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Authors: Amanda Ashley

Moonlight (5 page)

BOOK: Moonlight
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“Come with me,” she purred, her voice low and husky and
filled with the promise of rapture. “Together, we will explore the darkness of
your new world.”

Navarre stared at her slim white hand, but made no move to
take it. “Katlaina…” He whispered her name as if it would banish the terror
from his heart.

“She will not have you now, my handsome one. Come with me! I
will teach you to hunt the night.” She caressed his cheek. “I will show you the
world.”

“No.” He recoiled from her touch, from the predatory gleam
in her eyes. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe any of this.”

She drew herself up to her full height, her eyes blazing
dark fire because he had scorned her.

“You will believe, come the dawn,” she hissed. “Be happy in
your new life, my Navarre. Mayhap we will meet again one day.”

He stared at her, certain she must be mad, and then, as she
dissolved into a mist and disappeared before his eyes, he was certain it was he
who was mad.

He ran to the doors, but there was no latch on the inside.
Hands curled into fists, he pounded on the wood.

“Let me out of here! For the love of God, let me out!” He
screamed until his voice was raw, but to no avail.

He felt the hours of the night passing, and then, to his
amazement, he felt the coming of the dawn, felt the promise of its heat burning
in his blood.

With a hoarse cry, he beat his fists upon the doors again.
Tears of frustration scalded his cheeks and when he wiped them away, he saw
that his tears were tinged red with blood.

Frightened and confused, he sank to his knees in the middle
of the floor. His blood. He could feel it growing hotter in his veins. What was
happening to him?

He glanced up as a faint ray of sunshine struck the eastern
windows, cried out as the brightness burned his eyes. And then a reflected ray
of sunlight touched his skin. Pain shot up his arm and he scrambled to his
feet, searching for a place to hide.

But the room was empty save for the throne, the altar. And
the coffin.

He stared at it in horror and then, as he felt the heat of
the sun scorch his bare back, he sprinted across the floor, jumped into the
coffin, and quickly closed the lid.

And still he felt the sun climbing in the sky, felt its heat
drain his strength, felt his limbs grow heavy and unresponsive as the very life
seemed to drain from his body.

His last conscious thought was that she had lied, for surely
this was death, and then blackness engulfed him, dragging him down, down, into
a stygian sea of oblivion.

 

Chapter Seven

 

He woke to darkness. Disoriented, he remained still. And
then he remembered where he was and panic raced through him. With a cry, he
raised his hands, throwing back the lid of the coffin.

Breathing heavily, he vaulted over the side. It hadn’t been
a dream, after all.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he walked to the door and
pounded on it with his fists.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?”

Again and again, he pounded on the door, but there was no
response.

He glanced up at the windows, and saw that it was dark out.
He had slept through the day.

And he was hungry, hungry in a way he had never been before.
A terrible searing pain lanced through his whole body, as if every nerve were
on fire. His stomach clenched. He was hungry, so hungry. He felt as if he hadn’t
eaten in weeks instead of hours.

He prowled the room, his hands roaming over the thick stone,
seeking a hidden passage that would lead him out, but there was nothing. Only
cold stone walls, and windows that were beyond his reach.

And the hunger, growing stronger, clawing relentlessly at
his belly, until he thought he would go mad from the pain.

He sat on the throne, his legs drawn up to his chest,
shivering convulsively.

He was going to die, after all, he thought, not at the hands
of the goddess, but of pain and starvation.

Driven by the agony that knifed through his body, he climbed
down from the throne, staggered back and forth across the floor like a drunken
man. It was then he saw it, an iron handle recessed in one of the stones.
Thinking it might be a way out, he took hold of the iron ring, lifting the
square of stone from the floor.

He stared into the hole, too stunned to move, paralyzed by the
sight that met his gaze. For there, piled one upon the other like pieces of
firewood, were the skeletons of the men who had been sacrificed to the goddess,
their decaying bones gleaming whitely in the darkness.

He swallowed the nausea that rose in his throat as he
realized that the scattering of bones lying on the top of the grotesque mound
was all that was left of his father.

Sickened, he turned away, the horror of what he’d seen
smothered by the ever-increasing pain that gnawed at his vitals, drugging his
senses, making coherent thought all but impossible.

With the coming of dawn, he went to the door again, pounding
on the thick wood with all his might, screaming for help, but to no avail. And
at last, the burning rays of the dawn drove him to seek the protective darkness
of the coffin once more.

He was going mad, he thought as he closed the lid. Surely he
had to be mad to think the sun would burn his flesh. Certainly only a man would
crawl into a coffin to hide from the dawn.

And then he felt it again, the creeping lethargy that stole
over him, slowly stealing life and breath. It wasn’t the enervation of sleep,
he thought as the darkness dragged him down, but the emptiness of death.

He woke at the setting of the sun, the hunger clawing at
him. He climbed out of the coffin, then went to sit on the throne of the
goddess. He was astonished at the clarity of his vision. Fighting the hunger
that raged through him, he stared at the moonlight reflected on the cold stone
floor, mesmerized by the beauty of the pale light, at the rainbow colors
contained in a single ray of light.

He stared up at the windows, at the stars visible through
the thick panes of dark glass.

And the hunger gnawed at him.

A quarter of a century, he thought. It would be a quarter of
a century before the priests brought the next sacrifice.

A cry was torn from his throat as he imagined the priests
bringing his son to this place. His son.

Rage rose up within him, stronger than the hunger.

He bolted to his feet and found himself standing at the door
even before he realized that was where he wanted to go. How had he moved so
fast, so silently?

Katlaina. He had to see Katlaina.

But how?

He remembered seeing Shaylyn dissolve into a mist. Did he
also have the power to change his shape? What if he turned into some shapeless
vapor and couldn’t return to his own form? He brushed his fear aside. Anything
would be better than this.

“Katlaina.” Murmuring her name, he closed his eyes and tried
to imagine his body transforming into mist.

He felt an odd weightlessness and when he opened his eyes,
his body was gone. Frightened, yet exhilarated, he willed himself to slip under
the door. A moment later, he was outside.

He willed himself to return to his own form, knew a moment
of fear, followed by a surge of relief as he took on his own shape once again.

Navarre drew in a deep breath, his nostrils filling with a
thousand scents and odors, his mind racing to sort them all out. The fragrant
scent of grass and flowers and earth, the musty stench of a dead animal lying in
the brush, the heavy odor of manure and stale sweat, the not unpleasant smell
of horses and cattle, sheep and cows.

He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but the sounds and
scents continued to assault him. And then voices poured into his mind—a man and
woman whispering in the distant shadows, the chanting of the priests in Stone
Hall Keep’s chapel, a baby’s cry, a mother’s lullaby. He heard the lowing of
cattle, the faint fluttering of wings as an owl passed overhead, a horse pawing
the earth, the clang of a bell, the scrape of a boot heel, the sound of
footsteps growing nearer.

And then his whole being focused on a single scent.

The scent of blood. Warm. Fresh.

He swung around, his nostrils flaring, his mouth watering,
And then he was running through the darkness, overcome by an ancient urge that
he could neither control nor resist.

The peasant reared back, his eyes wide with fright, when
Navarre appeared at his side.

Navarre saw it all in a glance: the terror in the man’s
eyes, the bright red blood dripping from the man’s arm where he had cut it
while trying to right an overturned cart. Blood that seemed to shimmer and glow
with a life of its own.

He saw it and smelled it, and then, with a low growl, he was
on the man, his hands holding the peasant immobile while he bent over the
creature’s neck, his teeth piercing the man’s throat, unleashing a torrent of
crimson.

The blood poured down Navarre’s throat, hot and thick and
rich, carrying the essence of life. He felt the violent pounding of the man’s
heart, tasted his fear, felt the man’s very soul ebbing away…

With a cry, Navarre tossed the man aside, a cry of horror
rising in his throat when he realized what he’d done. He stared at the blood on
his hands, felt its warmth trickling down his chin, tasted the last moist drops
on his tongue.

Filled with self-loathing, Navarre dropped to his knees, his
face buried in his hands. His blood-stained hands. What had he done? What had
he become, that the scent of blood had driven him to attack a man and drain him
of life?

Sickened, he knelt there for hours, trying to comprehend the
changes that had come upon him. His hearing was keen, his vision vastly
improved, so that even the darkness held no secrets. And his strength…he
recalled Shaylyn telling him he would have the strength of a hundred men. He
licked his lips. Even the horror of what he’d done couldn’t completely
obliterate the ecstasy that had come to him when he… His stomach clenched as he
relived what he had done. He had torn open the man’s throat and drank his
blood. It had been like absorbing the very essence of another human being,
embracing his hopes and dreams.

Slowly, Navarre rose to his feet. And then, with no effort
at all, he righted the heavy cart with a flip of his wrist. It took even less
effort to lift the body and place it inside.

Confused and afraid, Navarre stared at his hands. He felt
strong. He felt as though he could tear down mountains, as if he could run
forever without tiring, as if he could fly. But he no longer felt human.

Mind reeling, he walked toward the white domed building that
held Katlaina and his son. Nearing a stream, he paused long enough to wash the
blood from his face and hands, and then, taking a deep breath, he approached
the building.

He had no trouble getting past the guards on the first
floor. No trouble finding the room that held Katlaina and his babe. The door
was locked, but it was useless against the power of his hands.

And then he was in her room, crossing the floor, gazing down
at the bed where she slept, the child cradled against her breast. An oil lamp,
turned low, cast its pale yellow light over the curve of her cheek.

“Katlaina.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, she stared at him.
And then she frowned.

“Navarre?”

He nodded.

“But…how can it be?” She sat up, her long black hair
spilling over her shoulders, her green eyes filled with hope and doubt. “Is it
really you?”

He nodded, his gaze moving from her face to the child
sleeping in her arms.

She drew the blanket back so he could better see the infant.
“This is your son.”

An emotion Navarre had never known swelled within his heart
as he stared at the child. The boy was small and perfect. “Can I…can I hold
him?”

“Of course.”

Awkwardly, he reached for the child, marveling at how tiny
it was. His son. He held him for a long while, running his fingertip over the
smooth, downy cheek, stroking a lock of fine black hair, smiling as he examined
the boy’s dimpled hands and feet.

“Are you well, Navarre?”

He nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“I…you look different, somehow.”

“Different?” He stared at her over the baby’s head,
wondering if she could see the change in him. “How?”

“I am not sure.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the mirror on the wall, felt
his heart skip a beat when he saw that he cast no reflection in the glass. He could
see Katlaina, he could see the child, but it was as if he were not there.

“Here, take him,” he said, thrusting the baby toward her.

“What is it?” Sitting up, she placed the baby on the bed. “What
is wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

Feeling suddenly cold all over, he lifted her to her feet
and drew her into his arms. She was as warm and soft as he remembered, and he
needed her warmth as never before, needed to be held, to feel the reassurance
of her love.

Murmuring her name, he covered her mouth with his. Desire
rose up within him. Desire for her sweet flesh. Desire for…

He shook the thought away, repulsed. What kind of monster
had he become, to crave the taste of her blood?

“Navarre, what is it? Can you not tell me?”

He shook his head, horrified by the hunger rising within
him.

He felt his teeth lengthening, felt his fingers digging into
her flesh. Almost, he could taste of warmth of her blood trickling over his
tongue, down his throat…

“Navarre! Navarre, stop, you are hurting me!”

Abruptly, he released her and took a step back, his heart
pounding wildly in his chest.

And then he saw her face, as pale as the moon, the wary
expression in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Forgive me.”

“Navarre…what has happened to you?” He was puzzled by the
horror in her voice, the growing terror in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked. “What do you see?”

“Death.” The word whispered past her lips.

He reached for her, but she recoiled from his touch.

“Katlaina…”

“There is death in your eyes, Navarre,” she exclaimed
softly. “They glow like the fires of hell.” Her gaze swept over him as if she
had never seen him before. “There is blood on your trousers, and in your eyes.
Navarre, what have you done?”

“Katlaina, listen to me, please.” He took a step toward her,
then paused. She was afraid of him. He could see it, smell it. “Katlaina…”

With a sob, she grabbed the child and backed into a corner. “Go
away, Navarre,” she begged, clutching the infant to her breast. “Go away. Go
away!”

She was screaming now, the same words over and over again.

He heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor, voices
calling to each other.

He hesitated a moment more, the fear in Katlaina’s face
searing into his mind and heart, and then, without thinking of what he was
doing, he jumped out the window.

He landed lightly on his feet, momentarily stunned that he
had jumped from a second-floor window and landed, unhurt, on the ground below.

He could hear Katlaina crying incoherently, the voices of
the guards as they questioned her. He saw a light at the window and he melted
into the shadows, knowing, as he did so, that it wasn’t necessary. They couldn’t
see him unless he wished it. He didn’t know how he came by that knowledge; he
only knew that it was true, that he could mask his presence from mortals.

Mortals… Fear’s icy fingers wrapped around his heart. He
didn’t know what he had become, but he knew he was no longer mortal, no longer
part of humanity.

Filled with rage and fear, he ran back to the Temple of
Shaylyn. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he tore the doors from the hinges,
then stared down at his hands, amazed at how easily he had brought the doors
down. Strength flowed through his arms, his hands, his back and shoulders.

Sobbing Katlaina’s name, he began to pull down the stones of
the temple. With preternatural speed and power, he destroyed the walls, the
windows. He smashed the coffin, ripped the lining to shreds, overturned Shaylyn’s
throne.

In the distance, he heard the sound of running feet as the
priests of the temple came to see what was happening.

Like the angel of death, Navarre rose out of the rubble.

A dozen priests knelt on the ground a few yards away. Behind
them, Navarre could see villagers gathering. And then, coming from Stone Hall
Keep, he saw his Eminence, followed by Ahijah.

BOOK: Moonlight
6.09Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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