A Vampire's Rise (12 page)

Annabelle strolled over the lush lawn and placed Jacob on the blanket. She grasped Eduardo’s hands and spun him round and round, much to his squealing delight.

Annabelle was the free spirit that the house of Velde needed. This was normalcy now and I loved it. Eduardo and Jacob were in every way their father’s sons. Eduardo the mischievous one, taking after me, off exploring at every opportunity, and Jacob who took after Annabelle, with his dark complexion and large brown eyes, a calm, sweet soul. Even aged one year, his kind temperament was evident.

Annabelle turned, picked up her skirts, and ran away from the house with little Eduardo running after her. I strolled over to Jacob and picked him up.

Sublime innocence.

Giving my boys a happy childhood did in many ways make up for the loss of mine. Through them, I found myself reliving all that I’d missed out on.

Jacob stared up at me with that mischievous grin of his and then vomited onto my shirt. Annabelle’s laughter rippled around the garden and Jacob giggled and Eduardo screamed. I too saw the funny side. Annabelle offered to take Jacob, but I gestured I was fine, and planted kisses onto his soft cheek and to the top of his head.

The stickiness soaked through to my skin. Jacob stared at the gooey mess and giggled again.

“Have I no power in this house?” I winked.

In an hour, the boys would be in bed and I’d steal precious time with the woman who’d taught me how to trust and how to love.

I welcomed the happiness in.

* * * *

Later that evening, I read the dispatch from Señor Teofilo’s office.

The letter from Salvador and Alicia had originated in Italy, routed via the attorney’s office, and even then written in code. After reading the letter, I memorized the words, the tone, then threw it into the fire.

A small price to pay for the peace of mind that Felipe wouldn’t find them. Ever wary, I ordered my workers to take turns in guarding our residence. I fired three men I found napping during their watch before they took my paranoia seriously.

Smoke spiraled up and into the chimney. I heard a knock on the study door and Annabelle entered.

She wrapped her arms around me and we both watched the flames burst up, taking with them more than just words.

“How would you feel if I gave Eduardo his first riding lesson?” I asked.

She scrunched up her face. “On those big horses of yours?”

“We’ll get him a pony.”

“Perhaps when he’s a year older?”

I nudged her. “They’ll grow up one day, you know.” I smiled. “Speaking of babies, Alicia’s pregnant.”

“How far?”

“Five months.”

“And Salvador?”

“He’s well. Ricardo, too.”

“Perhaps we’ll be blessed with another child.”

I hugged her. “What would you say to us moving?”

“But I love it here.”

“We can rebuild.”

Annabelle squeezed me tighter. “This is our home. I won’t let that man run us out of it.” She gazed up at me. “He’s forgotten all of that now.”

I knew that’s what she wanted to believe, and so did I, but Felipe had proven himself to be vicious.

“What could he do to you now?” Her eyes widened, as though she’d read my mind.

Some part of me knew, despite the five years that had passed since I’d last seen him, Felipe still held a grudge. His thirst for power paled in comparison to his desire for wealth. We lived on the very land he believed should be his. Yet Annabelle was right, we had been left alone. No dispatches from his lawyers and no more threats.

“I have something to show you.” Annabelle placed her small hand in mine and guided me out of the study.

“Where are we going?” I pulled her toward me and stole a kiss.

“You’ll see.”

I followed her out onto the lawn that crushed beneath our feet, above us a clear night sky.

I cringed. “Oh, God, I haven’t forgotten our anniversary, have I?”

“Silly.” She pointed to a row of small shrubs. “This is the best place for them.”

I stared down at the twigs sprouting out of the ground.

She beamed with pride. “Rose bushes.”

“What color?”

“Red.”

I pretended to find joy in this moment, even though disconcerting memories were stirred by the scent of a rose. I studied the barest shrubs and considered the wisdom of staying here to see them grow.

“There’s plenty of sun here.” I knelt to examine more closely one of the buds. My fingertip caught on a thorn, and the puncture went deep. I sucked on the oozing drop of blood, quietly alarmed that coupled with the sharp sting, it brought with it a terrible omen.

Chapter 19

AN AUGUST EVENING FILLED the air with the scent of jasmine, and the cool summer breeze carried with it the faint chirping of cicadas.

Taking my usual seat on the front porch, I topped up my glass of white wine, the fermented grapes cultivated on this very land.

The sunset flooded the landscape.

The years had unfolded, seamlessly shifting from one glorious month to another. The relief from suffering sustained during my former years bestowed a visceral gratitude not easily forgotten, as it seeped into the present.

But as I glanced up at the horizon, I was gripped with a wave of terror that the peace I’d come to cherish was about to end.

Salvador’s father galloped toward the estate. I put down my drink and leaped to my feet.

Señor Moran dismounted. “He has them.” His color was ashen.

“Dear God.” My voice broke.

“I don’t know how he found them. They were in Italy.” His eyes were sick with fear. “By the time I receive an appointment with his highness, it will be too late.”

“Ready my best horse,” I shouted to the stable boys. “Now!”

Moran was shaking violently. “He accuses Alicia of witchcraft.”

No. The ground became unsteady.

Miguel quickly joined us.

“I’m going to Vigo,” I blurted, my mouth dry.

Miguel grabbed the horse’s harness from the stable boy. “Felipe?”

I nodded and quickly mounted. “Tell Annabelle . . .”

“I know.” Miguel tightened the reins. “I’ll tell her.”

Chapter 20

BLOOD STAINED MY HANDS.

My horse collapsed just outside Vigo. Unable to bear seeing him suffer any further, I unsheathed my knife and with an unsteady grip, slit his throat. After it was done, I retched on an empty stomach.

I washed off the blood in a trough outside a deserted cottage. Still trembling, I used the same knife that I’d slaughtered my horse with to shave off my stubble. Thieves were not unusual in wealthy neighborhoods and I didn’t want to be confused for one.

Staring up at the senator’s residence, exhaustion lingered beneath my terror.

Several service carts rumbled along, pulled by mules, following the road up to the great house. I ignored the first two and leaped onto the third, scrambling beneath the hessian material covering the mound of vegetables. I reached for a carrot and munched on the orange stick, despite the taste of soil. The cart rolled to a stop outside the deliveryman’s door.

With no real plan, only a sense of urgency to get my sister and Salvador out, I willed myself to find courage. I wiped the dirt from my mouth, straightened my hair, and slid out from beneath the material.

Inside the kitchen, I strolled through, looking like I belonged, nodding in greeting to servants who scurried about, busy with their chores. Carrying a tray of food, I walked through the doorway that led into the foyer.

Three guards stood talking nearby and glanced my way, but I kept going, ready to reach for my concealed knife. With a confident air that I didn’t feel, I headed for the cellars.

I’d half-listened as Ferring had explained long ago that it was typical to keep supplies in the cold vaults, and apparently it was the best place for the prisoners.

A maid believed my story that I was new, and guided me to the top of the stairwell and pointed to the basement. As I descended, the dank prison smell brought back stark memories, and I tried to push the dark nostalgia away.

Alicia lay asleep in the corner of a squalid chamber. I’d not expected to see her down here, rather Salvador incarcerated in these terrible conditions. But after checking the few cells, I only found her. I was surprised to find the door unlocked. Careful not to startle her, I knelt close.

Alicia opened her eyes and sighed when she saw me.

“I’m going to get you out,” I mouthed.

“Salvador?” she asked.

“I haven’t seen him.” I glanced out of the cell and turned back to face Alicia with a puzzled stare.

She staggered to her feet. “Felipe told me he’d kill Ricardo if I left here.”

“I’ll find him.” I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her.

Through the dungeon, we made our way up and out, and then lingered at the top of the stairwell, waiting for our pathway to clear.

“I can’t leave without them.” She trembled.

“I’ll come back.” My gut wrenched when I realized Alicia didn’t look pregnant.

Gaunt, she became distant and tears soaked her pale cheeks. Then, as though coming round a few seconds later, she murmured, “Felipe sent his men to arrest us.” Her hand lay on her belly. “I lost the baby.”

I felt an awful, twisting grief and couldn’t imagine what she endured. “How did he know you were in Italy?”

“Felipe told me he intercepted a letter from Salvador’s mother.” She grasped my sleeve.

I let out a slow breath. “I’ll come back for them.”

When we reached the stables, I found what looked like a fast horse and bridled him. I patted his neck, trying to earn his trust as I slid on the saddle and then secured the girth around his chest.

I turned to Alicia. “Promise me,” I held her arm to make sure she listened, “you won’t stop until you get to Miranda’s home.”

Alicia nodded. “I remember it.”

With my assistance, Alicia grasped the reins and mounted.

“Neither of you can stay there.” With caution I led the stallion out. “Felipe may come looking for you.”

Alicia sobbed. “I can’t leave.”

“It’s getting dark. They won’t be able to catch you. Hold on tight.” I slapped the horse’s rump.

Alicia galloped off and I continued to watch her, making sure she didn’t turn the horse around. She rode well and was light in the saddle. I prayed she’d make it.

Two guards came from out of nowhere. A fist struck my jaw and an unseen foot kicked me forward into the dirt.

I spat out soil and then came an awful pressure of a man kneeling on my back, and hands choking me.

Muffled orders were shouted our way. The knee lifting its weight, the hands easing their grip, I sucked in air . . . and yelled my rage.

* * * *

A lone soldier was ordered to guard me. His gruff expression was all I needed to find something else to look at in the office.

My throat hurt so bad, I had trouble swallowing.

An oversized mahogany writing desk was positioned in the center, and pretentious leather-bound books furnished the shelves. Upon the wall behind the desk hung a painting, a portrayal of the biblical tale of Belshazzar’s Feast.

Prince Belshazzar’s morbid expression matched my own. He’d made the mistake of insulting God. He, his wives, concubines, and other cohorts had tasted from the sacred vessels stolen from Solomon’s temple. The prince glared back at a disembodied hand that reached out of a cloud of nowhere.

The guard coughed and I caught him wiping his brow.

I turned my attention back to the painting where God scribed in Aramaic that Belshazzar’s days were numbered.

The door opened and several men entered, closely followed by Felipe.

Salvador was somewhere within these walls, held prisoner, at Felipe’s mercy. I had to persuade Felipe to let him go.

Felipe followed my gaze. “You’re unable to appreciate the significance of such a portrait.”

A lump in my throat, I swallowed hard. “Where’s Salvador?”

Felipe neared the canvas. “God’s reckoning with an arrogant man,” he leaned in close, “Belshazzar believes himself greater than his creator. Sound familiar?”

“God destroys Belshazzar’s seat of power,” I said. “Sound familiar?”

“My men have gone after Alicia.”

Belshazzar’s eyes bulged and the petrified expressions of his guests reflected the horror of my own drama. I steadied myself.

“No reaction?” Felipe looked amused.

His men patted down my jacket and found my knife.

“Was that for me?” Felipe drew near. “I can add conspirator to your list of crimes.”

“Where’s Ricardo?” I asked.

“Home.” Felipe picked up a parchment from his desk and handed it to me. “I assumed you’d pay a visit, so I had this prepared.”

The lawyer’s scrawl was familiar, as was the content. I reached for the quill on his desk and signed it.