The King's Vampire (2 page)

She winced. “Bless me, Father, for I am sin . . .”

His deep-set eyes, the color of the Thames during a storm, flew open, suddenly alert. “You mean you have sinned,” he corrected her gently. Their gazes locked through the slit in the window. She felt her lavender eyes burning with a strange incandescence that must have frightened him because he looked away. His body quivered, as he repeatedly made the sign of the cross. “I am not strong enough—dear Lord, I am not brave enough. Leave my church.” His voice shook when he spoke.

“But Father, I beg you—”

He averted his gaze. “No. It is too much. I have no power to help you. May God please have mercy on your soul, because I’m unable to grant you the forgiveness you long for.”

Elizabeth backed out of the confessional to the sound of his cry in Latin, “Lord, please have mercy, Christ have mercy.” She put on her mask and cloak and dashed out of the church.

She jumped in the black coach waiting just outside. “To Boar’s Head Inn, quickly,” she demanded in a choked voice.

They traveled down narrow, rain-slicked cobblestone streets, with the moon ducking in and out of the clouds. Reaching Fleet Street, the coach entered through a great stone archway into the courtyard of the inn, the horses’ hooves clattering on the cobblestones. A sign of a blue boar creaked and groaned overhead at the entrance. Light glowed from the windows on the first floor. The footman leapt from the back of the coach and opened the carriage door before helping her down the steps.

Inside the inn, she took off her mask and tossed the blue velvet cloak over her arm. She watched a tall, broad-shouldered man with black, wavy, shoulder-length hair heading in her direction. He had such a masculine beauty that even though he was no stranger to her, he still stopped her in her tracks as he neared.

He grasped her elbow and led her up the winding staircase. “Where have you been, Elizabeth? You know the streets of London aren’t safe, especially for one such as you.”

Her eyes blazed when she answered. “Is there anywhere that is safe for me, Darius? Can you answer me that, if you dare?”

Too wise a vampire to argue with an angry female, vampire or otherwise, he unlocked a door to the right of the hallway at the top of the stairs and tugged her inside. Familiar with the apartments, she didn’t look around, but rather tossed her cloak onto a ruby-colored velvet chair. She glanced into an oval mirror hanging above the writing table and observed her image, much like polished marble, she appeared gaunt and hungry, perhaps because she was starving, although too ashamed to admit it. She wondered about the folklore that said vampires couldn’t see their own reflection. Times were when she wished this were true, because sometimes it was too hard to face what she’d become.

“Have you been off searching for the impossible once again? What you’re looking for isn’t to be found in our world, no matter how hard you search.”

She resented the flicker of impatience in his voice. “Nothing’s impossible, Darius. I once possessed a soul, so why must it be so hopeless for me to regain it? Maybe it’s of no great importance to you, but it matters much to me.”

“I accept who and what I am. There is nothing else.”

He towered over her and she gazed up at him in defiance. He could snap her in half if he wished to do so, but she’d never feared him. Her chin tilted upward. “We live in an immortal world that has no meaning. We exist to drink the blood of others. That’s not enough for me.”

“Is that so? Do you think all I care about is drinking vampire blood? Don’t you think I fight to protect the vampires from the humans? What about me? Am I meaningless to you, too?”

Even in her anger, she wasn’t completely immune to his appeal. He wore a suit of black velvet with a short doublet, a lace cravat, and knee-length breeches. But all his finery couldn’t disguise his look of ruthless strength or powerful sensuality. Those intense eyes of his seemed to penetrate through her to the very core of her being. He could be dangerous, but to her, he’d always been a protector. His jaw muscle twitched when she caught him staring into the valley of her breasts.

“Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been a protector and a friend,” she said.

It was impossible to ignore the fact that his eyeteeth had lengthened, and she felt the vein at the base of her throat pulse in anticipation. His dark gray eyes glowed like charcoal embers, so much so she had to close her eyes beneath the power of his gaze.

“Make me stop, Elizabeth. Tell me you don’t want me to do this. I’d never do anything against your will. Please tell me to stop.”

Elizabeth knew what the look in his eyes signified and held her breath, fighting back her own bloodlust urge. If she wanted to become a whole person once again, she couldn’t give in to her desires, but she could safely satisfy his needs.

She’d lived at the inn with Darius for nearly one hundred years, and he’d never before attempted to feed off her. If one word of protest was spoken, he wouldn’t drink her blood now, but it proved impossible to speak the words that would stop him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the immense four-poster bed, yanking back the red velvet curtains surrounding the bed and placed her gently in the center. He caressed her body, his strong hands running over her smooth shoulders, pushing down her dress until he reached the pale swell of her breasts. His body curved over hers and his lips flickered down her neck. He slid his hands over and around her breasts, cupping them in his palms.

With a shudder, she felt a white-hot heat flow through her chilled veins, and arched her back so his sharp teeth were better angled over the mound of her breast.

He lightly ran his teeth across her right breast and his incisors punctured a vein. She drew in a breath. He sucked the blood from her breast, and their hearts hammered with such force, they melded into one single heartbeat, drumming harder and faster, until Elizabeth feared he might actually drain her of every last drop of life.

“No more. Please stop.” She rolled out from under him and pushed him away. "I can’t breathe."

His fingers curled beneath her chin, and he forced her to face him. “I’d never hurt you, Elizabeth, you know that.”

He ripped open his white linen shirt and offered up his own powerful, marble-like neck. “Take me. Take every last drop of blood if you must, but please be mine completely. Stop this futile search to recapture your soul and drink my blood. We belong together forever.” The vein at the base of his neck pulsed.

She straightened her clothes, jumped up from the bed, and paced the floor. “Why are you doing this, Darius? You’ve never fed on me before. What has changed between us?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps I can't bear the thought of the void my life would become again if you cease being a vampire. Once I’ve tasted of your blood and you’ve tasted of mine, we’ll be eternal partners.”

“Do you know how selfish that sounds? I can never go back to what I once was if I taste your blood. I’ll have been this way for a hundred years come Christmas Day. You know what that means.”

“What makes you suppose you can change? You went to a priest today. Did he offer any help, or any consolation?”

“No, but I didn’t have the opportunity to ask him. I think he recognized what I am and it frightened him too badly. Still, I know I can turn back, if I find someone to help me. You know I was tricked into becoming a vampire and never became one willingly.”

He gave her a tender look, full of yearning and regret. “Don’t you think we were all deceived in one way or another before we became vampires? And yet, it was always our choice to make, because we had free will at one time.”

She pushed out her bottom lip. “It’s not the same thing. I’ve never drank the blood of anyone or taken a life.”

“You think I’ve taken lives?” His voice rose in indignation.

“How did you become the Lord Mayor Vampire of London if you’ve never taken a life?”

“It has only been other vampires, and only in self-defense when I’ve killed. I’ve never drank enough blood from any human to allow him or her to die by that means.”

“Yet you admit you sometimes leave humans in a weakened state, weak enough to become prey to the psychic vampire demons.”

“I don’t have to defend myself to you. I do what must be done to survive.” He stood and started pacing.

“I’m not blaming you, Darius. The world of the vampire is one of survival. Even I understand that.”

“Don’t you think I know what I’m capable of?" His quiet voice left her warned. "Don’t you think I know those damned demons are killing people, or even worse, turning them into their own and leaving behind evidence pointing to us?”

“I know it’s not your fault.”

“The psychic vampire demons want nothing more than to drive our community of vampires out of London and suck in more souls for hell. My job is to protect our own, no matter the cost, and that’s my purpose.”

“At least we have no souls, so we are safe from hell.”

“Then why are you so desperate to go back to the old human ways?”

She studied him for a moment, wondering if he’d understand. Darius was a man of action, one who took on great responsibility for others. “There is no heaven in our world either. If we are destroyed as vampires, we’ll be forever separated from those we loved in our former life.”

“What are you saying? Do you think I never had loved ones in the old days? That I’m nothing more than an inhuman monster now?”

“I don’t think that at all, Darius.” Her thoughts went back to her beautiful older sister who had been full of love and laughter. She remembered how her sister would hold her when she was frightened by storms or when her parents punished her for what they considered Elizabeth’s rebellious nature.

Her thoughts became more painful, recalling her own lovely little girl with black hair and lavender eyes, whom she’d sworn" to protect. She could still hear the screams of her daughter, her parents, and her sister the night their house went up in roaring, red flames so long ago. How could she bear the thought of never seeing them again throughout eternity?

A monumental sadness swept over her, so savage it gripped her heart, making it difficult to breathe. She had to leave before she told Darius of her great pain. It hurt too much to think about, and if she spoke of it aloud, her heart would surely break. She spun away from him and took up her cloak and mask. “I must go feed now.”

“Be careful of the blood of those small creatures," Darius said. "The plague sneaks upon London unexpectedly, and even though there’s less danger when winter approaches, drinking blood of unknown creatures is always dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful.” She rushed out before her bloodlust overwhelmed her.

A sliver of moonlight cut through the black, scudding clouds. Unwilling to call for the coach, Elizabeth hugged the shadows when she passed up Legate Hill. She traveled with the unnatural swiftness of a vampire, avoiding the humans whose shouts and laughter filled her ears. They created an intrusive noise against the still coolness of the night. While gnawing hunger crept upon her, she feared what might happen if she came into direct contact with a human in her vulnerable moment of bloodlust. Already the end of November, the damp, cold air caused her to draw her cloak tighter around her chin. She needed the velvety blackness and the misting rain to veil her dark desire.

The stones of the sidewalk glistened with moisture, while the stench of rotting garbage, along with raw sewage, assaulted her senses. She threaded her way through narrow streets and alleyways, keeping close to the walls and doors for shelter. Her keen eyes spotted the lantern-like glow of yellow eyes gazing up at her. She swooped down on the poor creature before it had time to mewl. Lifting it to her lips, her eyeteeth elongated and she bit down, firmly and surely, sucking the blood from the poor cat, letting the warm blood trickle down her throat. A sense of shame washed over her at the thought of the monster she’d become.

Once she finished feeding, she carried the cat into the middle of the road, knowing an unsuspecting carriage would run over the poor creature. At least then the cat’s death would seem a natural act, and not caused by an unnatural, pathetic, soulless creature such as herself.

Strangely, her hunger remained unabated, and an even greater need filled her. She continued on through the mist-shrouded streets, until reaching the ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral, still a massive pile of rubble since the Great Fire nine years earlier. Its devastation matched her mood, and she wandered through the charred debris without fear.

Rumor had flown through London that King Charles II had appointed an architect, Christopher Wren, to design a new cathedral, but nothing much had happened. The Church authorities spent all their time disagreeing and dithering with any plans presented to them. So the towering pillars loomed large, ghostly in the shifting mist, while a scurrying sound led her into what had once been the nave of the church. The noise of the rodents sharpened her hunger because she was not yet fully satiated. The thought of feeding on rats repulsed her, but she’d do anything in order to leave humans alone.

A sudden powerful wave of rage and malice permeated the ruins and surrounded her. Darkness deepened inside the remains of the church, and she sensed that corruption lurked within. She had no desire to go farther, but her hunger drew her closer to what had been the altar. Something brushed past her, causing her petticoat to rustle. Whatever ran by was much larger than a rat. Her heart pounded, but curiosity pulled her deeper inside the ruins.

A shuffling came from the north transept. Her eyesight, keen as a cat’s at night, saw a human-like form clinging to the remains of an old tomb shoved against the wall. Perhaps a beggar or a thief lingered in the ruins?

Moss sprung up between the stones, causing them to disintegrate while the growth increased. A figure emerged from the moss, giving a sharp, inhuman shriek. The stone crumbled faster and created a deep chasm across the floor.

More figures appeared from the ramshackle tombs, and the rotting creatures surrounded her. An evil smell of corrupted flesh almost suffocated her. The creatures took several forms, but all were long and lean, either brown or gray, with mummified skin shredded from their bones, and skeletal fingers that grasped and reached toward her. Some of them possessed leathered wings, while others had reptilian skin and a more snake-like appearance.