A Vampire's Honor (14 page)

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Authors: Carla Susan Smith

BOOK: A Vampire's Honor
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“Is that the worst you can do to me?” Aleksei said scornfully, his question infuriating the count.
“No,” came the reply, “this is the worst I can do.” And before Aleksei's horrified gaze, Count Nikolayev Vasily Petrov, using the dagger that still dripped with Aleksei's blood, slashed the throats of his brothers, his sisters, and his mother.
He didn't realize the count's men had released their hold on him until he fell over, his wounded face striking the hard ground. But by then it was too late. They were all dead. And as the dark came to claim him for the second time that night, the air was filled with the screams of dying animals. Petrov's men had set the barn ablaze, ensuring there would be nothing Aleksei could claim as his own.
Chapter 14
N
umbing silence filled the room, and it wasn't until I saw Anasztaizia take the handkerchief from Aleksei's hand and wipe her eyes that I realized she was hearing her lover's history for the very first time.
“My God, Aleksei . . . your entire family . . .” My brain did its best to assimilate what I'd just heard, and I clutched Gabriel's hand, needing the physical connection to help me keep my emotions in check. “That bastard—that fucking bastard—
murdered
your entire family!” I began to shake so violently that Gabriel put his arms around me, holding me close until I managed to regain some semblance of control.
“Yes, I lost everyone,” Aleksei agreed solemnly. “Perhaps if I had listened to my mother . . .” He shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh filled with regret.
“Oh no,” I countered, “don't you even think about going there!”
Would-a, should-a, could-a were all branches on the same
What if?
tree, and telling yourself things would be different if only you'd taken the other color pill was a waste of time and energy. What was done was done. The past couldn't be changed, and even if it could, there was no guarantee the outcome wouldn't be the same. Or possibly worse.
“You don't think my beating Petrov was the reason my family was killed?” Aleksei asked me.
“I think that, no matter what, Petrov would have found a way to hurt you all,” I said slowly. “The man who abducted me is completely amoral. Knowing he had the wrong person”—I sent an apologetic glance in Anasztaizia's direction—“he still injected me with a drug he believed would kill me, before turning me over to his men so they could do whatever they wanted.” I spread my hands. “What else is there to say?”
“But he's not a man anymore,” Anasztaizia pointed out. “You were abducted by a vampire.”
“You think becoming a vampire made him lose his sense of morality?” I asked her.
The lovely Magyar shook her head. “I don't know, but don't you think being a vampire could have changed him?”
“No,” I said flatly. “I don't think his fundamental nature changed.”
“Why not?”
“Because when Katja tried to kill me, she opened a door into her past, and let me see what her human life had been like.” I didn't realize I was trembling again until I felt Gabriel squeeze my hand. “It wasn't pretty; in fact, her life was quite awful, and I'm not sure how she even survived it to begin with, but those human experiences are what molded and shaped her. Vampire or human, she still would have been one psychotic bitch.” Anasztaizia tilted her head slightly, conceding my point. “Besides, don't you think there's a reason I've never been afraid of Aleksei?”
“You haven't?” He had the grace to look somewhat deflated by my statement.
“Well, you did give me one or two heart-stopping moments,” I admitted with a small smile, “but that was before I really got to know you.”
“So you're saying you're not afraid because he's a good vampire?” Anasztaizia seemed slightly perplexed by the notion.
I wasn't kidding myself. I was pretty sure Aleksei had been guilty of making some questionable choices since becoming a vampire. But just because someone does a bad thing, it doesn't necessarily mean they're a bad person. “Yes, but in order to be a good vampire,” I said, answering Anasztaizia, “he had to be a good man first.”
“A good man who got my family killed,” Aleksei muttered remorsefully.
“We will get him this time, Aleksei,” Gabriel told him. “I promise you that.”
“This time?” I was puzzled. “You had a chance to get this Count Petrov before?” I couldn't imagine Gabriel letting someone guilty of such a heinous crime slip through his fingers. “What happened?”
“Kartel,” he said gravely.
I was confused. I knew what a cartel was when you were talking about drug rings south of the border, but I wasn't sure how it applied to the murder of a Russian peasant family in the 1700s.
“Kartel? Who's that?” It wasn't me who asked, but Anasztaizia.
“Someone with a connection to Petrov.”
“Okay, but
who
is he?” I asked, slipping my hand out of Gabriel's grasp and making a questioning gesture.
“Another Original Vampire,” Gabriel said.
From the tone of his voice, I could tell that he did not regard this Original Vampire with the same respect he did Ryiel. Which meant having Kartel around wasn't a good thing. And it also gave me a good idea who had offered Aleksei's nemesis a shot at immortality. Or the closest thing to it.
“So how did he know about Aleksei? Was he in Russia with you? Did he know Petrov before you did? Has he—” The rest of my question was silenced by Gabriel's finger on my lips.
“Let Aleksei continue with his story.”
Somewhat chastened, I shut up.
* * *
The pungent odor of animal dung pulled Aleksei back to a conscious state. The smell was strong but not unbearable. Vaguely he recalled hands pulling at his arms and legs, stripping off his clothes. Good. It was no less than he deserved. Steal his clothes and let the wolves have him. But instead of feeling the cold bite of winter's breath, he felt sweat breaking out on his body. Was he already dead and in hell? Surely not! It was hot, but he expected the fires of damnation to be unendurable. This heat, this warmth, was something he was certain he could get used to, only he didn't think it was supposed to work that way.
Fingers touched his face. Hard and bony, they pinched the ragged edges of his cheek together before something sharp pierced the flesh. Aleksei sucked in an involuntary breath as a tightness pulled at his skin. In and out, in and out, stitching his cheek closed. From the rough feel of it, the result would not be pretty; but what did that matter? And why did he care? The priests always said those souls destined to spend an eternity in hell had bodies with open wounds and bleeding sores. So why would they care about his face? Perhaps the priests were wrong.
His head now filled with strange images as the fever that gripped him ran its course. For two days and two nights he battled against the nightmares that plagued him. Caught in the throes of his delirium, he screamed and wept, and didn't even try to fight off the bony fingers when they pried open his mouth and poured liquid down his throat. If he was lucky, it would be poison.
And then his fever broke.
Aleksei opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground covered by an animal skin. The rough texture of fur scraped over his body, and he ran his fingers across the pelt, trying to identify the hide. He wasn't sure, but it felt like wolf. He blinked his eyes and stared above him at the ceiling. Animal bones and small skulls hung suspended from the soot-stained rafters. Now he understood. Now he knew where he was. He had been given into the care of Old Magda. He could either live or die; it mattered not which one he chose.
Part healer, part witch, the old woman could concoct a potion for whatever ailed you, whether it be a matter of the head, the heart, or the bowels. It was said she knew more about poison than the Italians, but like most of the village, Aleksei didn't know what Italians were, so the boast was meaningless.
“So, finally you are awake!” The voice that greeted him was hoarse with age and little use, and it spoke to him from the shadows.
“They should have left me to die,” he muttered sourly.
“I'm sure they wanted to, but, alas, they could not.” Aleksei felt his brow furrow as he narrowed his eyes, trying to see the old woman in the gloom. “The count decreed that were you to die, everyone in the village would suffer.”
“Since when do you care what a count says?”
Old Magda stepped out of the shadows, and Aleksei was surprised to find she was not as old as he had imagined. Though her hair was long and iron-gray and her face was lined, he could still see the shadow of the beauty she had once been.
She spat into the fire, making it sizzle. “You're right. I care nothing for that crawling maggot.”
“Then why not let me die?”
She turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes suddenly filled with a strange light. “Because I was told not to.”
“By whom?”
“There is a priest waiting outside,” she said, ignoring his question. “He wishes to speak with you but is afraid to cross my threshold. Superstitious fool!” This last she muttered under her breath.
“If what you say is true, then I doubt he needs more than to see with his own eyes that I still live,” Aleksei told her. “He is a priest and will be believed. The villagers will know they have nothing to fear.”
“No,” the witch said, giving him a thoughtful look. “That is not why he has come.”
“Then why?”
She answered with a shrug of her bony shoulders.
“Then perhaps I should speak with him.” Getting to his feet, Aleksei lost the wolf skin covering him and blushed. Old Magda might be a witch, but she was also a woman, and she wasn't so old that the sight of a naked young man wouldn't be appreciated. She handed him a rough woven blanket, and his embarrassment intensified.
“Stay where you are,” she clucked irritably. “I will tell the fool to come inside.”
There followed a series of shrieks and screams as priest and witch cursed each other from outside the door, but eventually a compromise was reached. Still, it did not sit well with Aleksei to know the priest was risking his own soul just to speak with him. What could be so important?
Magda—Aleksei couldn't think of her as “old” anymore—came in first and immediately went to the farthest corner of the room, where she concealed herself in the shadows. Concealed or not, Aleksei could feel her eyes upon him.
The priest, clutching his crucifix in his hand, fell to his knees as close to the door as possible and began praying fervently. Aleksei wondered if the man realized that the sooner he stated his business, the sooner he could leave.
Although he attended church as both a dutiful son and as the head of his family, Aleksei didn't think of himself as being particularly religious. He had never felt a spiritual connection to God, and so he neither believed nor disbelieved. And knowing Count Petrov prayed to the same God only served to solidify Aleksei's doubts. How could a God that was benevolent and all-forgiving allow his sister to be violated in such a way by such a man? The idea made him feel more estranged than ever from the church and its teachings—something the man now praying so ardently would be disappointed to know.
As the priest paused to take a breath, Aleksei seized his moment. “What do you want with me?” he asked, grabbing the man's forearm. “Has the count sent you?” It was a possibility. Given time to reflect on his actions, Nikolayev might have had a change of heart regarding his order that Aleksei live a long life.
The priest stared at him in confusion, shaking his head before peeling Aleksei's hand off his arm. “I am here because of the demon,” he said in a frightened whisper.
From the shadows, Magda laughed softly.
“What demon? Are you talking about the count?”
Something in the priest's eyes told him they weren't thinking about the same thing.
“What demon?” Aleksei asked, repeating his question with more suspicion a second time.
“The one that waits for you, my son.” The priest dropped his voice to a whisper, as if he was worried the demon might be listening. “The one that has come for your soul.”
Aleksei didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It made perfect sense that, if someone wanted to claim his soul, it would be one of Satan's minions. “And have you seen this demon, priest, with your own eyes?”
The man bobbed his head up and down a number of times. “Indeed I have, my son.”
“And how does he look? Are there horns on his head? Does he have cloven feet and a forked tail?”
The priest looked disappointed as he shook his head.
“Then how do you know he is a demon?” Aleksei demanded, suspiciously.
“Because he looks like an angel.”
Aleksei decided the priest had definitely partaken of someone's homemade brew. A demon that looked like an angel? The man was talking nonsense!
“I see the doubt in your face, my son,” the priest continued, “but you must believe me when I tell you though he may look like an angel, God has shown me the darkness that hides in his heart.”
Nonsense or not, it was obvious the man believed what he was saying to be true. “Where is he now, this demon of yours?”
“Not mine!” the priest shrieked in protest, springing to his feet and making the sign of the cross with such vigor, Aleksei thought he might sprain his shoulder. “It is your soul he has come to claim—and he holds the others hostage!”
Alarm threaded its way through Aleksei. “What others? What do you mean?”
It was difficult to know who the priest feared more, the demon or Aleksei. “Your family,” he said with a terrified roll of his eyes. “The demon holds your dead family hostage.”

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