In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Second Season: Episodes 6-10 (27 page)

“I'm leaving the door open,” Armando answered briskly before brushing past her.

“Fine. Whatever.”

With a weary shake of his head, Armando stepped out.

Swallowing the threat of tears, she refused to cry. To mourn Roman meant he was truly gone. Undressing, she flinched as the blood-soaked garments clung wetly to her skin. She had to peel off her tights, the material rasping as the drying blood flaked off to spot the floor. That sight finally loosed the torrent of her emotions.

Sobbing, she was blinded by her tears. She started to wipe at her wet face with her hands, but realized she would only smear Roman's blood over her face.  Flexing her fingers, she whimpered. When she’d been downstairs, she hadn't wanted to wash away the blood, but now she was desperate to do so. A swift kick sent her pile of clothes into one corner. She stepped into the hot stream and cried as the water around her feet became red.

Roman's blood.

Laying her hands on the warming tiles of the shower, Vanora wept. She mourned not only for her brother's second death, but the first. Since the night the vampire had killed Roman, their lives had never been the same no matter how hard Roman had strove to make it so. Death had come into their lives and had never left. Rhonda was gone. Roman was gone. And Vanora knew that soon Death would return again for those she loved. Lorelei would come again for Alisha and the others, and Vanora couldn't stand the thought of losing her sister.

In the wake of Roman’s death, Vanora now fully understood that Alisha was trapped forever in a world of violence and blood from which there was no escape. Alisha had tried for years to not be entangled in the reality of her new nature for Vanora's sake, but it had finally overwhelmed her that Halloween night. Tonight, her sister had absorbed Roman's blood and power because she'd had no choice. The legacy of blood and death lived on in their family.

No matter how hard Vanora tried to deny it, she, too, existed in this world of endless darkness and death. She was tainted with this knowledge. It had cast a shadow over her life in Austin, preventing her from finding true happiness. Though her mother in her visions had urged her to escape fate, Vanora wondered if it was even possible.

The darkness was swallowing her whole.

Vanora felt as though she were dying and yet being reborn all at the same time.  The mortal girl who had tried so hard to live a normal life was slipping away. Maybe that version of herself had been just a guise to hide away her true self. Rhonda had been her anchor to the mortal world and now she was gone. With Roman dead, there was no one to stop her from falling into the darkness and being consumed. Even in her dreams, Armando wasn’t her savior, but her killer.

The water streaming from her white-blond hair was pink. There was blood in her hair.

The last vestiges of shock gave way beneath the onslaught of her grief. Vanora had felt removed from all the events of the evening, detached from the physical world. No longer was that the case. The terror of the nigh flooded in on her and overwhelmed her senses. She was acutely aware of the coppery smell of blood on her hands as she covered her face to shield it from the almost too-hot water.

The ragged cry that bellowed out of her was filled with rage and despair.

Collapsing against the wall, her fingers scrubbed at her white hair. Long threads of pink ran free of the wet tresses. Vanora reached for the shampoo, but her knees buckled and she dropped heavily to the bottom of the shower.

A second later Armando was next her. The hot spray billowed around them as Armando kneeled at her side. The water instantly soaked his dark hair and clothing, but he didn't take notice.

“Vanora?”

“I can't get his blood out of my hair,” Vanora wailed, daring to look up at the vampire.

In silence, Armando plucked the shampoo from the recessed shelf. He poured some onto his hands and gently started to wash her hair.

Sniffling, Vanora drew her legs up to her chest to rest her cheek against her knees. “You're getting wet.”

“It's fine.” Armando's elegant hands deftly massaged the shampoo into her hair.

Now that the dam had broken and unleashed her tears, she felt as though she would never stop. She mourned not only her brother, but Rhonda. If only she could have saved them somehow.

“It’s out now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” Armando tenderly wrapped one arm around her and raised her to her feet. Holding her against him, he rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair.

Vanora dared to look at her body and was relieved to see that the water was now running clear and her white skin was no longer stained red.

The vampire cut off the water and helped her step out of the steamy shower and into the cold air of the bathroom. Instantly, she began to shiver. Armando lifted her onto the counter and perched her there while he grabbed towels and wrapped them around her. Throughout, Vanora sobbed, unable to stop.

“You're so cold,” he said worriedly.

Vanora couldn't think of an answer, so she merely shrugged. Her fingers quivered against her collarbone as she sought out her cross.  With a tenderness that Vanora should have expected from him, Armando towel dried her hair.  She could see the concern in his golden eyes, but he remained silent. It was as if he knew she couldn't stand to talk about what had occurred. When he finished, he found her bathrobe on the hook behind the door and helped her into it. The soft terry cloth felt good against her cold skin.

“I think you should lay down for a little bit,” he said at last. “You look far too pale.”

“I
am
albino.” The hitches in her voice made it difficult to speak.

“Your heart is racing,” he said, averting his eyes. “Your eyes are still a little glassy.”

“Oh.”

“Can you walk on your own?”

Vanora nodded. Sliding off the counter, she was hit with a wave of nausea.  She gripped his wet shirt to keep from falling. “Or maybe not.”

Armando guided her into the bedroom and to her bed. His hair was dripping water onto the floor and his soaked clothes clung to his body. Vanora felt a pang of guilt that he had to come to her rescue, but she was also grateful. He helped her under the covers and pulled blankets on her. Crouching beside the bed, he gripped her hand in his. The gentle kisses he pressed to her fingers were sweet and soothing.

His amber eyes holding her gaze, he said, “I'm sorry about Roman.”

“He was going to leave. Tonight. He said so. Then
she
showed up.” The tightness of her throat made it hard to speak and her voice came out in small breathy increments.

Closing his eyes, Armando pressed his forehead to her hand. “You always had a special way with him. I knew you would get him to listen to reason.  I just didn't realize it was too late. He loved you so much.”

It hurt to hear the words, but Vanora knew they were true. So much was lost now. She wished fervently she had never left home. Maybe it wouldn't have changed Roman's fate, but she would have had more precious moments with him.

The sound of raised voices in the hallway drew their attention. Armando immediately rose to his feet just as Vanora recognized the noise was Sheila and Alisha arguing.

“I'm going to go check on what’s going on, okay?” It was obvious he was reluctant to leave her side. It was comforting.

Vanora nodded and half-heartedly let go of his hand.

Striding to the door, Armando opened it and peered out.

“You need to calm the fuck down,” Sheila's voice shouted somewhere down the hall.

Vanora wiped at her face with the sleeve of her robe and rolled over to watch Armando listen to the argument raging in the hallway.

“Alexander,” Armando called out.

The mute vampire appeared in the doorway, an eyebrow lifting upward at the sight of Armando's wet clothes and hair.

“Can you watch Vanora for me?”

Alexander nodded, slipped past Armando, and walked to Vanora's side. Though a part of her was peeved that Armando felt she needed a sitter, she recognized the dire situation they were all in. When Alexander sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on hers, her discomfort immediately dissipated. Alexander squeezed her fingers tenderly.

“I'm going to go see what I can do about that,” Armando said, then slipped out.

The raised voices grew even louder even though the door shut behind Armando. Vanora rolled onto her back and stared up through her canopy. Everything was different. Everything was horribly wrong. The darkness had washed over them all. She was drowning in her tears and despair.

Yet, she couldn't allow herself to just give into the rising tide of evil.

But what could she do?

Alisha stared at the gilded box resting on Roman’s desk. Next to it was the hated rosewood stake that had stolen him from her. The desire to pick it up and smash it against the desk until the hated thing was nothing more than splinters was difficult to fight. Her fingers twitched with the need for violence. It her vampire nature speaking and she forced herself to step away from the desk. She had never been an aggressive person until she’d been reborn into the dark life. It wouldn’t benefit her or Vanora if she were to give into those feral feelings now.

Vanora.

Struggling against tears, Alisha wondered how the hell she would be able to protect her sister. Roman had always been the strong leader while Alisha had been content to follow in his wake. Now he was gone and, as the eldest, she was the new head of the family. She hoped she had the strength to pick up his mantle. It would be a heavy weight to bear, but she was willing to take it on. She was a Socoli after all and they were survivors by nature.

Yet, shouldn’t she have been able to do more to save Roman? She’d had been warned so many times in her paintings yet she had failed him.

The paintings.

The oracles were the bane of her existence. For years she’d been painting images that she tried to interpret, but not always was able to discern. Fresh anger blossomed inside her at the thought of the many paintings she had hidden away in her secret cubby. The truth was in them, yet she had difficulty understanding their meaning. Alisha’s eyes widened slightly as her mind anxiously rummaged through her memories and the images she had painted.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered.

Sheila raised her head. She was seated with Alexander on the other sofa. They had both been silently mourning while keeping her company.

“No, it’s not,” Sheila answered.

“Yes, it is. I’ve been missing all the signs. All of them! I still am! And Vanora needs me not to.”

“Are you talking about your paintings?” Sheila scooted to the edge of the sofa and leaned forward to stare at her.

Alisha nodded, biting on her bottom lip.

“You yourself said they’re vague and open to interpretation. You can’t blame yourself if you missed something.”

Alexander nodded gravely in agreement.

“No! No! I’m not missing
something
. I’m missing everything!” Alisha was certain of it. Her gift was useless if she couldn’t uncover the secret meanings of the paintings.

Standing, Sheila shook her head. “You can’t say that. You can’t blame yourself!”

“I saw Roman’s death over and over again in my paintings and I couldn’t stop it! What’s the point of my gift if it doesn’t actually save anyone?” With an angry snarl of frustration, Alisha snatched the rosewood branch from the desk, but instead of smashing it, she stormed out of the study clutching it. “Fuck this!”

“Alisha!” Sheila pursued her.

Brushing Angel and Ben aside, Alisha briefly saw Tracy and Emily standing in the doorway to the family room. The vampires looked after her with concern as she fled up the stairs with Sheila and Alexander trailing close behind.

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself, so back off!” Alisha said sharply to Sheila.

“Then what are you doing? Because you look crazed right now!”

“What am I doing?” Alisha spun about to face her friend. “I’m trying to do something to save us!”

Sheila’s narrow face was flushed and her eyes flamed. “Okay. Fine. Then why are you holding that?”

“Because...because...” Alisha wasn’t actually certain why she had grabbed it. “I don’t know. I just know that my paintings are hiding something. Something important and I’m missing it.”

“Roman died because some stupid old bitch decided to kill him. That’s not on you!” Sheila stepped forward, her thin frame surprisingly intimidating.

“It’s all on me because I’m the fuckin’ witch who can’t figure out her own shit!” Alisha shouted back.

Alexander pointed to a door and Alisha realized it was Vanora’s bedroom.

“Fuck!” Alisha spun about and headed toward her studio. She didn’t want to upset her sister further, but with their world in shambles, Alisha knew she had to do something before she went crazy. Exactly what she needed to do eluded her. She was going on sheer instinct.

“You need to calm the fuck down,” Sheila called after her.

Once in her art studio, Alisha tossed the rosewood stake onto her work table before she stormed over to the secret panel and opened it. She didn’t care who saw her secret stash anymore. Yanking out the canvases, she started to fling them into a heap in the center of the studio.