Avador Book 2, Night Shadows (8 page)

Since then, no other mortals lived in Magh Eamhainn, these people who had fled to other villages, whispering about the blighted water and how they must have sinned to make their gods abandon them. Now Magh Eamhainn stood deserted of human inhabitants. Since then, too, the bandregas had multiplied so that they numbered in the thousands here in Moytura, choosing the capital as their home, since it lay close to Magh Eamhainn.

For centuries, the bandregas had dreamed of becoming immortal, as were the vampires. Nor could the bandregas make themselves invisible, like the undead. Ah, yes, his people still had much to do; they could not let those creatures overcome them.

Stilo's thoughts switched back to Fianna, a woman who had captured his mind. To think

that she believed his tale about being an architect! After the fair next week, she would believe

anything he told her, because she would be under his spell. She would be his!

Chapter Six

Hundreds of blazing torches brightened the fair grounds as Stilo led Angharad through the crowds. Angharad. He wondered if that was the tavern scryer's real name, for he suspected she harbored secrets she would never reveal to him … yet. Was she a criminal, running away from the law? An abused wife, escaping a cruel husband? He'd give anything to know the mystery that surrounded this beautiful woman with her auburn hair and green eyes, this woman he ached to possess. In her emerald green dress with gold threads running through it, her gold hoop ear rings and necklace, she had never looked so lovely. He breathed in deeply of her lilac scent, a fragrance that tantalized and lured him, but he fought the ensnarement. Tonight he would do the luring.

The first few stars glimmered in a sapphire sky, tree branches swaying in the wind. Moonlight sparkled on the rippling river. A perfect night for seduction.

Thankful he had ridden with the other bandregas to the sacred well recently, he knew his powers were greater than they had ever been, that nothing was impossible this night. Ah, the sacred well, whose waters had revived him, empowered him, given him such mastery so that he could accomplish anything he wanted.

Throngs of people crowded the fair grounds, hundreds of men, women, and children from all the outlying villages. Lovers strolled hand-in-hand, and fathers carried young children on their shoulders. Vendors hawked souvenirs, statuettes of the Goddess Talmora or ribbons and buttons commemorating the fair. Others sold meat pies, spiced apples, and ale. A myriad of smells carried his way, some of them pleasing but many of them carried a strong, spicy stench that sickened him. All the fair goers were dressed in their brightest colors, hues Stilo could see as vividly as if it were daytime. Voices filled the air, young children yelling in excitement, friends calling to one another, or performers shouting that their acts were about to begin.

From childhood on, Stilo had learned that he could tolerate the food of mortals, as long as he didn't consume anything too rich or spicy, and as long as he ate a quantity of red meat, an ability garnered from his father's bandrega side. But no human food could compare to the superb, enticing taste of human blood, and here, he recognized his vampire half, the part he'd inherited from his loathsome mother. Thank all the gods and goddesses he never saw that woman anymore; she was gone from his life forever, and where she dwelled now, he didn't know and cared less.

Music drifted their way from the far end of the meadow, a wooden platform that bordered the
Nantosuelta River. From where he stood, Stilo craned his neck and saw a three-piece band on the stage, a guitarist and a fiddler tuning their instruments, a bell-ringer adjusting his bells.

Angharad clutched his arm, her eyes wide with excitement. "Stilo! It's been so long since I've danced." She pointed in the direction of the music. "Let's go there."

He inclined his head. "Anything you want." Passion stirred inside him, and he knew what he wanted, to have her under his spell, so that she would desire no one but him.

With Angharad in tow, Stilo wended his way through the multitudes and headed for the dancing area, past a booth where a juggler entertained the crowd, and a puppet show in the adjoining booth, where dozens of wide-eyed children had gathered with their parents to watch the antics of Etain and Cabell, two whimsical characters popular with the children of Avador.

They reached the dancing area as the groups began to form, four couples in each set, and Stilo led her to the far end, where three couples waited for another to join them. The men and women were all clad in their holiday apparel, the men in fine linen tunics, the women in cotton frocks with a silk sash around their waists. A loud chord from the guitarist announced the start of the dancing as the musicians played a well-known melody, The Love of Alanna, a slow, plaintive song whose lyrics told of a village maiden who lost her lover, killed in battle. The dancing began as the men and women swayed and dipped, moving from one partner to the next person in their circle, clapping their hands at the completion of the round. Then they stepped in the opposite direction, following the same pattern, their footsteps echoing on the wood.

Stilo kept his gaze on Angharad with each movement, his every sense focused on drawing her under his beguilement, so that she would want only him, but more than that, oh, so much more. After tonight, she would belong to him, her body to use for his pleasure, her mind to bend to his will. He noted her eyes sparkling with delight, her luscious smile, those full lips he longed to kiss, the sensuous swing of her body. Angharad. He wondered again if that was her real name, but for now, he wouldn't dwell on that quandary, but rather work his magic on her. Soon, she would be his alone, to keep or discard, or share with another man. Two men and one woman–Angharad–in bed. Ah, what a frolic that would be. Passionate images bombarded him, his arousal at a peak. Breathing deeply, he struggled to suppress his excitement.

Angharad would never want anyone but him, and certainly not Gaderian. A spurt of anger knotted his stomach, and he resolved to forget about that vampire, one who could no longer threaten his plans.

Angharad blinked her eyes and shook her head, as if she sensed he was casting a spell on her. He deepened his concentration and reveled at the look of longing when her eyes met his. His loins tightened, his body on fire until he could think of nothing or no one but Angharad. Before the sun rose on the morrow, she would be lying in his arms, satiated with passion, on fire to join with him again and again.

No one else in their gathering perceived that he was bewitching his prey, for throughout the years, he'd learned to perfect his magic, create the illusion that all remained normal.

Two more slow dances followed, then the tempo of the music increased as the band segued into another popular song, this one about a shipload of sailors with one woman on board their vessel. The men and women clapped their hands and stamped their feet, the women swaying their hips so provocatively that Stilo was well-nigh driven to madness. His every thought centered on Angharad, on lying with her body beneath his. He imagined her shed of her clothes, as if he could see her full breasts, those rose-tipped nipples, the tuft of hair at the junction between her legs. His passion increased, and he forced himself to think of other matters, other people, especially how he would get the best of Gaderian. He clasped Angharad's hand as they met once more in their rhythmic circuit, satisfied that her gaze was only for him. A sexual hunger for her flooded his body, a desire too great to ignore. He couldn't last much longer without taking her over to the bushes and making love to her then and there. He wanted her–now, now, now!

* * *

While the music played and the dancers stepped to the beat, Fianna met Stilo's gaze, his expression ardent and focused, as if she were the only woman in the world . How handsome he was in his dark blue tunic, a red leather belt studded with gold around his waist, his musk scent rather appealing. Gratified she'd gotten such a good bargain on her new green dress, the fake gold necklace , she knew she looked her best.

A disorientation dizzied her, and she almost lost her step, but Stilo tightened his hold on her to prevent her from falling. She glanced around, at first not sure where she was. Ah, she was dancing with Stilo and other men and women, here at the fair grounds. Of course! Bright lights shimmered in front of her eyes, and the music of a thousand violins played in her head. She felt a pull, a dislocation of her senses, then a warm languor washed over her. She was sinking, sinking, sinking into a maelstrom of desire, a longing that rendered her helpless to think of anyone but this man who never took his gaze from her. She teased and taunted him, giving him her most beguiling smile, certain she could lure him into her web of enthrallment.

A sexual yearning overwhelmed her, a longing not to be denied. Forget about Gaderian, she mused with a disdainful toss of her head. Before this night was over, she'd be lying in Stilo's arms and know the true meaning of love, the ultimate closeness between a man and a woman, that coupling she'd never experienced but could only imagine. And for the Goddess's sake, she chided herself, tell him your real name. Mustn't let him continue to call her Angharad if she would spend the rest of her life with him. When would he ask her to marry him? Tonight, she hoped. She couldn't wait to lie in his arms, to feel his lips on hers. The music and dancers, the fair goers faded in the background, so that nothing and no one existed but Stilo, this man who would claim her for his own.

As the tempo of the music increased, she swung her hips and thrust her breasts out, flashing him her most seductive smile, her hair flinging in wild disarray. The other dancers blurred in her vision, the rest of the world shut out. Perspiration beaded her forehead and dampened her clothes, whether from passion or the heat of the night, it didn't matter.

With a crescendo, the music stopped, the dancers flushed and breathing heavily as couples stopped, to catch their breath and talk among themselves. Then they left the dance grounds while the band started packing away their instruments. Overhead, millions of stars glittered in the sky, and a full moon silvered the land. A light breeze cooled her body and lifted her hair from her shoulders, her cotton skirt billowing around her ankles. Her knees shook, every thought on Stilo as he clasped her hand and led her back the way they had come. The fair grounds stood near empty now, most of the crowds gone home.

He looked her way, an expression of longing in his eyes. "Come with me. I want to have you alone."

Burning with desire, she leaned into his embrace. "Oh, yes!"

Chapter Seven

Haunted by thoughts of Fianna, Gaderian rushed from the cave and mounted his horse as soon as the sun sank in the east. Goddess! He'd be glad when his mansion was renovated and he could move in. Hoping Fianna would have the evening off for the fair, he headed in that direction, toward the meadow that bordered the Nantosuelta River.

After stabling his horse, he dashed along the cobblestone streets and cursed himself for not asking Fianna to accompany him to the fair, but a journey to the
village of Sligo had detained him for several days. Word had reached him that another vampire there was killing innocent mortals for food instead of feeding off criminals, this at a time when the vampires were already suspected throughout the kingdom of Avador. The undead must convince the mortals that they provided protection against the bandrega, then and now. Orrick, the leader of the undead, had remained in Moytura to enjoy the charms of his latest mistress, Goddess damn the bastard! With stern persuasion and threat of punishment, Gaderian had convinced the maverick vampire to halt his murder of the innocents.

The entire mission had taken too much time, too many days away from Fianna. He'd seen Stilo's gaze following Fianna in the tavern and feared Stilo's attention boded no good. What if Stilo had escorted Fianna to the fair? His insides clenched at the thought.

Hunger roared inside him. He had gone for days without sustenance, but food must wait. First, he had to find Fianna. Over the years–centuries!–he'd learned to hone his intuitive senses and to trust his instincts. Now he feared the worst.

Lacking the strength to make himself invisible and to transport himself, he hurried past shuttered stores and businesses, heading for
Aventina Way and the meadow beyond. Others passed him along the way, everyone going to the fair. Every few minutes he stopped to rest, furious with himself for going so long without feeding.  His strength was failing him; he couldn't continue much longer.

Next to a sword shop, he heard the fair in the distance–the chatter of countless fairgoers, the laughter of children, a band playing farther on, close by the river. From where he stood, he saw thousands of men, women, and children. How in the name of the Goddess would he find Fianna among the multitudes? Oak branches along the wide avenue tossed in a light breeze, and far off, the Nantosuelta shone by the moonlight, its waters rippling like crystal. A beautiful night for lovers, if only he had Fianna by his side.

Gaderian stopped to rest again as hunger knifed through his belly like a red-hot dagger. Gritting his teeth, he doubled over and pressed his hand to his stomach. Sights and sounds blurred, a meaningless background to his anguish.

With dogged determination, he straightened and plodded on, each step an agony but his goal in sight. Crowds formed as he neared the entrance to the fair, where
Aventina Way ended and the meadow began. The clamor of adults and the screeching of children assaulted his eardrums, another torture he must endure. The stench of mortal food tormented him, a reminder of his own hunger.  He took one more step and stopped by the oak tree that guarded the entrance to the glade. A good place to rest, if only for a few minutes. Sinking down on the warm grass, he leaned his head against the tree trunk, resolved to get up after a brief respite.