The god filled up the vampire, occupying him as the Trojan Horse invaded Priam’s kingdom, a virus to be imbibed and digested with all its wrath inside it. The vampire was unaware of the power to which he succumbed, to the destiny he’d brought down upon himself when he negotiated his release from the clay cell he’d forged in the sunken ship. His freedom was bought with a new kind of imprisonment, one that would see him possessed by a god from another line of deities, another myth, a tribe other than the one to which he’d always belonged.
None the wiser about his godly possession, the vampire saw the opening in his sea tomb, the crack of light, the ray of hope. He moved toward it, reaching for it in the darkness. His arm stretched to capacity, the tips of his hand feeling the warmth of the bright spot. It was the throat, beginning to relax with the whale’s surrender. The pinprick was just enough for the vampire to squeeze a finger through, then two, then a whole fist until his hand and forearm disappeared, and he’d stretched an entire arm into the gullet. From there, he strategized. He’d have to thread his head and shoulders through, inch by inch, until he’d opened the muscle enough to tunnel his way out. His power to burrow to the other side wasn’t the problem, his failing strength was. He needed to create enough momentum to spin his body like a drill.
He called upon his faithful god once again, asking for another reprieve. He didn’t bargain, but begged.
Soon he hovered, his body growing light with his deity’s acceptance, his offering a satisfactory cry into the ear of his god. From hovering, he moved into turning, from spinning, he pinwheeled with a speed the likes he’d never achieved before. With his body tight, his arm leading the charge, he pressed on, worming his way through the gullet until the opening widened on its own, and the tightness about him failed, freeing him from his trap. The weightlessness of his floating body was the first thing he noticed, his entire corse slipping through the whale’s broken jaw, touching the sea floor.
The vampire didn’t wait before sending his body up, his ears opening to sound once again, his eyes seeing anew. The surface was miles ahead, but he pressed on, the face of Evelina buoying him up, taking him to the starlight above. He came crashing out of the sea, a torpedo shot into the blackest night.
He didn’t greet his god this time, but tugged on the air, searching for the scent of his young hunter. Finn’s smell had died off long ago, but the trace of the one he sought was mixed with the foamy brine. “Here,” he said to the emptiness. “She’s been here.”
He made out the land from where he treaded in the water, and raced toward it, his flagging body nothing to him now. Blood would soon be his, and she in his arms again, too.
Once close to shore, he let the surf push him in, raising him up and over the rocks on land’s end. At the shoal, he gripped the largest and pulled himself out of the sea. Now he lay on his back for a breath, looking up at Andromeda, wondering if she could see his plight. The constellation in the sky warmed him, for she reminded him of the one who’d saved him. His winged rider, he thought.
A wolf howled in the distance, its chilling echo sending stars shooting through the ether. It was good to hear nature’s howl, the bloodless all rot and gone. It’d been decades since the plague, blood no longer scarce. The young hunter was evidence of that.
He rolled over and pushed himself up, his naked torso glistening in the moonlight. He’d lost no brawn in his struggle, his years in clay beneath the sea. He’d grown more beautiful instead, his face no longer what it was. He looked like another now, a figure he’d once cut, long ago when warriors roamed the plains.
Up and over the sea wall he went, pouncing like the jaguar he was. All fours served him now, his body reliant on every inch of muscle. Blood, he thought. He smacked his lips, and licked his mouth, saliva pooling about his jowls. He could taste it on the air. There was blood here, her blood, kinblood.
The island proved vast, and he roamed the terrain for lengths before he found his first trap, a basket laid out by a skilled hunter. He found another in a bush, and a third tucked between two birch trees. The traps were empty, but the baits were set with precision. He heard a footstep on the path, a crack in a branch, a whistle through the trees, and he took off, running on all fours toward his quarry.
The sun had risen by now, the blanket of stars hiding beneath the blue scape above. It had been days since he’d lost his blood, and hours since he’d come up from the sea. He was ready for the taste he was promised.
He tucked himself in a bush and waited, the hunter a pace away. The vampire was set to pounce when the figure rose up in front of him, his own body a stretch from his prize. But the vampire faltered, his step locked to the ground at the gleam of umber and sapphire twirling about the hunter. He gleaned the mark of the false one, and let himself sink back into the shade of the brush.
Several more false ones passed him before he set off again. His first pursuit a failure, he sought with his nose this time. It didn’t take him long to find his way. He used the treetops to guide him, hovering above them to see more than he could see. He spotted the stacks of smoke up through the tips of the birches, and over toward them he went. The colony was laid out before him, an expanse much greater than that of the young hunter’s. This was a village, a multitude to choose from.
The vampire was cautious, making his way in the shadows, step by step, alert to his surroundings, unwilling to give himself up before his time. He would’ve sought her out if blood hadn’t been his only thought.
He found a ravine, a serpentine path to follow. The anaconda always leads to pleasure, he thought, the proof of which came when he caught the otherworldly scent. New blood, young blood, faithful blood.
He sauntered as he approached, the two alone, the one whispering into the ear of her companion. They were the same, one the mirror of the other, their delicate hands muddied in the stream, their bare feet sunk to the ankles. The one in the blue vest saw him first, smiling as he approached. She waved and he put a finger to his lips. She copied his gesture and nudged her sister, who turned to look at him, too. This one didn’t smile, her lip quivering at the sight of him. To her, he was a monster, a face of metal and rage coming for them from beyond the tree’s edge. She slipped on the rocks, scrambling to get away, knocking her sister over. She clutched at the grass on the bank, her heels kicking the head of her twin as she made her escape. She didn’t mean to trample her sister, or press her face down into the water, as she raced for higher ground. The other choked, her face planted in the cold, her glimpse of the angel on the bank a mere memory.
Where’s Olee rushing off to, Nikka thought. Her head growing fuzzy as she pushed herself up to fill her lungs anew.
The vampire could have snatched both, but just as he moved forward, another came into view. She was taller, her shapely legs stalwart in their purpose. She grabbed the one who’d fallen, sweeping her up in her arms before planting her on two feet, a level up from the ravine. She bent down next, her ear dropped to the little one’s mouth. Then she cocked her head to the side, before peering in the vampire’s direction.
He was struck dumb, as the god who’d possessed him recognized his object of ire. Her aspect was changed but she was his goddess still. The vampire gazed at the girl’s face, wondering why she was so familiar, her looks similar perhaps to the one he’d dreamed of. She is kin, he thought, she can be no other. He waited, crouching low, his target locked. She’d come for him, his draw impossible to dismiss.
Saba sent Nikka on her way, up to the cottage, turning back to peer in the brush on the other side of the ravine. She’d seen the figure there, crouching in the shade. The face of an angel, Nikka had said.
It didn’t surprise Saba Peter had come. With her away from Finn for the time being, why not come. She didn’t contemplate telling another, but rushed down to the rocks, hopping from one to the next to get across the ravine, her feet dry for her effort.
She stood on the edge of the woods, her head cocked to the side, her hand on her hip. The figure was gone, b
ut his presence was impossible to deny.
“Come out,” Saba said. “I’m not mad anymore.”
The vampire hung from the branches, hidden in the trees, admiring the image set before him. “Too easy,” he muttered.
Saba looked up, as she stepped toward the brush, a rabbit darting out from a hole, nearly knocking her to the ground. She let out a shriek, then laughed at herself.
“Peter,” she called. “Is that you?”
The vampire was too changed to recognize the name, and too hungry to care for another.
“This isn’t funny,” she said. “They told me you left.”
The vampire delayed his pleasure for no reason other than his fascination with her face. He recalled the same one when the girl was first brought onboard the cargo ship. The delectable cherub, he wanted to bite the red from her cheeks, but resisted knowing she belonged to another. This girl was that same one reborn.
“I’m going,” Saba called, ducking her head to look for feet in the brush.
The vampire spied her gilded skin, the toss of her hair revealing the length of her neck. He could wait no longer, swooping down from the tree branch without a sound, landing at her back. He reached for her, the tips of his fingers an inch from snatching her up when an arrow sailed through the air with a whoosh past his ear. He’d no time to see where it landed, and less to see from where it had come. He pounced, sweeping her up as he’d done with his young hunter. He bolted, his verve spurred on by the promise of her taste.
Saba clutched at him, unable to process what was happening. She’d thought Peter was there, sensing the vampire near. Nikka had said it was the face of an angel in the woods, a god with pointy teeth. For Saba, only one god had pointed teeth, and he certainly had an angelic aspect. She shooed the girl back up to the cottage, wanting to throw herself at Peter’s feet, and beg him to forgive her, to make her his once again.
It all happened too quickly. She thought she heard Finn’s call, but then she was up in the air, traveling over the path with a speed she could never reach on her own. All she could see was dimness, her face pressed to a briny material, the smell of the sea. She tried to open her eyes, but like in a dream, everywhere was shadow. She tightened her grip, her fingers stinging from the coarse pelt. She listened for a voice, his voice. By now, she thought, he would have had his way with me.
Saba grew lightheaded, as the air around her thinned. The cold clung to her, ripping through the pelt across her shoulders. My longbow, she thought. She’d left it with Finn. No reason to wear it in Hannah’s yard.
Sleep fought for her now, coming for her, clawing at her. She shook her head, and used all the might she had to flick open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy, their weight like lead. Give in, she thought, all I can do is give in.
So she did.
* * *
The vampire climbed higher with Saba, unwilling to risk being trailed. He took her up to a mountain peak, and laid her on the ground. The altitude had done it, had stolen her breath, made her lose herself. He touched her chin, then placed a hand in front of her nose. Her breath was shallow, her mind racing for sleep. He leaned in, his face an inch from hers. She wasn’t his little one, but another in her line. Her kin, he thought, her blood. He put a hand to her chest, and pressed on it, warming her from the inside out. The color flowed to her cheeks, and he lost himself. He laid his lips on her neck, hesitant to tear into her skin. Could he wait until she woke? The god in possession of his body didn’t think so, rushing him to the taste.
As Saba slept, the vampire pulled her back to life, feeding on her through a delicate puncture in her paper-thin skin. There’d be no ravaging, no skinning, no killing. She’d grown too precious in an instant, the god wanting her for other things, the taste of her blood annihilating the vampire where he kneeled. Never was the succor of gods so sweet.
She stirred and he pulled out, still reeling in his pleasure, her heat dripping from his lips. He touched her crown with his finger, tracing a line about its edge. He waited for her to open her eyes before he spoke.
But his bite had the opposite effect, and she fell deeper into the sleep the air induced. Her breath barely clung to the thread of life left in her, her body soon collapsing into itself. The vampire sensed her waning, and the god in him forced himself down on her again. He wouldn’t relinquish the taste, not yet. A new kind of hell, it would bring, too much to endure.
He fought with his higher self, the creature he’d always been, and now the god who owned him. The spoils sat heavy in his mouth, the weight of the girl’s essence growing inside of him. Soon he felt her deep in his belly, a heat rising up in him, a fever only her skin could quell. He wanted to take her apart, to seize her insides, flesh them out with his stiffness. His desire for the young hunter was nothing compared to his sickness for Saba.
When he’d had his fill, and the god in him laid off on the reigns, he sat on the ledge of his peak, admiring the aurora from his little place in the world. He put his hand on her waist. He’d rolled her onto her side, and she was tucked up into a ball, her hair splayed out behind her. He admired her, then dropped down beside her, spooning his body about hers, as he’d done with Finn. He wouldn’t strip her of her clothes, the wind too fierce on the mountaintop, but he’d wrap himself about her as tightly, longing to satisfy the itch inside of him. For too long, he’d been alone, untouched, submerged in a lair of darkness and absence. To touch a living thing was his desire now, almost more than blood. To feel flesh upon his flesh, skin against his skin, that was the new paradise his god forged for him. He would knit his body with mortal thread, for that was his destiny.
Saba’s body went limp, her life dancing with the cold.
The vampire pulled himself from her and used his magic to start a fire. He’d been foolish not to do it from the start, satisfying himself instead. Soon a bed of flames touched the ground where she lay, just in front of her, warming her to life anew. He turned her onto her back, reaching for her lips with his own, blowing his spirit into hers, stirring the sleeping goddess from within, back from the shadowland into which she’d sunk.
*
Saba looked at her feet. They were covered in ash. She stepped forward, lifting her toes and heels off the ground but she was unable to resist their sinking. The ash was everywhere, fringing a lake that smelled of rotted eggs. The smell was worse than the dimness. She tried to cover her nose but couldn’t move her hand. Her muscles were too stiff. She kept trying to lift her hands, but they wouldn’t budge. All at once she felt the tether at her rib, pulling her forward, toward the sulfuric lake. There were others there, but they were shadowed, shapes and wisps of beings, not real entities.
Where am I? She thought the words, her response coming in sound.
“The question is what are you,” the voice said in reply.
Who are you?
“The question is what am I.”
She followed the tether, her feet unable to do anything else.
Why am I here?
“The question is how are you here.”
Saba felt the strings of her being come unraveled, the parts of her body she’d known her entire life gone.
She put one foot in front of the other, but only with her mind. She couldn’t move forward otherwise. When she finally reached the shore, she saw the river of blood, bubbled and boiling up like oil in a cauldron on a spit. The current was unmoving, stagnant, but a boatman sat on the surface as though the waves could bring him to shore.
“Jump,” the voice said to her.
She recognized it now. It was her own voice, something deep inside of her telling her to get onto the boat before it was too late.
I cannot.
She battled with herself, her physical will telling her to flee the coming wrath, her conscious self telling her she’d be in trouble either way.
She moved toward the edge of the river, a sound so great rising behind her, it pushed her forward. She turned back to see the darkness, rising up like a wall of water, thi
ck as moss on the trees behind her home. Her vision was no longer impaired, she could see everything clearly now, all the faces inside the moss. Heads and hands, feet and hearts, aspects of those she once knew. She recognized each one, and yet she couldn’t recall their names.
I cannot.
The boatman beckoned to her, the only way across the boiling blood. She raised a foot and planted it in the viscous sea. The surface seemed to harden at once, unforgiving and rigid, it would not let her sink. She stepped flat, balancing herself on the fetid air. With her left foot planted, she raised her right and put it down too. Then she took another step inward, stepping as gently as she could. The boiling blood was shellacked, bubbling only beneath the glassy surface. She looked at the boatman, and then down at her feet. Nothing changed around her, until her legs seemed to grow heavy. Something was seeping into them, making them sandbags too weighty to lift.
She was in the middle of the river now, balanced on her fragile psyche. The boatman seemed to slip further from her, as she remained rooted to her fear. She looked down, her feet sinking. The boiling blood bubbled ferociously and the heat made her drip with sweat. The first drop of perspiration did nothing, but the second cracked the glassy surface, running a seam out from her feet, drawing a massive vein from her to the boatman. He raised a finger and pointed at the crack before his entire boat snapped in half, and the whole of him was sucked down into the deep. He was too far from her to read the expression on his face, but she heard his bones shift, as though they were her own.
Her stomach dropped first, then she fell. The downward swoosh was like a dive into the sea. She was in control of her mind, but her body went elsewhere. Soon the hands touching her grew heavy, then the claws came out, tearing at her flesh. She embraced the stripping away, knowing it was to get at the light inside. Once the shell was gone, she’d be left with nothing but the inner spark.
Grief For Heart: The Vincent Du Maurier Series, Book 4 Page 14