Beloved Forever (8 page)

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She awoke with a slight ache in her head. Emily cried out and reached up to touch the wound, searching for the bullet hole. She felt only hair and the skull underneath, which seemed to be configured as it had been during the past twenty years. She turned her head and saw Nicholas sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. Blood had sprayed across his pale chest in heavy spurts and light splatters. A small gob of gray matter clung to his shoulder. “You shot me.”

He nodded. “Yet here you are ten minutes later, with your skull reconstructed, and not even a hair is out of place. You live again, because you’re undead, Emily.”

Her stomach heaved when she sat up. “How could you do that to me? You could have killed me.” She mouthed the words, but her mind didn’t seem focused on her reaction. She was too busy obsessing about the missing memory of the last few minutes. She remembered an incredible pain, then nothing until waking a second ago. Had she truly been dead?

No, that couldn’t be. If she had died and returned, everything he said was true. She was Emma reincarnated, and now a vampire, thanks to him. If she were undead, there would be no escape from him. He would keep her with him forever.

Nevertheless, could she deny what her body told her? She had felt the bullet penetrate her skull before fading away. Yet, there wasn’t even a small hole. Absolutely no proof that she had ever been shot remained, aside from the blood on both of them.

And what of her craving for blood? When drinking from Nicholas’s neck, she hadn’t wanted to stop. She had yearned to drain him dry, until he was a husk of his former self. She had wanted to feel his life flow away, from him to her.

She met his eyes again when he knelt on the bathmat by the tub. “Why me?”

He shrugged. “I can’t say why you were reborn in this form. I don’t control the cosmos.”

Emily blinked back tears of self-pity. “How did you find me?”

“There is a gypsy family I seek out from time to time. Every eighth female descendent of the line has the gift of sight. I have used this family to find you time and again.” His mouth twisted. “It’s inconvenient to wait a couple hundred years or so for one to be born who can find you, but I had no choice.” Nicholas’s eyes grew haunted. “I once thought to turn a daughter into a vampire so she could always find you in each lifetime, but she lost her gift when she changed. She hated me for that.” He shook his head, and his eyes cleared. “It doesn’t matter. This time, nothing will take you from me.”

An icy sensation crawled up her spine with his determined words, but she chose to ignore them. “I don’t understand how those women found me.”

He waved his hand. “Never mind. Suffice it to say, eighty years ago, the last daughter I sought told me to buy a funhouse and travel with the carnival during the summer and early autumn. She said you would come to me, and I would know you instantly.”

Emily shook her head. “But the ticket taker knew me before you ever saw me.”

He nodded. “Tremont is bonded to me. I know all he knows, and I sometimes allow him to know a tiny bit of what I know. I used him to scan each customer, and when I recognized you, he recognized you.” Nicholas frowned. “When the fool warned you, I could have killed him.”

Emily shook her head at her own stupidity. If only she had listened to the deformed man, she wouldn’t be here now.

“Wrong,” he said. “I would have come for you some other way.”

Her eyes widened. “I was thinking that. I didn’t say it aloud.”

Nicholas smiled, and it held a note of tenderness that was unsettling. “You don’t have to. We’ve bonded now, Emily. You drank blood that flowed from my veins. It makes it easier to read your thoughts, but I could before if I concentrated.”

She swallowed thickly. “How long will this last?”

He shrugged.

“How do we reverse it?”

Nicholas lifted a brow. “You wish to break our link?”

“Hell, yeah. I don’t want you creeping around in my thoughts.”

“So I can’t eavesdrop on your futile plans to escape.” He laughed. “You’ll be relieved to hear the strength of the connection weakens as time passes, until our blood mingles again.”

“That won’t happen. This was the only time.” She pursed her lips.

“You must eat, and you aren’t ready to take your own prey yet.” He caressed her cheek with a bloody hand. “It must happen again, my beloved. You can’t fight me forever.”

She crossed her arms. “I can.”

He seemed unconcerned when he stood up. “I’ll go now so you may clean up and rest.”

“I’m tired of resting. I want out of this room.”

His mouth tightened. “Not yet.”

“I can’t wash. I have no clothes.”

A wicked grin flashed across his face. “You don’t need them.”

She glared up at him. “You went to all this trouble to find me and kidnap me, but didn’t even think about clothes?”

“As it happens, I did. They arrived this afternoon, but I forgot about them in the intervening hours.” His eyes darkened. “I was too eager to bond myself with you to focus on garments.”

She slumped. “Oh.” Why did she feel guilty for not responding to his bonding enthusiastically? She owed him nothing—least of all, emotional assurance. “Okay. Where are they?”

“Still in the hall, I imagine. I’ll ensure Tremont hangs the items in your closet while you bathe.” His nose wrinkled. “It is certainly time to indulge in a bath.”

“I can’t help that you’ve kept me unconscious for weeks—”

“Four days,” he interrupted. “The hunger convinced you it was longer, but you’ve been with me four days only.” He walked to the door and stepped through. He glanced back. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said stiffly. “I had to prove to you what you are.”

“Gee, thanks. I appreciate the enlightenment.” She glowered at him.

He inclined his head and disappeared from the doorway. A second later, the bedroom door closed behind him, just before the lock engaged. She marveled at her ability to hear so sharply from such a distance before remembering why she could. She crumpled in the tub and sobbed quietly, assuming his hearing was as good as hers. He had no right to her pain. It was the only thing she could truly call her own now.

Emily took a deep breath, noticing how tight her chest was. Her heartbeat was already sluggish again, and she assumed it would remain so until she fed once more. Did she die permanently if her heart stopped beating again? She would have to ask Nicholas.

She forced her thoughts from feeding, not wanting to dwell on the thought of Nicholas’s arms imprisoning her again. Instead, she turned her attention to showering, paying special attention to the blood crusting her face and hair.

When she emerged from the bath a while later, she wrapped herself in a thick black towel and wiped off the condensation on the mirror. She was pale, but not ghostly white. A tinge of pink remained in her cheeks. “Not too bad for someone who’s died twice this week,” she said to her reflection, with a wry twist of her lips.

Emily unwrapped a toothbrush and spread toothpaste on it. It was strange to brush her fangs, which extended down about an eighth of an inch past her other teeth, meaning she had to open her mouth wide. She couldn’t help but wonder how a dentist would react at her next checkup. Would he tell her blood was bad for her teeth and admonish her to brush more frequently? More likely, he would take one look at the fangs and run away screaming.

She spat out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, fighting back a small grin at the absurd image of herself with fangs and the braces she had worn two years ago. If he had found her sooner, she might have had them for all eternity. That thought erased her amusement, and she sped through brushing her hair with a new brush she took from the package. She kept her gaze averted from the mirror, anxious to avoid her own eyes. They held a disquieting note that hadn’t been present before this night.

After she had dried her hair with a hairdryer she found under the sink, she leaned her head out the bathroom door to scan the room. It was empty, and she padded into the bedroom, leaving the black towel on the counter by the sink. She went straight to the closet to examine the clothes Nicholas had ordered.

She grimaced at the collection of long, flowing dresses, long skirts, and loose, lacy blouses. They were reminiscent of times past, and she disliked them all. She closed the closet and went to the dresser when she noticed one of the drawers hadn’t closed completely. Opening it, she found neatly stacked underwear and bras. The next drawer revealed sleepwear, ranging from practical cotton gowns to sexy nighties. She chose a pair of red silk pajamas, figuring she wouldn’t be leaving the room anytime soon and might as well be comfortable during her captivity.

The remaining two drawers were empty, dashing her hopes of finding any casual, comfortable clothes. Nicholas would just have to pick up some jeans and sweaters for her. Living in a large city—she thought it must be New York, although she had no idea how long they had driven—he shouldn’t have any trouble furnishing her with a suitable wardrobe. Judging from this room alone, he had the funds.

A yawn surprised her when she pulled on the pajama pants. It seemed ridiculous to be sleepy again after spending the last four days in and out of consciousness, but she couldn’t deny the wave of fatigue that swept over her.

It was a struggle to keep her eyes open as she got in the bed. Emily tried, nonetheless. She had no desire to have another dream of her previous lives, but had a feeling they would haunt her until she knew it all. She briefly wondered why she didn’t dream of all her lives as she snuggled against the pillow. Then she remembered snatches of vague dreams from over the years. They were unmemorable, so perhaps the lives they came from had been uneventful. Maybe she would only dream of her lives as Nicholas’s love in such vivid detail. Perhaps he was imposing the dreams on her, even. How many lives could it be? She nodded off while trying to calculate how many times he might have found her in eight hundred years.

Erukán woke with a stiff neck, having slept with it bent sideways. Nicholas lay against her chest, snoring softly. She eased away from him, feeling nature’s call. She grimaced when she slithered toward the exit, as an ache between her thighs made itself known. Three times during the night, he had reached for her, teaching her firsthand about the union of a man and woman.

“Erukán?” he asked in a sleepy voice. “Where are you going?”

“I must return to the village before my father awakens. He is very protective of me.”

He stretched. “I shall come with you.”

She shook her head. “Stay here and rest. No one will disturb you. I will meet you at the beach near sunset.”

He nodded and yawned.

She leaned forward and kissed him on lips, wincing as his fang grazed her lip. Erukán touched his face. “Sleep well, my beloved.”

His eyes closed almost immediately, and he returned to a deep sleep.

She squeezed through the opening of the cave and slipped on the dress, feeling lightheaded, and swaying when she stood completely upright. Erukán paused a moment to regain her strength before hurrying down the mountain. The sun was growing progressively brighter as she cut across the beach, before creeping toward the village.

She was near the village when the stench hit her. The mingled scent of smoke and blood caused her already quick feet to break into a run. She was breathless when she entered the village.

Erukán froze, at first too stunned to recognize what she saw. Then it hit her, and she fell to her knees, vomiting. Several of the younger men who had quietly voiced discontent with the Spaniards hung suspended from thin wooden poles with sharpened ends. Most had been impaled through the bowels, and the sharp edge of the pole, coated with gore, extended from their necks. The Spaniards had chosen to skin the remaining men. Having witnessed their cruelty firsthand, she knew the men had probably been alive at the time.

The smell of smoke came from the burned homes and several pyres of burning bodies. They were stacked haphazardly, and many had fallen from the piles. Several of the Spaniards were still in the process of carrying dead bodies to the fires, but made no move to remove the young men from their grisly poses.

She turned to run and heard shouts behind her. Knowing she couldn’t lead them to Nicholas, she veered away from the beach. Erukán ran with all her strength, but didn’t get far before someone tackled her, knocking her to the ground. She choked on the sand clogging her mouth and nose.

The soldier rolled her over and straddled her with a leer on his face. “Urayoán’s daughter. The governor will be pleased.” He ran his hand up her thigh. “It is a pity I have no time to savor you. You must not be late for your father’s execution.”

Erukán refused to believe his words. She kicked out at him when he lifted and dropped her over his shoulder. Her nose wrinkled at the odor of his musty cotton shirt. It smelled of sweat, blood and smoke. She continued to kick her legs as he strode across the beach and returned to the village.

They passed the remains of the rectangular caneyes, including the fine one she had shared with her father until last evening. Whoever set fire to the wooden frame and straw had ripped apart their home first. Her father’s canoe had survived the fire and pillaging, but it was the final resting place of a young Carib child, whose blood had seeped into the wooden frame. Throughout the village, she saw similar destruction, and several dead bodies the soldiers hadn’t gotten around to disposing of yet.