The Return (3 page)

Standing stiffly, he walked over and picked up the book and tucked it back under her pillow.

Later that night, Sam coaxed Zac into the parlor under the premise of a drink or ten. His older brother had downed almost three bottles so far and was already a little drunk, but he knew that he'd been at it since going to the cave the day before, trying to keep himself under control. Sam hoped it would curb his anger and make him talk at least a little, knowing his brother would hold it all inside until he exploded and that usually meant a lot of trouble. Well, more than usual.

Sam owed his life to his brother. All that time ago, despite what had happened, Zac had saved his life. He would argue against the point, but he'd taken to vampirism in a very different way than his older brother had. He was often told that
he
was
all the good things about being a vampire
. His turning was horrific, but his first days had shaped him in a way that Zac's hadn't and that was all thanks to him. Without his big brother, who knew what would have become of him?

Sam knew Zac was messed up and he would stay with him regardless. And all of those times he'd let him go off on his own… he trusted him. Of course he did, but it would be foolish to think that he hadn't gone off the deep end.

Zac stood with his back to the room, gazing out of the window into the blackness of the night outside, slightly swaying as the alcohol blurred his thoughts. "Do you remember the werewolf pack?"

"How could I forget," Sam laughed with a touch of sarcasm. How 
could
 he forget five mutilated werewolves? Walking into that alleyway and seeing the carnage that his brother had supposedly inflicted on them had been an eye opener. Zac had been moments from death and they had suspected that he'd blacked out and tore them apart himself. A frenzy. It wasn't unheard of and the circumstances were right.

"That was Aya," Zac said without a trace of emotion.

Sam whistled, "Well, that explains a lot. It's kind of reassuring, actually. Did she ever tell you why she did it?"

"No," he said. "I never got the chance to ask her. She compelled me to forget."

"Aya 
compelled
 you?"

"Yes."

"And you're only telling me this now because?"

"I only found out when Gabby cast that knowledge spell. It made me remember what I'd forgotten." He turned around, staggering slightly to the side.

"Was it only the once?"

Zac seemed to think about it for a moment and Sam wondered what else he was holding back. Finally, he shrugged and sat down, before he fell down. Grasping his head, he let out a strangled groan. "I don't know if I ever apologized."

"Apologized for what?" Sam asked, now curious as to what memory the alcohol had procured. Zac had a lot of things to apologize for.

"For what happened when… Victoria," he managed to get out.

"You don't need to apologize for that," Sam said firmly.

Sam knew it had been out of his brother’s control. Zac had said before that he felt responsible, that he felt ashamed that he wasn't fast enough to save him and his parents. Sam was sure he still felt responsible, even though he had told him again and again that he understood. That it wasn’t his fault. He had told him that for one hundred and forty eight years.

The vampire who had changed him had slaughtered his parents and turned him as a message to his brother. That he couldn't win against her.

Victoria.

The auburn haired woman who had pulled Zac from the brink of death into a new life. The monster that had manipulated and brainwashed his brother.
If anyone was to blame, it was her.

"I'm sorry," Zac slurred as he slumped against him, unconscious.

Sighing, Sam laid him out on the sofa, stuffing a pillow under his head. He was worried about what Zac might do once he had time to process what had happened. He would go after Arturius without a second thought and he would be torn to pieces in under a minute. The only thing he could do was to be there for his brother and help the best he could.

Sam only hoped he could keep him alive long enough to do so.

Petersburg, Virginia

April,
1865

Z
achary Degaud was twenty-three years old, born in Ashburton, Louisiana, recently raised to Captain in the Confederate Army. America was at war with itself and he was tasked with the only thing he was good at
;
fighting.

Much to the disgust of his father, his
first born
son had run off and enlisted in the army of his own free will. He had no mind for business and the society trappings the plantation came with. That was for his younger brother, Samuel, to pursue. He was of a much more logical approach, where as Zac; well, he was good with his hands.

His newly appointed infantry unit had been stationed in Virginia, along with ten others. It was a chance to see part of America that they had never laid eyes on before, and to do what they had been trained for.
Killing Union soldiers in the name of the Glorious South.

Zac had made it through the entire Civil War until now. If they made it home in one piece, he was guaranteed to make Major and then, perhaps his parents would be proud of his accomplishments. When the Union had attacked Petersburg, it had landed them nine months in the god-forsaken trenches, until the General had ordered the retreat.

The Confederates had evacuated the entire city after the Union had overrun their defenses. All their routes were blocked save for one. Their last remaining option was to retreat west and that's what they had been commanded to do by General Lee himself. Zac thought it was a trap, but they had their orders and they would follow if they valued their lives.

They'd been dogged by the perusing army and had been engaged twice in Amelia County. Now, word had it that Union Cavalry blocked their route to their safe haven in Danville. Their food was gone and morale was almost nonexistent. He had to move his men as fast as they could before they were cut off. But, that's exactly what happened. It was late afternoon when they realized they had been separated from the bulk of their forces.
Three quarters in front and clear, but the last remaining quarter behind.
Boxed in and cut off.

The Union Calvary line was advancing through the woods and would be in their line of sight any second. All thirty-five men of Zac's unit scrambled to form a semblance of a line, half their number standing and the other half with one knee to the ground directly in front. Zac was in the front and center, one of the only Confederate Captains he knew that would stand and fight with his men. The rest he considered cowards not worthy of their ranks.

As the first of the Unions came into their line of sight, he shouted, "Fire!"

The crack was deafening as the thirty-six rifles went off, white smoke billowing in front of them, the reek of gunpowder in the air. The sharp cries of the men and horses in front of them signaled that at least some of their bullets had found their marks, but the line was still advancing. Their rifles were designed for long range shooting, not close range. Most of the shots had gone right over the Union soldiers heads.

"Reload, reload!" he shouted to his men, who hastily dropped the butts of their rifles into the ground, stuffing their next rounds as fast as they could.

"Arms at the ready! Aim low!" he shouted, as all thirty-five rifles were cocked and ready to fire. They had to split the cavalry’s advance so they could retreat. If they couldn't, then it would have to be hand-to-hand until someone was dead or captured.

"Fire!" The crack of their rifles split the air around them as men and horses fell. They were advancing too quickly for another round.

Dropping his rifle, he shouted, "Swords!" Steel rang as all thirty-five men drew without question.

"Legs!" He ordered, trusting his men to understand that they needed to cut down their enemies mounts if they had any chance. They spread out, swords at the ready for when the Unionists would break through their line.

They were thirty-five against a whole regiment of at least fifty, about fifteen had fallen in the wave of gunfire. As the first wave of Calvary came within range, Zac swung hard and true, hamstringing the mount that came up on his right side. The large bay horse fell to the ground behind him, barely missing his head. Its rider was flung headlong into a tree; a quick glance verified that his neck had been snapped.

The next line was seconds behind and this time Zac cut his blade to the left, nicking the horse’s knee, but not bringing it down. Cursing, he rose to engage a dismounted Unionist who swung his saber wildly, with no aptitude whatsoever. Zac took advantage and ducked low, bringing his elbow up hard into
the mans
gut. As he doubled over, he drove his sword through his back, directly into his heart. Not stopping for a moment, he turned to the next man, disposing of him as easily as the first two.

Affording himself a quick glance about, he knew that they were going to be overwhelmed. But they were from the South. All the men in his unit were. They would all fight to the end, even if that end meant death. In that moment, he thought about his parents and his brother Samuel. They meant to world to him, but he wasn't good at anything else. He was only good at killing, the army his life.

He'd dispatched of six more men before he felt the biting pain of the bullet that imbedded itself in his chest. But that was only the beginning of his problems. Falling back limply onto the bloodstained ground he gasped for air, the bullet having passed through a lung. Then his second, Bragg, was above him, his palm over the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. As he tried to speak, he saw his friend and comrade-in-arms' face shot off in a shower of blood and bone.

At some point Zac had passed out, but was brought around when he felt himself being dragged along the ground, none too gently, and heaved up onto something soft and lumpy. Weakly, he managed to turn his head, the blood that had begun to pool in his mouth running down his face. Then he realized two things. One; he was as good as dead and Two; he was in a pile of corpses that used to be his men. He didn't bother trying to figure out how he felt about that; he had maybe twenty minutes left and could probably spend his time pondering more favorable things. Like the beautiful lady he'd danced with at his parents ball the night before he left to come to Virginia.
Raven haired
with skin like milk, eyes like the bluest sky. He could ask a lady like that to marry him. He thought about his brother, Samuel.
And his parents, even though they had discouraged him from joining the Confederacy in the first place.
What were they doing now?

It was then that he saw a woman looking down at him, her chestnut eyes gleaming in the darkness. It had to be a hallucination. He didn't believe in god and angels, only life and death. She was straddling him as he lay on top of his dead comrades like some macabre devil.

"Dear Captain," the woman murmured into his ear. "Do you want to live?"

He could only cough, blood gurgling in his throat. The woman seemed to take this as an acceptance and to his horror; she sliced open her wrist with his bowie knife and forced the open wound over his mouth, flooding it with their mingled blood. He was forced to swallow several times, groaning as pain shot through his chest.

Then, as far as he could tell, he died.
Just as he should have.
But, the problem was, he didn't stay that way.

Zac's eyes snapped open and he found himself gazing up at the clear night sky, thousands of stars sparkling through the trees that sheltered him. Rolling over, he coughed loudly, blood splattering on the ground. He'd been dragged away from the pile of corpses to a clear patch of grass. How the hell was he alive? The gunshot wound was enough to kill him or he should have choked on his own blood at least. Realizing there wasn't any pain, he clutched his chest, ripping his shirt where the bullet had passed through. He was covered in blood, but there was no wound.

Looking wildly around, he found he was alone except for about eighty-five corpses. Everyone was dead. The Union soldiers who had survived lay haphazardly all around the clearing like they had just been flung there with no regard at all.

The woman he had hallucinated sat at the base of a tree across the clearing, watching him, and he gasped in surprise as his eyes met hers. For the first time he took in her appearance. She wore a plain green dress that billowed around her waist as she sat, her long curly auburn hair falling around her shoulders, drawing his eye to her cleavage. He looked away, conscious of her modesty.

He caught the low sound of her laughter, even at this distance. Pulling himself up, he dragged himself backwards, propping his weary frame against a tree. His heart skipped a beat in surprise as the woman was suddenly beside him. He realized she couldn't have possibly closed that distance in a mere
second,
it was as if she'd appeared out of thin air.

"Who are you?" he managed to rasp, his throat dry.

The woman smiled at him, smoothing his hair back from his brow. "I'm someone who's going to take care of you." Her voice was soft and musical, her touch reassuring and very real.

His brow furrowed, confused, "Ma'am?"

She laughed again, grasping his arm, "Come, I have a gift for you."

The woman helped him to his feet, but he felt perfectly fine, like that whole day hadn't happened at all. The dark forest around them seemed clearer, the wind through the leaves louder. He felt better than he had in a long time. It didn't make any sense.

She led him to the opposite side of the clearing, where a Union soldier sat against a tree, eyes staring vacantly ahead, the rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was still alive. "I saved this one for you," the woman said, coaxing the man to stand. "He's the one who shot you."

The soldier was standing rigidly, staring straight through him. Zac waved his hand in front of his eyes, but there was no response. He didn't even blink. His eyes flickered warily to the woman who was now standing behind the man, their heights even. As her eyes changed into two black pools of nothingness she sunk her teeth into the soldiers neck. Zac gasped in horror as she began to drink
the mans
blood. Pulling back, she smiled wickedly at him, her mouth and chin red with the soldier's life.

It was then that he caught the smell on the air. Somehow he knew it was the scent of fresh blood. It was intoxicating and his mouth tightened as his teeth began to ache. Before he could stop himself he lunged for the soldier, sinking his teeth into the open wound over his jugular. Knowing he should be repulsed at the notion of drinking another mans blood; he drank like he could never get enough. When there was no more, he let the man drop limply to the ground.

The woman smiled at him, seemingly pleased with the result. As he wiped his face with the back of his hand, he doubled over as pain ripped through him. Grasping his chest he fell to the ground as his heart raced, gritting his teeth. The pain was worse than the gunshot by far.

The woman knelt beside him and crooned into his ear, "Don't fear, dear Captain. It will soon pass."

He gazed into her eyes as the pain took him into unconsciousness and he knew no more.

When Zac finally woke, he found himself in a bed, the curtains of the simple room drawn tightly over the windows. Rolling onto his side, he dragged himself to his feet. The room seemed to shimmer around him, every little detail sharper, more defined. Rubbing his eyes didn't seem to change anything. The clarity made his head ache something fierce. Getting up, he walked towards the window and opened one side of the curtain, letting daylight flood into the little room. Suddenly, he jerked back into the corner away from the direct sunlight with a yelp. It was hot; so hot it felt as if it had burnt him.

The bright light seemed to hurt his eyes, his skin tingling. Reaching out tentatively, the warm sunlight fell over his hand. He pulled back instinctively as his flesh seared, holding his hand to himself. Expecting to find a burn there, he stared in shock as his hand healed in front of his eyes. Seared flesh disappeared into smooth, unblemished skin.

Leaning back against the wall, he caught sight of the woman was sitting in the shadows watching him and he jumped, startled. "What have you done to me?" he grimaced, cowering back into the shadows.

"I've given you an incredible gift," she said. "You will never age and you will never die."