.”
He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes to the memories of countless rendezvous they shared over the years. If Lucien had been capable of love, Victoria might have managed to capture his heart.
She was ruthless, merciless, stunning…all the things he would have looked for in a mate. But she has served her purpose now. “It has been fun,” he whispers.
He rises and lets his hand drift away from her face. No heartfelt goodbye. No final glance. That is not his style.
His long cloak billows about him as he turns and descends from the altar, practically skipping past the church pews. He has left the murder weapon, the mallet and box of nails in the open, laid out neatly in a puddle of holy water. He grins, giddy with the irony of it all.
Lamplight filters in through the stained glass windows of Notre Dame Cathedral, casting an eerie glow on his victims. For a moment, he is tempted to turn back for one final glimpse, but he resists. Let the churchgoers who arrive for Mass tomorrow enjoy the first glimpse of his work.
His laughter echoes through the great church halls as he shoves through the double doors and out into the night.
***
A Breaking News Report symbol scrolls along the bottom of the screen, detailing the gruesome details of yet another killing spree, this time in the heart of Paris.
Nicolae frowns at the tension in his friend’s shoulders as Fane paces back and forth, watching the muted screen. William and Sadie are curled up next to each other on the couch, William’s drool dripping dangerously close to Sadie’s arm. If she were awake, he’d have a black eye by now.
Tiptoeing past the sleeping siblings, Nicolae joins Fane. The flickering light of the TV is the only light in the room. “There’s been another attack,” Fane says, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nicolae’s jaw sets firmly as he nods. Together, they have been watching the news in snippets, trying to keep Sadie and William from hearing the reports. “What do we do about it?”
“I honestly don’t know. We don’t even know who is initiating these attacks or where they will strike next.” He turns to stare at Nicolae’s profile. “Have you heard anything from your end?”
Nicolae’s stomach clenches at the thought of his estranged brothers. “We aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.”
“I thought not,” Fane says, sinking down onto a chair behind him. He perches on the edge, too anxious to sit back. “We can’t let this continue. Whoever is behind this targeted Victoria. She was no fool, Nicolae. It would take a skilled hunter to track her down.”
“I don’t think it was one of us,” Nicolae says, staring at the blurred out images taken from the crime scene. Although the outline of the bodies can be seen, the more gruesome details of the priest’s death have been left to front page coverage of newspapers around the world.
“Nor do I and that’s what worries me.” Fane’s fingers dig into the leather arms of the chair. “Someone is trying to expose us. But who? Vladimir is gone. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“What about someone under his command? Lavinia?”
Fane snorts. “That woman couldn’t pull anything like this off. She may be demented, but she’s far from methodical. No, whoever is planning these murders is patient, disciplined. I fear this is only the beginning.”
Nicolae blows out a deep breath. “What about Roseline? Do you think Sadie could be right? That Lucien really is alive? This sounds like his MO.”
Fane dips his head in consideration. He slowly nods, his expression darkening. “It could be. Or maybe Malachi is on a rampage. Who knows? But we can’t let it continue. This latest attack is getting major attention. People are starting to get scared. Whispers of fanged monsters in the dark have already begun to surface. A few more of these and there will be people with shotguns and pitchforks breaking down our door.”
The thought chills Nicolae. It will be nearly impossible to keep Sadie from being killed by his own hunters, let alone protect her against an entire town or country. Romania is deeply veined with tales of vampires, so if word gets out that the myths could be true, people will flock to Bran Castle to hunt them down.
“We have to leave,” Nicolae says, staring blankly at the muted news report.
“I agree. The sooner the better.” He looks back over his shoulder at Sadie and William. “We will let them sleep tonight, but tomorrow we head for Canada.”
“Canada?”
Fane nods. “You will all be safe there.”
“You?” Nicolae’s brow furrows. “You aren’t planning on sticking around?”
“No,” Fane shakes his head. “I have to go after Roseline.”
“But that’s suicide,” Nicolae protests. “If Lucien really is the one behind these attacks, that means he is alive and deadly as ever. What do you think he will do to you when you show up on his front doorstep looking for Roseline?”
Fane rises from the seat, a sad smile spread along his lips. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? I have to find her and I know you understand that.”
He pauses to place his hand on Nicolae’s shoulder before he leaves, closing the door behind him. Nicolae hangs his head, weary of fighting, and death. Will it ever end?
When he looks up, he finds Sadie sta
ring at him in the dark. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
Nicolae smirks. “I should have known you were faking it.”
She nods, biting her lip. “We can’t let him go on his own. He won’t survive.”
“I know.” He sighs and sinks back into a chair, covering his face with his hands. “But what else can we do? I won’t risk your safety for his.”
“As touching as that is, he is your friend now, Nicolae. Your family. Maybe not by blood, but that doesn’t matter. He would risk his life for you.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
Sadie slowly unwinds herself from William. He snorts, twisting to his side to clutch a pillow before settling back into a deep sleep. “We need help and I know just where to get it.”
***
Roseline clutches her stomach as her thirst begins to build once more. It comes faster now, more potent with each feeding. Although her wounds start the healing process with each time Malachi shares his blood, as soon as he leaves they begin to fester, pus-filled scabs that leave her weak and debilitated.
She has learned to tell time by her thirst. Malachi comes three times a day giving blood each morning and night. His visits in the afternoon appear to be for nothing more than to offer her company.
Despite his blood sacrifice, she can’t bring herself to trust him. He has been too vague about the length of time she has been here which worries her far more than she lets on. Although he seems sincere in his concern for her, doubt continues to eat away at her.
Why does he want to help her? Surely coming to her aid places his life in danger. Or does it? Is it naïve to believe that this selfless streak runs deeper than even he knows?
It is hard to concentrate now. The voices in her mind continue to grow stronger even as her energy wanes. She grows strong and alert after each dose of angel blood, but its effects quickly fade.
It is only a matter of time before Lucien realizes what is happening. Someone will smell Malachi on her and when that happens, her only lifeline to the outside world will be removed.
She leans her head back against the wall. Her gaze roams the ceiling, searching for an escape route. The ceiling is domed high overhead, much too high to leap through, even if she had her former strength.
The walls are rough but slicked with a layer of grime. It might be possible to climb the wall, but once she reaches the center of the room, her escape will be thwarted by an angel hair wrapped metal grate.
Each time she closes her eyes she becomes acutely aware of the shift within her body, the poison slowly eating away at her soul. She can feel her thoughts being tainted by Lucien’s blood traipsing through her arteries, altering her essence.
It sickens her to think of any part of him inside of her. She shudders, loathing herself for growing anxious for Malachi’s next visit. She finds herself beginning to rely on him, something she would rather die than admit.
Her thoughts turn to Gabriel and the last time she saw him. He looked different, beautiful, despite the blood that clung to his clothes from the battle. How did he find her? Why didn’t he come for her?
The dark plays tricks on her mind, making her doubt the love she felt when he called for her. He could have saved her and Sadie, but he didn’t even try.
A single tear slips from her eyes. She brushes it away, angry with her weakness.
Gabriel must have had a reason. It’s the only explanation. He will come for her. She knows it.
Seven
Nearly five days pass with no sign of Elias. Seneh remains annoyingly silent, refusing to say anything more about Gabriel’s tasks or how they affect Roseline. Elias had told him there would be three in total. He has already passed one. Two more remain.
Katia has taken up the hobby of watching him, studying him at night when the only light in the cabin is from the roaring fire. She remains oddly aloof, always looking to Seneh before speaking directly to Gabriel. He’s not sure if that is because of her broken English or if she worries she might say something wrong.
Her relationship with Seneh is an interesting one. In the evening, once the chores are done and the dishes put away, Seneh and Katia settle in for a game of chess. Gabriel has enjoyed seeing a softer side to his guardian. Never before has he seen a more fierce looking man, and yet when he is with Katia, his tough facade seems to melt away.
Even though Gabriel has adapted to this new lifestyle, he yearns for freedom. To race through the mountains and stretch his legs or just to be alone for a while.
He spends his days on the ridge where Katia first discovered him, perched atop a rock or fallen log with his sketch book in hand. Some days he focuses on the minute details of the forest life around him or the endless sea of clouds that span the valley below, but normally his thoughts linger on her.
Roseline is ever in his thoughts, taunting him, accusing him. He can’t shake the feeling that she needs him. He knows she is hurting, he can sense it. The knowledge that he is helpless to change her fate is maddening. So he draws, digging into the pages with such ferocity that the charcoal snaps in his fingers.
Now all he has left are small crumbs of coal. His fingers cramp as he attempts to squeeze one last picture into Enael’s book. There is little room left to draw, save for the borders of the creased pages.
Gabriel groans, chucking the last crumble of coal into the forest. He plunges his hands into his hair, gripping his head as he bends at the waist. He closes his eyes, fighting against the urge to lash out and destroy something.
What am I doing here? This thought has nearly driven him mad over the past few days. I should be out there, searching for Roseline. She needs me.
“I thought I might find you out here.”
The voice drifts down from above, deep and lilting with laughter. Gabriel stiffens, then his handsome features shift into a deep scowl. “So now you return.”
He closes his book and carefully tucks it into his shirt. He despises the scratchy texture of the woolen shirt Katia loaned him. It clings to him, making him feel as if he’s suffocating. He never dreamed that he would miss the robes Sias gave him back at the monastery, but somewhere along the way he grew fond of them.
“Where have you been?” Gabriel asks, refusing to look up at his mentor. He knows, judging by the direction of Elias’ voice, that the angel is perched in the treetops of the pine a few feet ahead.
“I had a task to attend to. I apologize for the delay.” With a great rush of wind, Elias leaps from the tree and lands lightly in the snow. Gabriel glances up, ready to unleash his anger, but he stops short, his mouth dropping open.
Elias’ chest bears fresh burns, gaping wounds from shoulder to waist. The flesh around the burns is charred, shriveled and dying. His pants are singed and torn, as if by an animal’s claws.
“What happened to you?” Gabriel breathes, surging to his feet.
His mentor motions for him to sit. Gabriel throws his leg over a fallen log and perches with his hands pressed against the bark. Elias winces as he sinks heavily onto the ground. Once his back is against the tree, he scoops great handfuls of snow onto his chest. His teeth clinch in pain, but the grimace slowly fades as the ice begins to melt, trickling down his bare skin.
“I made a mistake,” Elias replies. His lips press tightly together as he shifts, digging out a fallen branch from beneath him. He chucks it into the forest before meeting Gabriel’s concerned gaze. “I appreciate your obvious concern, but I will be fine. Seneh has mended me from wounds far more serious than these.”
Gabriel watches in silence as Elias leans his head back and closes his eyes, exhaling. “You seem on edge, young one.”
“I need answers, Elias. I think I deserve them.”
“Indeed.” Elias nods.
“And nothing cryptic this time,” Gabriel rushes to add.
The angel’s chuckle is low and rumbling. “I believe it is time for you to learn the nature of your second task.”
“But what about Rose”
Gabriel reluctantly falls silent, deciding it is far better to get some information than none. Elias begins again. “Your first task forced you to sacrifice something dear to you. You did this by choosing to continue with your mission instead of going to Roseline. I know this doesn’t make sense, but it was the right decision. You should know that you are capable of self-sacrifice. The second task is much like it and yet infinitely more difficult.”
“How so?”
Elias opens his eyes to look at him. “The first task dealt with your heart. The second will deal with your flesh.”
Gabriel shifts against the log, not the least bit comfortable with how that sounds. “And the third?”
“Should you succeed with your second task, the third will focus on your soul.”
“Oh,” Gabriel says, trying for an indifferent shrug. “Is that all?”
Elias’ gaze hardens. “Neither of these tasks will be easy, nor should they be taken lightly. Both will be very dangerous and death is always a possibility.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightens. He presses his fingers into his thighs until the ache helps to drown out the fear Elias has elicited. “Do I even have a chance of completing these trials?”
“That depends entirely on you.”
Gabriel surges to his feet, desperate to move. His hands shake at his sides, riddled with nervous tension. Unnerved, he turns and slams his fist into a pine tree beside him. Splinters tear through his flesh as he withdraws his hand, staring at the hole he punched straight through the trunk.
“Feel better?” Elias asks.
“A bit.”
The angel chuckles, shaking his head. “Still ruled by your human emotions I see.”
“I am human.”
“No.” Elias pushes up to his feet. “You were human. Now you are an immortal, the Arotas. You need to start thinking like one.”
“And how do I do that?” He rubs his hand down his arm to remove the splinters from his skin.