Beloved Forever (9 page)

At the other side of the village, the soldier dropped her on the ground. She landed hard on her buttocks and felt tears at the back of her eyes. She looked up and saw the governor standing before her. Erukán had only ever seen him from a distance. She’d had no idea he had such a long nose, or used something slick to smooth and separate the curls in his beard. He wore a brimmed hat with a ridiculously large feather, a simple cotton shirt, and leather trousers, along with an armor vest. He sat astride a chestnut stallion, staring down at her with contempt.

She moved her eyes from him and cried out. Thousands of her people, mixed with Caribs, who must have joined in the rebellion, lined up in rows past the village. Most of the soldiers stood nearby, holding muskets. Her father was separate from the others, bound to a thick log someone had planted upright in the ground. She could see blood coating his body, and, even now, one of the soldiers occasionally whipped him with a leather strap. He remained proud and tall, despite his advanced years and the way he must be suffering.

The soldier bowed before the governor. “Urayoán’s daughter, sir.”

Governor de León lifted a brow. “Perhaps the most appropriate punishment to break the leader of the rebellion.” He waved at her. “Bring her.” Then he turned his horse and crossed the distance to her father.

She tried to scoot backward when the soldier reached for her, but he lifted her easily. She screamed and kicked him during the walk to where her they had bound her father, but he remained unaffected. Once more, he dropped her on the ground, this time before her father.

Erukán got to her feet, straightening her spine. She walked to her father and touched his shoulder. “How are you, Father?”

He grunted. His noble brown face, normally lean and lined, was smooth and puffy from his beating. Someone had gouged out his left eye, and blood still dripped down his cheek, along with bits of thicker tissue. His mouth was swollen shut, and his jaw was out of alignment. Bloody lashes covered his body, and the soldiers had peeled away the skin from the soles of his feet. Ants covered the wounds in writhing black masses.

Tears came to her eyes, and she longed to ask why he had chosen to rebel when he knew the Spaniards were too powerful to overcome. She didn’t have to ask why though. Like all of her people, she had grown tired of being a slave to the invaders. She had known her father wouldn’t be able to tolerate much more when two soldiers raped and beheaded her mother a few months ago. “Yocahu be with us,” she murmured before turning to the governor, boldly meeting his eyes.

Governor de León scratched his beard and eyed her from head to toe. “What to do with this one? What will hurt the father the most? Defilement?” He paused, considering, and then shook his head. “Death, most certainly.” He looked at the sun, rising higher. “Time grows short, and my replacement may arrive at any time. Diego Columbus is already weeks late. We shall make this swift in case he finally makes his way across the ocean.” He chuckled.

He turned his horse to face the men guarding the rows and rows of Taíno and Carib people. Men, women, and children pressed together so closely they seemed to be one large brown mass. “Shoot them all,” he shouted. “Shoot until you run out of ammunition. Then turn to your swords. Do not leave one rebel standing. We shall send a message to all the indigenous curs of San Juan Bautista.”

The governor turned back to Erukán, who stood proudly. She longed to see Nicholas once more, but was thankful he was spared witnessing the mass slaughter. She had no doubt he would have tried to save her if he was there, and he would die too. During the night, he had told her he was a vampire and lived eternally, but he was no match for the large number of men with muskets and swords. Her lover was safe, and she had gotten a night with him. She must be content with that.

He motioned to the soldier. “Behead her.”

She didn’t try to fight when the soldier pressed her against the log supporting her father’s bound body. She even threw back her head defiantly.

The soldier crossed himself and stepped away from her. “Governor, she bears the same marks as the dead man we found in the jungle two days ago.” His eyes didn’t stray from the puncture wounds that had crusted over.

“I do not care if she bears a mark of Divinity. Cut off her head.” He turned and rode away, not bothering to witness the carnage his orders caused.

While the soldier drew his blade, Erukán’s eyes darted to the rows of her people being executed. Few cried out or tried to escape. Most stood peacefully and proudly, eagerly awaiting their liberation from the hell of life under Spanish rule.

She could do no less. She kept her eyes straight ahead when he drew back his sword, forcing herself not to look as the blade rushed toward her neck. Erukán’s last thoughts were of Nicholas, wishing she could spare him the pain of the discovery he would make upon waking. She was certain he wouldn’t be a focus of the Spaniards’ wrath, since they thought he was one of them, and that gave her a small measure of comfort. The pain was excruciatingly brief, and then she was aware of nothing.

Chapter Five

A tap on the door woke Emily from the deep sleep she had slipped into once the dream ended. When she lifted her head from the pillow, a dull pain shot through her neck. She touched the skin to ensure there was no wound and found it smooth.

The knock came again, this time lasting longer.

“Come in,” she said in a hoarse voice, then cleared her throat. Emily sat up and scooted off the bed, noticing her heartbeat was even slower than it had been before she fell asleep.

The key turned, and the door opened. His assistant stepped inside, keeping his head bowed, with his gaze on the floor. “The master wishes for you to join him.”

She frowned. “Join him? Where?”

“For dinner, mistress.”

“Dinner? But—”

He bowed and took a step back. “I will return for you in thirty minutes.”

“Uh, wait, um—”

He paused. “Tremont.”

“What does Nicholas want?”

Tremont shrugged, which brought attention to the place where an arm should hang. “I didn’t ask.” He turned his back to leave.

She took a step toward him. “Please help me.”

He shook his head, not bothering to turn around. “I can’t.”

“You tried to before.” Her voice broke. “I need your help.”

His shoulders slumped, and he took another step into the hallway. “I’m sorry.” He closed the door behind him.

She sighed, realizing she was alone in this apartment, at Nicholas’s mercy. Emily slid from the bed and went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. When she returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, she found her shirt and jeans laundered and placed on the dresser. A deep red stain remained on the soft-pink T-shirt, and she left it folded. She went into the closet and selected a red silk shirt with flounces and frilly cuffs. It wasn’t to her taste, but she had to admit it was sexy when she eyed herself in the mirror.

She had taken a step away from the mirror when she froze and turned back. Yes, her reflection was as clear as ever. Transformation into a vampire hadn’t changed that. If the dreams were reliable, sunlight wasn’t fatal either. She wondered what other myths were nonsense as she walked back to the closet, searching for a pair of shoes.

A shoe rack lined one side of the closet, but her sneakers weren’t in the neatly arranged piles. Emily settled for ankle boots in supple kid leather. When she lifted the boots, she saw her fanny pack lying on the floor. She lifted it too and carried everything to the bed.

She put the shoes aside and opened the pack. Emily counted the money and was reassured to find it all there. If she could devise a means of escape, she would have enough money to get home.

A knock at the door had her jumping up and shoving the pack under the bed. The comforter dangled over long enough to obscure the shadowed recess under the bed. She probably had no need to hide the pack since he returned it to her, but went with her instincts. “Yes?”

The key turned in the lock and Tremont entered. “The master is ready for you.”

She held up a finger. “Let me put on my shoes.”

He watched impassively as she laced the boots, and then slipped them on her feet. “A perfect fit.” The thought was disturbing. What else did he know about her? She tied the strings and stood up, trying to push the disquieting thought from her mind. She would need all of her faculties to confront Nicholas again. “I guess I’m ready,” she said with a sick smile.

His expression remained bland as he beckoned her forward. He stepped aside to allow her passage, before following. Once outside the room, he took the lead.

Emily’s eyes scanned the long hall. The décor was black and red, like her room. She saw no deviation of color at all, not even in the wallpaper, which was matte black with tiny red diamonds forming a border at eye-level. Several closed red doors marked their passage, but they gave no hint to what lay behind them.

The same color scheme made up the living room when they left the hallway. Nicholas was sprawled across a vermilion leather sofa that appeared to be floating in a sea of black. Only the electronic equipment in the black lacquered entertainment center deviated from the red and black scheme.

He held an opaque goblet in his hand, and he set it on a chrome coaster on the black table before standing. “Emily.” His voice emerged as a silky purr. “That color is ravishing on you.”

She reflexively pulled at the dipping neckline as his eyes settled there, wishing she had worn something else. Even a turtleneck wouldn’t make her feel more secure, though it would cover the vein throbbing sluggishly in her throat. His dark eyes would still make her feel stripped bare.

“Are you hungry?” He handed the goblet to Tremont and waved him away.

She shuddered, dreading the prospect of feeding from him again. She was more afraid of her own reaction than taking his blood. However, she could feel the hunger building again. It wasn’t as sharp and painful as last night, but she wanted to eat. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Come with me.” He held out his hand.

She frowned and slowly took it, wondering where he planned to feed her. Any place was preferable to a bed. It would make temptation easier to withstand.

Nicholas led her into the kitchen, and she blinked. The color scheme shifted from red and black to white on white. The sudden change hurt her eyes, and she lifted a hand to block them.

“Blinding, isn’t it?” He sounded cheerful. “Tremont insisted on being able to see what he was doing in the kitchen.”

“Oh.” She eased away her hand, and her eyes didn’t protest as much, although the bright color still seemed to drill into her brain.

“Your eyes are more sensitive now,” he said, leading her through the swinging door at the end of the long, narrow kitchen and into the dining room. The colors were once again black and red. “Black and red are the easiest colors to tolerate, though not the most impressive decorating scheme.”

“I wondered about that. I thought you had an extreme fondness for the colors.”

He nodded. “I do like both. Black is the color of death, and red is the color of life. A complimentary pairing, but I’ve grown bored with it after eight hundred years.”

The blasé reminder of how old he claimed to be caused the breath to stick in her throat as she slid into the chair he held for her. She wanted to doubt his sanity, but couldn’t after last night. If she was a vampire—and she had to be after surviving the bullet in her brain—he must certainly be so. Even her dreams confirmed his age. “What’s it like?”

He settled into the other chair across the small table. “What’s what like?”

“Living so long.”

Nicholas’s mouth twisted. “Interminable at times.”

“Then why do you do it? Why don’t you end it all? Are you afraid of Hell?”

He laughed. “Not at all. I have long since cast aside such antiquated notions. Vampirism it isn’t a curse from Satan, nor a punishment from God.”

She acted from habit when she lifted the napkin at her elbow and folded it on her lap, briefly wondering about the silverware she found wrapped inside, before her thought returned to their conversation. “You don’t believe in God?”

He shook his head. “I’ve lived hundreds of years and never seen any proof of an almighty being. I can hold a crucifix in my hand for hours. I often visit my friend at St. Peter’s. He’s a priest and a vampire. Entering the church doesn’t bring me pain.”

“I don’t understand. In the dream, you told me—Emma—that you had to stop believing. She believed, and you know what happened to her. How can your friend be a priest?”

Nicholas held off answering as Tremont entered carrying beige china plates with navy borders. Each plate held a sliver of steak, a few baby potatoes and two asparagus tips. He placed one in front of each of them before leaving the dining room and returning quickly with two crystal glasses and a decanter of dark red liquid. “Will there be anything else, master?”

“Not right now, Tremont.” Nicholas waved him away. When he had gone, he said, “Michael has reconciled his faith with his circumstances. He doesn’t believe vampirism originated from evil, and so he is able to sustain his beliefs. The mind is powerful, Emily.”

“I see.” She looked at the food before her, then at the silverware. “Is that what allows you to eat?”

He poured the liquid into their glasses, and the tangy scent of blood wafted through the room. “No. You function much as you did when alive. You can still eat and drink, in moderation. Your normal bodily systems will continue almost as normal, including your period.” He grinned. “Not even death can stop that curse, I’m afraid. You can still have children. The only real difference—aside from an increase in strength, mental prowess, healing and agility—is your body no longer makes blood.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

Nicholas lifted his glass and stared at the contents. “In addition to altering the physiology of your brain and other cells, the change converts your bone marrow so that it can no longer make blood cells. If you go a long time without blood, you die. Hence, we must replenish the blood.” He lifted the glass. “Salute.”

She shook her head. “My heart stopped beating. I should have died.”

“Very few things will kill a vampire and prevent regeneration. You were going through the change. Your heart stopped beating, but you continued to live on a cellular level for several hours after brain death, as do we all—human and vampire. Combined with our ability to heal, it makes us virtually immortal, as long as we provide nourishment for our bodies to rebuild. The idea that vampires could die from being staked is laughable—”

She shook her head, interrupting him. “What about Emma? She impaled herself on a cross and obviously died. Explain that.”

His eyes clouded with pain, but he nodded. “She believed she had been turned to something evil. She saw the cross as her salvation. I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase ‘mind over matter’. That’s all it was. She believed she would die, so she did.”

She frowned. “Then how does one kill a vampire?”

A small smile flashed across his face. “Are you thinking of doing away with me?”

She refused to answer.

Nicholas chuckled. “Really, the only thing that kills a vampire is excessive force—the type it’s impossible to recover from. Violent impact from a car accident would do it, if it severed the right body parts or caused us to bleed out. A guaranteed way is severing the spinal column. Remove or destroy the heart. I mean, really destroy it. Remove a stake, and the heart can regenerate. Cut it out or blow up the organ, and there’s nothing our bodies can do in time to save ourselves.”

She lifted a brow. “It sounds fabulous,” she said mockingly. “What’s the catch?”

“We require blood to live. It’s as simple as that. We have to consume several liters every couple of nights. There must always be at least four liters in an adult vampire at all times. Fresh is best, but preserved blood will sustain us, leaving us free to only hunt once or twice a week.”

She lifted a brow. “That doesn’t make sense. I remember learning in biology that blood cells can live for weeks or even years, depending on which type they are. You should only have to eat once every few months.”

Nicholas shrugged. “What I’ve learned has been gleaned from a small group of researchers with a stake in learning the origins of vampirism.” He winked. “Forgive the pun. I’m an investor, not a researcher. I don’t have all the answers, but I do know the blood we consume lives only forty-eight hours or so in our bloodstream before its absorbed. The physical changes to our cells that gives us increased strength, faster regeneration, and mental powers speeds up our metabolism and causes our bodies to process the blood at a rapid rate. Apparently, borrowed blood isn’t as durable either. It doesn’t have the same characteristics as the blood your body used to produce.”

She struggled to understand his words, wishing she had opted for advanced biology courses to fill her core science requirements at Huxley J.C. “What about blood types? I’m O-positive, so can I only consume O-positive?”

Nicholas shook his head. “No. It doesn’t matter what type you ingest. It has something to do with cellular mutation during the change. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask one of the researchers. Personally, I don’t care to know every facet of how the process works. I’m satisfied with knowing I must feed.”

Her brow furrowed. “How can you do it? Doesn’t it bother you to kill people to stay alive?”

Nicholas met her eyes. “Feeding is a fact of life for me, beloved. You’ll adjust in time.”

She shook her head. “I won’t do it. It’s murder.”

“Survival isn’t murder. We’re hunters, and we need them to live.” He shrugged. “We happen to have the advantage when it comes to pursuing humans. After your first few feedings, you’ll cease to worry about such things. It’ll become second nature. “

Emily shuddered. “I’d rather die.”

“That isn’t an option.” Nicholas slammed his hand against the table, causing the glasses and decanter to rattle. “I won’t lose you again.”

She bowed her head to hide the tears threatening to stream down her face. “Why are you doing this to me? Why couldn’t you just let me go?”

He sighed, and his anger seemed to fade. “I tried, though I doubt you believe that. I wanted to be free of this obsessive love I have for you.” His mouth twisted, and his brow furrowed. “It must be a trait common to vampires. We can’t seem to let go of the past.”