Giver of Light

by Nicola Claire

  “I intend to survive this war. It's not ending when we beat them, life will go on. And I need to know that who I am coming out of all of this is OK. Not something I will regret and pay penance for, for the rest of my life.”

  He started stroking the back of my hands, such a familiar motion, one he has been doing to me since not long after we first met. “You need to like who you are now and after it's all over.” He looked up into my eyes, his so deeply blue and hypnotic. “It's not enough that I like who you are, is it?”

  I smiled at him. “Michel. You'd like me if I grew two heads and started drooling like a dog. You'd like me no matter what. You're too far gone not to.” He managed a faint smile at that. “But, my mum, she'd love me no matter what, but she'd also let me know when she didn't like me. I need my mum.”

  He sat there for a moment and then nodded. “Very well, ma douce. But I drive, you need to sleep.”

  He got up off the bed and headed towards the dressing room, grabbing an overnight bag and throwing a few clothes in, his and I noticed, some of mine. Although we didn't stay at Sensations much any more, we still made sure we had changes of clothes and all the necessities if we got caught out by daylight and had to overnight there.

  I followed him to the door and crossed my arms over my chest. “What do mean, you drive?” Me going home had not included a driver in tow.

  “Ma douce,” he said throwing me a look that said, what do you think I mean? “If we leave now, we will make it before sunrise. I can stay with Erika at the day resting place she has secured nearby for your parents' guards, while you visit alone with your mother. And then in the evening I can join you. We'd be back well in time for my departure at five.”

  When he saw the shocked look on my face, he stopped packing and came over to stand in front of me, a small wicked smile curving the edges of his mouth.

  “It is well overdue for your parents to be introduced to your husband, is it not?”

  Huh. I got the distinct impression this had all been turned into a very convenient opportunity for my kindred.

  Hadn't he just told me that vampires prize the ability to manipulate a situation in your favour?

  Chapter 27

  Together

  I had intended to take Michel's advice and sleep on the road trip to Cambridge. I was so tired, but also hungry. As time was precious, we stopped at a McDonald's Drive Thru for a nutritionally balanced Kiwi Burger and Strawberry Shake to eat enroute. After that little early morning snack, I was kind of wide awake again and feeling decidedly greasy.

  Squashing the after effects of consuming too much fat and sugar, I instead allowed my mind to wander, hypnotised by the flashes of light outside my window. South Auckland was still alive and well even at this time of the night. The lights of cars and houses, as they streamed past the car, danced and twinkled in the black of the deep dark night.

  I'd thought I had well and truly come to terms with what I had become. Starting with the revelation that I was a Nosferatin by birth, a descendant from a goddess, sharing DNA with vampires. It's a hell of a heritage to accept, but I had got there. Or so I thought. Now, as my mind tumbled through its myriad of thoughts, I wasn't so sure.

  I had always felt a little removed from the others, from Nero and Amisi and those I had met on the website. They all knew what they were from an early age, raised by Nosferatins, educated by a long line of history, experience and skill. I, on the other hand, know how to birth a lamb, I can shear them too if I have to and I certainly know how to grade wool, feed out silage and drive a tractor. Those are things I've done since I could walk. Not hold a stake at the right angle to avoid the ribs, nor speak Latin and cast a ward or two.

  Sure, I've picked up a lot in the past two and half years, some of it becoming so normal, so second nature that it's hard to argue the fact that it is what I am meant to do. I don't doubt that I am Nosferatin by birth, that would be ridiculous to deny, evidence is too strong to the contrary, but I do question my ability to be this Saviour of the World.

  Why would Nut have chosen me? Surely someone like Nero, or even Amisi would have been a more appropriate saviour. I have been on a steep learning curve for too long now and I still don't feel worthy. Amisi would make a fine Prophesied. But no, Nut chose me. And as much as I am trying to trust her judgement on that one, it still baffles me, it still makes me shake my head in wonder and doubt.

  Not that I think my parents will have all the answers, how could they? My Aunt and Uncle have raised me since I was a little baby and my biological parents died in a car accident in the South Island. Had my biological father lived, he was the one carrying the Nosferatin gene, I would have had a different upbringing. No farm, that's for sure, maybe a city life, near vampires. Maybe knowing all about them and the world I had been destined to save.

  But, then again, maybe not. I met my cousin recently. I didn't even know he existed. I kind of suspected there'd be relatives, but they'd never come to seek me out on the farm. They would have known where I lived, my parents' farm has been in my father's, my uncle's, family for generations. They could have found me. But they didn't, so it was a little of a surprise when Tim turned up on my doorstep and introduced himself as a long lost relative.

  He also made it quite clear, just before he tried to kill me, that my father had been of the same opinion as him, that the Nosferatin should deny the Nosferatu their powers no matter what. Meaning, my father had intended to kill me, or at the very least let me die unjoined to a vampire, thereby denying the Nosferatu my power. I'd had trouble believing Tim on that one, but I had nothing at all to base my beliefs on. Tim had said my father tried to kill us all in that car crash; my mum, me and him. Maybe he did. I don't know.

  But, I do know my Aunt and Uncle would not have the answers I sought. So, why go back to the farm? I really couldn't answer that, all I knew was I needed my mum. She was a farmer's wife through and through. She was tough and hard, but full of love and smelled like cookies and lamb roast and pickles and conserves. Her kitchen was her haven and my memories were dotted with times spent at the kitchen bench, my mother telling me off for some prank or another I had played on the farm hands. Hauling me over the coals for some acrobatic stunt in the hay shed, or some ill conceived notion that I could get out of my chores. Life wasn't exactly hard on the farm, but it was demanding. And my mum made sure I pulled my weight and did my fair share.

  So, as much as I knew she loved me, I also knew she'd have no problems putting me in my place should I need it. And right now, I needed it. Not that I was sure whether I would tell her everything, but I could certainly skirt around the main points and give her the Cliff's Notes version. Either way, she'd tell me if I had become a shallow, self-centred wench, or whether I had become a hardened and uncaring daughter.

  I needed to know.

  Michel had said nothing to me as the towns sped by and my thoughts sped with them. He no doubt was getting the full force of my emotional turmoil, not to mention my erratic and self flagellating thoughts. He didn't interrupt or offer excuses, or even tell me he loved me just the way I was. I knew he did and he knew I didn't need to hear it. He just let me have the time to sit quietly, to roll through each unanswered question, each doubt and fear, without the impediment of his opinions.

  I silently thanked him for that. This was a road I needed to travel alone, just having him beside me was enough. Knowing he had dropped everything to make this happen, ensuring I wasn't alone in the process.

  We'd just passed Hamilton when I drifted off to sleep. My mind a numb mass of snarled questions and thoughts and emotions. My body unable to sustain conscious reasoning any longer, but insisting on the sweet release of sleep. Michel must have sensed my impending slumber, because he wrapped his scent around me, a fresh sea breeze and clean cut grass, comforting me, soothing me and making the last bastions of my troubled mind give way to blessed, longed-for and much-needed repose.

  I woke to his arms lifting me from the car, but he shushed me back to sleep. I t
rusted we had arrived at Erika's retreat, somewhere near my parents' farm and let the ties to dreamland pull me back under. I really was exhausted and a little more sleep would not have gone astray. Besides, I had all day tomorrow to catch up with my mum.

  When I did finally open my eyes to the day, I was lying in a comfy bed. The smell of coffee and oranges filled the air, the room a softly lit sanctuary, save from the vampire sitting in a chair in the corner reading from his tablet computer. Nice to know Erika had arranged Broadband for their little stay. Can't have the vampires guarding my parents uncomfortable, can we?

  I pushed myself up the bed to rest against the head board and something small rolled off my chest and thunked against the wooden floor.

  “You're not supposed to throw it away, ma douce.”

  “What is it?” I asked leaning over the side of the bed to try to pick it up. It had rolled underneath, making me stand practically on my head to get close enough to reach the offending wayward article. Michel hadn't moved from his comfy chair to aid me, no doubt enjoying the contortionist movement I was currently trying to execute.

  By the time I had retrieved the little bugger and hauled myself upright in the bed, he had a wide grin on his face and the tablet had been discarded on a side table to his left. I turned the little box over in my hand, it was clearly a jewellery box, there's no hiding those.

  “What is it?” I asked rather lamely again.

  “Open it and see,” came his oh so casual reply.

  For some reason I was nervous. Michel's aura was aglow with sunlit mauves and striking violets. Something was definitely up. He stood and glided over to the side of the bed, resting beside me. He raised his eyebrow in a question.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “No, of course not. It's just a box.” He just laughed at my poor attempt at lying.

  “Open it, ma douce. It will not bite.” He flashed a little fang at that. Typical.

  I sighed, whatever game Michel was playing he wouldn't miraculously drop it. There was nothing for it, I had to open the damn box. I flicked the lid with a twist of my thumb and stared down at a beautiful white gold ring, the metal catching the lights in the room like my stakes do, flashing a prism of colours against the far wall.

  I looked up at the deep pools of blue and indigo in front of me. “What is this?” I asked, extremely un-originally I might add.

  He reached forward and took the ring out of the box, holding it between two of his long elegant fingers. I could see gems on the inside of the band, covering the entire circumference; pale blue, no doubt blue diamonds, like the eye of my dancing dragon necklace, matching the colour of his eyes, when they dare to outshine the azure of the Mediterranean Sea.

  He took hold of my left hand and without allowing me a moment of protest, slid the ring on my wedding finger, then ran a thumb across the plain band. The blue diamonds hidden from sight, only he and I and the jeweller who had fashioned this item, knew they existed at all.

  “I may not believe your parents should know everything of our world, ma douce, but I insist on them knowing this. You are my wife and I believe as such, you should wear a ring. Is that not how it is done in your parents' world?”

  I was speechless. He had called me his wife enough times now for me to feel that I was, plus as far as vampires were concerned, we were joined, Bonded and I wore his Sigillum, there wasn't much more I needed to prove to be considered married.

  Unless of course you're a human farmer who knows nothing of the creatures of the night.

  “We could have just told them you were my boyfriend,” I offered, unable to take my gaze off the ring on my outstretched finger.

  “But I am not, am I? And this is something I insist, my dear. I will not be considered a transient part of your life by your parents. I am not, therefore they should be aware of this.”

  Well, I wasn't so sure it was necessary, but he had that tone in his voice. The one that said, don't push me on this, the one I rarely tried to argue with, it just wasn't worth the fall-out. Usually, it was something I could readily accept, or at the very least, work around, but this was fairly monumental. One, my parents would have a fit that I had married without letting them know and without throwing a party. And two, well, it just made it that much more real, didn't it? I mean, in my heart I knew I was Michel's, but in my mind I still fought for that last scrap of independence.

  Married. Shit. I could already hear my mothers screams from here. And I thought it was going to be bad enough letting her see the mark on my neck, the one that looked suspiciously like a tattoo. My mum and tattoos don't mix. That alone had been an real concern, but now this? Ah shit.

  Michel's lips quirked at the edges, his eyes flashing amethyst and violet in amongst the blue. “Wife,” he said simply, then slowly lowered his head to brush his lips against mine. “My wife,” he murmured against my mouth, then ran a line of kisses down my neck to stop above my newest mark. “Mine," he whispered again, nuzzling my neck and placing a gentle nip above my pulse.

  One hand came up behind my neck, the other around the small of my back, pulling me tight against his chest as he continued to lick over my vein, then gently blow against the wet line left behind, making me shudder against him.

  He moaned in response, his fangs scraping against my skin. “I need to taste you, ma douce,” he whispered and immediately bit down. As far as warnings went, it left a lot to be desired, but it did tell me he was on edge, unable to stop the impulse, unable to call on his normal vast amounts of control. I loved that Michel lost it so readily around me, that he wasn't the cool calculating master vampire, but instead a bundle of raging hormones and impulsive responses. I loved that I had that effect on him. And I loved his bite.

  I had never felt as close to Michel as I did when he fed from me. Sex was intimate, don't get me wrong. And fantastic and marvellous and out of this world. But, sharing your blood with a vampire who desires you, who would level the world flat if it meant keeping you safe, who would throw himself into the fires of Hell if it meant one more kiss, one more taste, one more moment with you by his side. Nothing compares to that.

  I felt it all, through the bond of the bite. All his desires and cravings and passions and need. It flowed down through his puncture marks, back through the flow of my blood and settled deep within my soul. There was no hiding how you felt, for a vampire, when you bit into your prey. Not always as beautiful as Michel's bite was for me right now, but always true. No chance of denying their basic response to that bite. Sure, they could just glaze you, influence you into believing something other than the truth, but not when that vampire is joined to you. Michel lost that kind of influence over me the moment we became kindred. Now, all I got was the naked truth.

  And I loved it.

  Normally, he would have let this become more, but for some reason I got the impression he was keeping it as pure as he could, the moment, the feelings, the connection. He withdrew his fangs and slowly licked the marks away.

  His voice was husky when he spoke.

  “You are hungry, ma douce. Our Day Walkers have brought you a care parcel from Cambridge.” He turned and reached over to a tray, where the delectable smells of coffee and orange that had permeated through the room when I awoke, had come from. “Nothing as exciting as Amisi's efforts, I'm afraid, but there is coffee and I think, orange and date scones. I hope it will do.”

  He settled the tray on my lap and slid over my legs to lie beside me. No doubt settling in to watch me eat, one of his favourite pastimes.

  “You seem to be behaving yourself, Michel,” I said taking a sip from the still warm Latte and then breaking open a scone to lather it with butter.

  “It is already well past midday, ma belle. Should I give in to my desires right now, I may not let you leave for your parents' farm until well into the night.” He sent me a few images of what he had been desiring to do to me. I just about choked on my scone.

  Okaay. So wanting to go there, but no. He was right. I needed to see my
mum.

  I polished off the breakfast and sat there taking in my kindred for a few more moments, then tore myself away to shower and dress. He reluctantly let me, or maybe the phone call he received as I hopped off the bed, helped out. By the time I came out of the shower to dress he was in full Michel, Master of the Line, mode. His conversation in depth, authoritative but concise. It was always fascinating to watch Michel work and right now with a trip to America scheduled in the next few hours and a battle against a formidable enemy planned, he was in full command. It was downright sexy.

  I watched him for a moment, just taking in his mannerisms and imposing voice, while I dried my hair with a towel and brushed it straight. He had returned to his chair and was tapping away on his tablet computer at the same time as issuing instructions to whomever was on the other end of the line. I reluctantly gave up on being mesmerised and returned my attention to dressing myself. It was only after I had dried off completely and managed to get my knickers and bra on that I realised he had gone silent.

  I glanced up, not having heard him end his conversation and noticed his phone was still to his ear but his eyes were all for me. I laughed, I couldn't help it, I could hear the caller on the other end of the phone asking if Michel was still there. In person, he was, but in mind he was long gone.

  “See something you like?” I asked, cocking a hip suggestively. He just growled. The caller squawked. I laughed some more and put him out of his misery by slipping on some yoga pants and a tight fitting T-Shirt. My hunter garb was not farm friendly.

  He finally smiled ruefully at me and answered the caller before they sent in reinforcements to make sure he wasn't under attack. By the time I was dressed and about to slip past him into the rest of the house, he was back under control. Enough to wrap an arm about me and prevent my escape while casually finishing up his call.

  “That was unfair,” he said, as he nibbled my ear. “Completely and utterly unfair.”