by C. D. Gorri
Sophia turned to the latter of the two vampires. She watched as the wound on the vampire’s face began to heal! It was as if she were watching a series of paintings move and become real. The darkness under her eyes lifted in color, and the bleeding altogether ceased.
“How?” she asked, but did not expect an answer. She swallowed hard. “What is this madness?” she whispered. She pressed her back further into the wall in hopes it would swallow her, offering some sort of reprieve. Instead, the first vampire, Signora Eyecushion, stalked forward.
“You realize turnabout is fair play? I do believe it is my turn to bring about pain.” The woman hissed and stalked toward Sophia.
Sophia screamed and raised her arms to block whatever blow the vampire might bring. She waited with anticipation, but alas nothing happened. Was she toying with her like a cat plays with their mouse before devouring them?
She glanced up over her arms and found Signora Eyecushion had indeed stopped, her mouth agape. Blood seeped from her lips and her eyes were wide in shock. A stake had been plunged into her heart. As she dropped to her knees, her body turned to ash and disintegrated into nothing.
“No!” The other vampire screamed, and a snarl left her that reverberated up the sides of the building. Bits of dust fell toward the earth and Sophia stepped away from Signora Nosebleed.
“Oh my God,” Sophia yelled and pulled her arms up over her face once more. Someone had daggered the first vampire and answered her pleas. Maybe one of the hunters, but where were they?
“Get away from her, you evil bitch!”
Sophia recognized the voice and she lowered her arms. Hope filled her as she turned to the male’s voice and screamed out, “Gavin!” He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her behind him. He had already reloaded his bow and arrow and pointed it at the vampire, and fired. The whip the bow made as it launched the stake was nothing to the sound it made as it plunged deep into her chest. She, like the first, fell to her knees and became dust.
Sophia fisted her hands into Gavin’s cloak and pressed her body and face against his back. Panic and adrenaline still pumping through her body, she sobbed.
“Gavin, oh my God!” She released her grip and leaned against the wall behind her, hand over her beating heart. Never in her life had she felt this much danger, never had she felt this much fear. She closed her eyes as the adrenaline settled. “Gavin,” she whispered. She opened her eyes and looked up to him, then almost flinched.
Gavin stared at her with only what could be anger. His expression then shifted to sadness. He lowered his gaze. “I have been tracking these two all night.” He looked to her once more. “How did you end up here? What are you wearing?” He shook his head. “Come on, I’ll take you back to where the other Hunters have gathered.” He took her by the arm and pulled.
“Gavin, wait,” she insisted and pulled them to a stop. “There’s something you need to know.” She had to tell him about Mila, about Dorian, about an oncoming attack.
“Yes, they were vampires, I know.”
“No, I mean yes, they were, but there’s something else. I have news, bad news, to deliver to you.”
“Then you can tell me as we walk.” He tugged again on her arm.
She gave in and walked beside him―or dragged, more like it. “Let me go, I can walk fine.” He had saved her life and yet, treated her as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. Maybe in this moment, that was all she was to him; a doll to carry around and protect.
“There is a mass outside. Stay by my side,” he told her.
She nodded, and inhaled what smelled like smoke. Fear seized her and she realized the attack was on Campo Marini. She tugged on his arm and pulled him close, then told him everything, including the fact it came from Mila. He appeared to listen and he nodded occasionally.
“Thank you for letting me know,” he yelled over the crowd of people. This was no ordinary crowd though, this was definitely a mass.
“What is happening?” she asked, more to herself than Gavin.
“Do not leave my side,” he told her and moved his grip to her hand and squeezed. He pulled her through the crowd and Sophia held onto him for all she had. Bodies bumped into hers, hands grabbed to pull people back in an effort to get a closer look.
Then as if a sword the size of a boat appeared, the crowd parted. A few people screamed, and every voice in the square hushed in silence.
“...a plague!” came a familiar voice that yelled above the crowd. “Murder, plague, violence!”
Gavin pulled them toward the front of the crowd and Sophia stood next to him, clutching onto his arm. The Doge’s clerk from the tavern, and next to him, Father Potbelly! He pointed to the crowd and continued to yell the profanities about murder and plague, until his eyes rested on Sophia.
Fear clenched her heart and she tightened her grip on Gavin.
Teodotto pointed to his feet. “Ten more bodies were found, ten! The devil is among us, ladies and gentlemen. The devil comes in many forms and many colors.” He then pointed directly to Sophia. “Today he comes in the form of this woman, in witchcraft!”
She gasped and shook her head. She clutched Gavin’s arm tighter. “Lies! It’s all lies!”
“The Doge has allowed our city to be overrun by immorality and evil! Sin stalks our streets and sleeps with us as familiar bedfellows. The devil takes the face of pretty wenches who serve you drink, and you imbibe the poison gladly!” Teodotto gestured at her. “She has performed dark rites, begging demons to bring pox and plague upon us!”
“Look at her,” he continued. “She wears the colors of the devil, her lover, his unholy communion!”
“I have had enough of this,” Gavin said and drew his sword. He pulled his arm free of her grasp and stood in front of her. “This ends now! She is no witch and has never communed with the devil!”
“Take her!” Teodotto yelled.
Sophia screamed and grasped Gavin, but it was not enough. Eight guards, ten, swarmed the crowd. Six pulled at a screaming Gavin as he thrust his arms and legs in the arm. His sword hit the ground in a loud clang. He stared at Sophia as she wept, hands over her mouth.
“Run!” he screamed at her. “Run now!”
As she began to turn to follow his order of running, four guards approached her, arms out. She ran in an effort to break through their barricade, but it was of no use. Strong arms surrounded her and picked her up off the ground; two sets of hands holding her head and shoulders, two sets of hands each hold a leg. She sobbed and closed her eyes. The crowd roared cheers of “devil’s wife” and “she’s innocent.”
Sophia opened her eyes as the movement hitched in step. She looked to the ground and found they were stepping over the dead bodies. Death rose from the carcasses and she closed her eyes once more.
“There is only one place for a witch,” Teodotto said. “Witch Island! Take her there, with the other dead bodies! Go! She will be executed at dawn!”
The guards reached the boat and carried her through the water. They sat her down and tied her hands behind her back, arms to her body, knees together, then her legs. She sobbed and leaned forward. One of the guards snatched her hat off of her, and with it, some of her hair.
She cried out and continued to lean forward. There was no escaping where she was going. All she had was the clothes on her back, and the icy water that splashed the sides of the boat.
There would be no Gavin, no Dorian, no God.
Chapter Twenty-Two
This damned, howling, unholy crowd baying for blood and retribution, as if it could all be extracted from one small woman.
This was the reason vampires were meant to stay out of the affairs of mortals. Vampires were predators of the highest order. To be forced into passivity and obscurity by ugly-faced, short-lived brutes was humiliating. It was an insult to a prowess and power that dwarfed simple mortal abilities.
Mila tried very hard not to feel any emotion for Sophia as she was dragged away by the soldiers. She had already felt far too
much for the woman, from unexpected admiration at her defense against Lady Abberley and Madame Bellefontaine, to insidious envy when she saw Gavin come to her rescue, to numbing fear when Sophia had started to scream as the accusations and guilt were piled like great stones upon her chest.
Mila’s mind raced as she worked through the choice that she had less than a moment to make. Should she follow Sophia and try to save her for Dorian’s sake? Or, should she stay here and try to save Gavin? Sophia was the cause of all the upset in Dorian’s life and their coven. Sophia was the reason Mila was caught in Fanti and Teodotto’s machinations. She didn’t feel like she owed the girl anything. After all, had she not given her a precious night with Dorian? Yet Sophia was innocent of the murders, and the burning pyre awaited her. If enough bribes changed hands between Mila’s gold-lined pockets and greedy wardens, she might only face the rope, which would be kinder, though not by much.
But, then, what of Gavin? He knew that he had killed two vampires in that alley with Sophia. Without a doubt, he would now go back to wherever his precious Order of St. Marcellus was quartered and rally the Hunters. They would spill into the shadows of the city, relentless and ruthless. There might not be time to get back to Palazzo Fanti and warn everyone. Dorian, Fanti, and all the others would leave for the hunt and find themselves the prey.
There was no question in Mila’s mind that Gavin would make her his special quarry. She had seen blood lust and betrayal enough times in men’s eyes to believe any different.
No more than a second or two had passed, and yet, she was still torn as to her course of action. She glanced at Gavin as he struggled madly against the guards that held him, and she knew what she had to do.
It was easy enough to maneuver through the chaotic crowd that still surrounded the priest and the guards. Fortunately, the people were more enthralled by the fiery ramblings of the priest than the thrashing of a vagabond. Venetians, Mila decided, were decidedly jaded in their tastes if threats of hellfire could hold them but a man being beaten was a spectacle wearied of its thrill.
She approached the guards from behind, and, with preternaturally quick legerdemain, slipped Gavin from their grasp and substituted a random stranger from the crowd. She gestured for Gavin to be quiet, and she led him through the crowd, making them both face forward and take slow, shuffling steps to the side and back so as not to attract attention to themselves. Nothing would give them away quicker than a frantic sprint in the opposite direction of a crowd moving closer to listen to the priest.
As soon as the opening onto a side street presented itself, Gavin turned the tables and yanked her along behind him. She didn’t resist, hoping that there might still be a chance to play the role of a mortal with him. The fate of her coven, Dorian, and Sophia depended on it.
Gavin abruptly pulled her into a small, dark shed that passed for a stable in the city. He slammed her against the rough wood wall and brought his face to hers.
“What have you done?” he demanded, his lips pulled back in a snarl, and his breath coming in heavy pants that stirred the lace of her veil.
“I have given you a chance to save the woman you love, you fool,” she retorted coolly.
“You know about the vampires. Do not lie! I can see it in your eyes.”
She shrugged. “I also know you are a Hunter. What of it?”
He narrowed his eyes, taking her in at close range for the first time. She forced herself to keep breathing, even though every movement brought her a lungful of his scent. But she knew the act of breathing would not fool him. The bruised circles under her eyes, the chalk white of her complexion, the chill of her skin through the fabric of her dress, all of that would give her away to his trained gaze.
She saw the instant he realized her true nature, and his fingers dug unforgivingly into her arms, though it was nowhere near enough to cause her pain.
“Why?” It was the only question that fell from his lips, but a thousand ravings raged behind it.
“You blame a pawn when the guilt lies with the bishop, three moves back.”
He released her and stepped back, running his hand over his mouth, a wild, desperate look in his eyes. Mila’s heart had not beat in three hundred years, yet it ached at the sight.
“If you summon your Hunters and give chase to us, Sophia will die,” she said quietly. “There is still time for you to save her.”
“I am sworn to serve the Order above all else.” He clenched his jaw, looking away from her.
“Mortals will die tonight regardless of what you do.” She sighed. “Whether it be by our hand, or by knife’s edge, fever, or famine. Mortals die every night and every day. There will only ever be one Sophia in your life.”
She couldn’t help but admire his grim determination to abide by his oath and do his duty, but she needed him to understand the slippery nature of the olive branch she offered. There was only one gambit in this game that would give them all a way out.
One mistake, and they would all be destroyed.
“We leave on the morrow,” she added, willing him to accept this final compromise. “And, we shall not come again.”
He scoffed at that, but she could see his decision was made. He turned back to her and sneered, “Good and good riddance!” Closing the distance between them once more, he pressed her back against the wall with his body, molding himself to her so that she could feel breath, cock, and sinew. “But know this, my Snow Maiden, should you show your face in Venice ever again, I shall be the one to put a stake through that dead heart of yours!”
It took all of her discipline not to wince at the way his words crawled like poison through her veins, burning away to ash hopes she didn’t even know she had held. She managed to remain cool and impassive, simply nodding.
Then, he was gone, and for the first time in three hundred years, Mila found herself stifling her tearless sobs in hay that smelt of smoke and death.
Mila dragged herself back to Palazzo Fanti, her limbs moving stiffly like a marionette in unskilled hands. She barely noticed that night had fallen, with its cold sea fog creeping through the streets. She felt as if her own vision had already been darkened, painted black by Gavin’s words, and she would never know the light again. One last task remained before she could hunt. She had to tell Dorian that they must sail the next day.
To her surprise, Dorian was waiting for her in her bed chamber. He looked wild and rumpled, raking his hands through his hair and pacing back and forth before her window.
“There you are!” he exclaimed, his tone petulant. “Where have you been?”
Of all people to demand such an answer from her! She ignored him and calmly went to remove the pins that held her hat in place on her hair.
“Mila! Answer me.”
“I have been wandering the city.” It was true, simply not specific.
“Do not play games with me. Where is Sophia?”
“I do not know.” Again, truth in its strictest sense. She honestly hadn’t caught the name of the island where they were taking her.
“I went back to where she stayed last night, and she was not there.”
“I told you she would be moved in the morning.”
“Yes, and you told me you knew where she would move to!”
“I told you I would help her, but she did not require my help in finding new lodgings. I do not know where she is.” It was very likely not the cleverest way of handling Dorian when she would shortly need to convince him to depart the city the next day. But she felt too exposed, too raw from everything that had happened, and she had to leech the venom from her system somehow before she went mad from the hurt of it all.
Dorian stormed over, looming over her. Mila stood her ground. After a long day that seemed full of men attempting to intimidate her by towering over her, she simply didn’t have it in her to get worked up any more. While she couldn’t fully fight the compulsion in her blood to show submissiveness toward her Maker, she was no longer afraid of him.
A subtle knock a
t the door fractured the posturing between them, but Fanti’s subdued entrance did not bring Mila any relief. If anything, it filled her with foreboding. The candlelight draped Fanti’s scars in deep lines and shadows, and his eyes were unreadable.
“Dorian,” he said softly. “Forgive me, but I am the bearer of sad tidings.”
Dorian stilled, an aura of feral menace wrapping around him like a cloak.
“Two members of your coven were attacked and fell to the hands of Hunters.”
It was almost farcical how quickly Dorian relaxed, and inversely, how much further Mila’s own sense of dread deepened. His relief would only make his rage return tenfold if he learned the true fate of Sophia. If…or, when?
“Who are the fallen?” Dorian was calm.
“I believe the other members of your coven identified them as Lady Abberley and Madame Bellefontaine.” Fanti was all gravitas and commiseration.
Dorian was impassive, but she didn’t miss his quick, inquisitive glance in her direction. Unfortunately, it seemed that Fanti didn’t, either. She knew in that instant that she only had a few moments to fortify Dorian in her favor against whatever accusations Fanti was about to level at her.
“I saw it happen,” she said, looking at the floor but knowing she had the two men’s full attention. “After the trouble our coven had caused with our unguided hunting, I worried that the two of them would use their new, longer leash to bring more problems back to our host’s door. I followed them.” She paused, letting hesitation prepare Dorian. “They attacked Sophia.”
He growled, his fangs clicking.
“She fought back,” Mila continued. “Surprisingly well and holding her own. A Hunter showed up and saved her. He was the one who felled them. He seemed to know Sophia. He was protective of her.”
And, there it was.
She could tell by the shifting of his posture, that she had managed—against the odds—to slip back into her place beside him as the quiet, only-occasionally-visible, devoted companion. In the face of Teodotto’s scheming, Fanti’s manipulation, Dorian’s obliviousness, Gavin’s cruelty, and the maliciousness of Abberley and Bellefontaine, she had done it. She had saved their coven and coven leader.