Beloved Forever (28 page)

“You dared touch what was mine. She paid for allowing your filthy hands on her body.” He stared up at her body with glee on his face before returning his gaze to Nicholas. “You shall join her, Vallsade.”

Nicholas paid little attention to the two men coming at him. He rushed forward, pausing only to snap the neck of one and rip out the heart of the other before reaching Tremont. The other man’s arrogant façade shattered when confronted with the heart Nicholas shoved against his face as he jerked him closer by the ruff of his shirt. “I would love to make you eat your own heart, Tremont.”

Tremont began to quake with fear. “My men will kill you—”

He shoved the bloody heart into the other man’s mouth, effectively silencing him. “None will be alive when I have finished with this place.” He threw Tremont into the corner, impaling him on a pitchfork tine through the shoulder. “You shall be the last to feel my wrath.”

The other man spat out the heart and a mouthful of vomit before struggling to regain his feet. He screamed as the tines worked their way deeper into his flesh.

With a simple thought, Nicholas immobilized Tremont before beginning his bloody work. The sweet sounds of Tremont’s sobs followed him into the night as he left the barn.

He got lost in a mindless haze of blood, stopping only when everyone on the plantation who wasn’t an innocent was dead. He returned to Tremont, bearing his gift wrapped in a bundle.

The other man had pissed himself, Nicholas noted with disgust, as he returned to the barn. Tremont was a trembling mass of nerves as he towered over him. “Now, it is your turn, Tremont.” He smiled down at him. “However, I will not kill you. I have thought of a better punishment for you. Yes, you shall live with your pain each day, as I must now live with mine.”

“Wh-wh…” he stuttered before falling silent.

Nicholas tossed the bundle at him. It spilled open, revealing the lifeless body of Tremont’s son. His garment was soaked in blood from the wound at his neck.

He screamed and reached for the boy, forgetting Nicholas’s power didn’t allow him to move. The tines of the pitchfork embedded more deeply into his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to notice as he struggled against Nicholas’s mental command without effect. “My son. You killed my son!”

Nicholas knelt beside him. “And you killed the only woman I have ever loved.” He touched an edge of the bloody blanket wrapped around the dead child. “Nonetheless, it wasn’t I who killed your child. His frantic mother denied me that pleasure. She thought it better for him to die by a merciful cut of her dagger than by my hand.”

“Johanna,” he whispered. Tears welled in his eyes. “Barty. Please, let me hold him.”

The note of pleading in the man’s tone gratified Nicholas, but he wasn’t finished torturing Tremont yet. “I really must tell you something else first.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice an octave. “As evil as you are, I would never have murdered an infant to punish you. She killed your son for naught.”

A keening wail broke from the man, as surely as his spirit broke right then, but Nicholas was beyond seeing the man’s surrender. He had learned several things under the cruel tutelage of Koss, including how to create an eternal slave. He wanted to relish in Tremont’s suffering every day for the rest of his life. With luck, that would span millennia.

1831, England (Vallsade Manor)

With a savage shout, Nicholas plunged the sword through his brother’s throat, pinning him to the stone steps. He saw William’s eyes widen with surprise before they grew dim as he passed from the world forever.

To ensure he did the job properly, Nicholas severed the head with one clean swipe and impaled it on the sword. He tossed aside the sword, separating the head and body by several feet.

Then he rushed up the stairs to the chamber he shared with Erin. In his heart, he knew Koss had killed her, but had to make sure. Perhaps she wasn’t completely dead. Maybe he could still save her, although it had been more than a day since her murder.

When he found his wife, laid peacefully across the bed and cuddling the body of their daughter against her chest—slightly above the gaping cut in her abdomen where William had cut out the baby—his cry of agony rebounded throughout Vallsade Manor.

Chapter Fifteen

Emily awoke with the sound of Nicholas’s suffering still echoing in her ears. The images of the dreams whirled through her mind, and she lay absolutely still, struggling to comprehend all she had learned about him through his memories.

When she finally found the ability to move, she turned her head to look at him. He watched her with a brooding expression, not attempting to evade meeting her eyes, but there was a tinge of red in his cheeks, as if their shared intimacy embarrassed him. She licked her lips, wondering what she should say, if anything.

He put his finger to her lips before she could part them. “You know my secrets now.”

She shook her head, pulling away from his fingers. “Not all of them.”

His lips twisted. “What is it you want to know? Do you want an account of every atrocity I committed for nearly three centuries, punishing the world and myself for your death? Do you want to hear how I lived without hope, how I loathed happiness in any form, going so far as to destroy it each chance I got?” He lunged toward her, settling on top of her and pinning her to the bed with her wrists above her head. “Do you want me to tell you about the women I raped and murdered? About the debauched acts I committed?” He shook her less than gently. “Well, do you, Emily? Do you want to know how evil I am?”

She shook her head, disconcerted to realize she found his proximity more arousing than she found his anger frightening. “I don’t need the details. I know very well you aren’t a saint.”

He scowled. “Of course you do. Poor, innocent Emily subjected to whatever I choose to do to you. You’re another of my victims, aren’t you?” he asked bitterly.

She held her silence, not certain what he wanted from her. If she agreed with him, she risked provoking his anger further and having it directed at her specifically. However, that thought didn’t frighten her as much as it might have once. What she found most alarming was the thought of his tenuous control slipping, making him unable to function at all. They couldn’t afford for him to fall apart while they were still in danger.

She knew why he was attacking her. She was a target for his conflicting emotions, a way to deal with his grief and the discomfort of her having seen so much of the real him. The question was, how did she respond to his lashing out at her? Was it better to counter his statements or ignore them and pretend they didn’t hurt?

“You’re so quiet. Do I frighten you?”

She didn’t respond while struggling to hide her fear.

Nicholas released one of her wrists to caress her breast through the cotton pajama top. “Or maybe you aren’t afraid. Maybe you like me being in control.” He lowered his mouth to her cheek, and when he spoke, his lips brushed against her skin. “Maybe you want to pretend you don’t want me so you can live with yourself after we have sex. You can convince yourself I forced you into this, too.”

She glared up at him. With a surge of strength, she broke free of his hold and cupped his face in her hands. “You scare me. Is that what you want to hear?” Before he could respond, she pressed on. “There’s a darkness in your soul that you will never overcome completely. That does frighten me, but not like it should. Maybe because I know the same dark compulsions are inside me too. I could say everything that’s happened to me is your fault, but there’s no reason to go down that road again, is there? I can accept what’s been done to me, or I can hide from it, but there isn’t any point in blaming you.” Her brow furrowed. “After all, you were honoring a promise you made to Erin when you changed me.”

His eyes darkened, and he opened his mouth.

Emily interrupted before he could speak. “And I’m not having sex with you. Not like this.” She glared up at him. “If—when—we make love, it will be because I’m ready, not because you’re hurting, and you want to hide from your grief for a while.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Make love to me because you want me, not because you want me to hurt, too.”

Nicholas flinched and pulled his face from her hands. He rolled off her and didn’t look at her as he got out of bed. His tone was bland when he said, “Get ready. Brannon will have booked us on the earliest available flight by now.” He padded to the door, pausing to scoop up his clothes from the chair where he had folded them. “I’ll shower in his bathroom to save time.”

The resounding slam of the door behind him made Emily wince. She resisted the urge to run after him and offer comfort. She knew he was in pain, but refused to allow him to take it out on her. Nor would she let his anger and heartache overshadow her first time with him. With a long sigh, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower, hoping they would have both calmed down by the time they spoke again.

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, Emily left the bedroom and entered the sitting room, clutching the lapels of the robe closed with her hands as she searched the sitting room for Nicholas. She grimaced when her gaze fell on Brannon, who still wore his sunglasses. She rolled her eyes at the affectation before turning to go back into the bedroom.

“Emily?”

She halted in mid-step. “Yeah?”

“Are you looking for Nicholas?”

“No. Yes. Actually, I’m looking for clothing.” She waved a hand at the robe. “I don’t want to wear this to the airport.”

He nodded. “There were some boxes delivered this morning. I guess Nicholas made arrangements last night.” He pointed toward the main door of the suite. “They’re by the entryway table.”

She walked over to the small stack and opened one at random. Lifting the lid revealed a pair of ecru linen trousers. The next box yielded a black silk shirt with a frilly yoke. The next box held underwear, and the last box contained a pair of black slip-on shoes. They were all in her size.

She lifted the stack and turned back to the bedroom. A few feet from the door, she stopped and turned toward him, striving for a casual tone. “Where is Nicholas?”

Brannon shrugged. “He went out. He probably went to see about Father Michael’s burial arrangements or to say goodbye in private. It will be a while before we return to New York.”

She shifted the boxes. “How long is a while?”

“Until we stop Koss. It could take years. Nicholas has begun preparing Vallsade Manor for a long habitation, just in case.”

She grimaced. “Sounds terrific.”

He shrugged. “It’s not so bad, although there isn’t much to do out in the middle of nowhere.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t the people nearby find it strange, having Nicholas never age?”

Brannon shook his head. “Nicholas is careful to reside at Vallsade Manor no more than once a generation, and for no longer than fifteen or twenty years. Before he moves away, he always announces the birth of the next in his line. Nicholas is then ‘reborn’, keeping his first and last name, but changing his middle name. That’s how most vampires do it, although it’s gotten tougher since everyone’s lives started getting tracked electronically from the moment they’re born.”

“No one’s ever been suspicious?” she pressed.

He shrugged again. “In the old days, people might have realized what he was, but no one pays much attention now. The village near the castle is a ghost town these days, with economic conditions the way they are.”

She nodded and turned back to the bedroom. Emily paused. “Do you really think it will take years for Koss to act?”

He hesitated. “I’m not certain. He has a history of prolonging the torture, but I can’t imagine him allowing Nicholas to be happy with you for long. Nicholas is preparing for the worst.”

She grimaced as she went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. While dressing quickly, she mulled over Brannon’s dour assessment. By the time years had passed, there would be no way for her to return home without people realizing she had been gone. They would naturally expect an explanation, if they even wanted to see her. Everyone would have forgotten about her by then, or at least moved on, including her parents and Jeremy.

She wondered if Nicholas also thought it might take years. Had his offer to let her go home been an empty promise to placate her? Was he still manipulating her, even now? What if Koss wasn’t really his enemy, but was instead his ally? Would he stage this elaborate charade to keep her with him?

An image of Tremont’s torn body rose in her mind, followed by the memory of Michael impaled on the sword. Coupled with the dreams she’d had through Nicholas’s eyes, there could be no doubt that Koss truly meant her harm, simply because Nicholas loved her.

For now, her safest course was to remain with Nicholas and his nephew. She only prayed it wouldn’t take years to deal with Koss. She couldn’t tiptoe around Nicholas that long, let alone prevent falling in love with him…if it wasn’t already too late to avoid doing that.

* * * * *

The flight from JFK to Heathrow had been unremarkable, save for the incident with her passport in New York. When they arrived at the counter to check in, Emily realized she didn’t have one. She had pulled Nicholas away to tell him, but he waved aside her concern. She had watched with amazement as he slid his and Brannon’s to the clerk, who had given Emily a puzzled look, but after meeting Nicholas’s eyes, stamped their passports and a Post-It note on the counter before sending them on their way, handing the Post-It to Emily.

She had spent most of the plane ride napping, or at least pretending to. Nicholas had ignored her, and Brannon’s handheld video game held his attention. She had disregarded her hurt feelings and retaliated by pretending neither of them existed.

Now, as they left the huge hanger to hail a cab, she fumbled in her purse for sunglasses when the bright sun seared her eyes and saw Nicholas do the same. Brannon had never removed his.

As she walked, the stiffness in her legs began to dissipate. She hardly noticed the sting of returning circulation as she gazed at the people milling about. A babble of different languages mixed disharmoniously, and her eyes widened when they fell on a man about her age wearing a kilt. She couldn’t help but appreciate his muscular legs. When he winked at her, she blushed and looked away, straight into Nicholas’s eyes.

He looked angry, but didn’t speak when opening the door to a cab and indicating she should slide inside. Emily did so, surprised when Brannon sat beside her, and Nicholas took the front seat. She frowned when he got on the driver’s side, until she remembered they drove on the wrong side of the street in England—although she supposed the residents of the UK didn’t consider it the wrong side.

“Probably not,” Brannon murmured out the side of his mouth. He had his head cocked sideways and didn’t seem to have his eyes on the game, but continued to play.

She glared at him as she leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “Do you always read my thoughts?”

He shrugged. “I try not to, but you don’t have a good shield in place yet. You’ll learn.”

“If I live long enough,” she muttered under her breath, as the driver pulled away from the curb. She would have been reassured if Brannon had offered even a token platitude, but he held his silence. She leaned back against the seat and watched the city of London pass through the window without really seeing anything.