His Vampyrrhic Bride (35 page)

Bolter pushed harder. Tom could feel himself begin to topple over the wall. Seventy feet beneath him lay hard ground that stood clear of the floodwater. His bones would shatter.

Bolter screeched with joy: ‘He’s going . . . I can feel it! The bastard’s going over!’

Nicola pounced. She didn’t touch Bolter. Instead, she grabbed hold of Tom. A second later she hauled him to the middle of the roof, well clear of the edge.

‘Bitch!’ yelled Bolter; then he came at her, swinging the flashlight as if it were a club.

Nicola moved faster. She flung herself at Bolter. He tried to scream, but she had the heel of her hand under his chin, and all he could manage was a feeble croaking sound. She pushed his head back as she forced him to the wall at the roof’s edge. She kept pushing until his back arched over the parapet. His feet scuffed and scraped at the roof as he tried to regain his balance.

Tom shook his head, trying to get rid of that dizziness. With a huge effort, he managed to rise to his knees.

Then he watched what his bride did next to the terrified man.

Nicola pushed harder – her hand under Bolter’s chin forcing his head right back. His throat rose into a thick, bulging curve of flesh. His veins plumped up. They were raised against the skin, clearly visible, and swollen with blood.

That’s when Nicola opened her mouth. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered her lips towards that plump, naked throat, which gleamed in the moonlight. She gazed at the throat in the same way that someone gazes at their lover’s face. Noticing the little details. A total adoration of each feature. In this case, Bolter’s veins, which stood proud of the skin.

She’s going to bite him.
Tom stared in absolute shock.
She wants his blood.
The thought filled him with disgust.

‘Not Bolter,’ he gasped. ‘Not his . . . take mine.’ He managed to climb to his feet. ‘I’m your husband. You can have mine!’

With a snarl, Nicola suddenly stepped back. But only so she could rush forward.

She pushed Bolter.

Tom watched as the man toppled over the low wall. He didn’t have time to scream.

By the time Tom reached the edge of the tower Bolter had already slammed into the ground.

No . . . not quite. Tom’s eyes absorbed a deeply gruesome scene. The man hung suspended two feet or so above the earth. He’d landed face-down on a set of ancient iron railings that surrounded a group of tombs. Ornamental spikes had pierced his body; their rusty tips protruded from his back along the full length of his spine. Blood poured from his body to the ground where it trickled along one of the cemetery paths to eventually merge with the floodwater.

Bolter wasn’t a problem any more.

No. Nicola demanded his full attention now.

How am I going to save her?

S
o this is it
, he told himself.
This is my chance to make everything alright.

Bolter lay impaled on the iron fence. The moon shone down on the water, and Tom Westonby stood with his bride on top of the church tower. He now had his golden opportunity. Joshua would help him find a way to break the curse of the Viking gods. A curse that had blighted the lives of the Bekk family for centuries.

Tom turned to Nicola. Her fair hair now seemed almost dark compared with the extreme paleness of her skin. Her eyes were white globes. Each one possessed a sharp black dot that was the pupil. She was still beautiful. Really beautiful. He found himself leaning towards her, aching to feel her body pressed against his.

As Tom drew closer, he saw the way Nicola had fixed that penetrating gaze of hers on the cut on his face. Or, rather, she fixed her gaze on the blood seeping from the wound.

His blood.
He felt it trickling down his cheek.

Her mouth parted as if ready to kiss him. She moved closer, too. He could feel the beat of blood pulsing through the arteries in his neck. His wife looked so uncannily beautiful.
I want this . . . I want to hold her . . .

Abruptly, she froze. ‘No, Tom,’ she whispered. ‘I mustn’t let you touch me.’

‘Your mother said you’d turn into some kind of monster. But, don’t you see? You know what you’re doing. You can beat this.’

‘I feel different inside. That’s where the important change is happening.’

‘Fight it. Don’t let yourself be controlled by those things that your ancestors worshipped. You are Nicola Westonby. You are strong.
You decide your own actions.
’

‘Nicola
Westonby
. I didn’t dream it? I really did get married?’

‘Yes, you married me. We’ve got the rest of our lives together. What you must do now is destroy this thing that’s attacking your body and making you change.’

Her brow furrowed. Tom sensed that she pushed against some powerful force. She struggled to resist the evil that had begun to spread through her veins and her flesh.

She gave a sudden cry of pain. ‘I’m sorry, Tom . . .’

‘Fight it, Nicola.’

‘I can’t fight it any more. I’ve tried. I’ve been trying ever since we got married. I can’t, though. It’s too strong.’

‘Try.’

‘I’m so sorry, Tom.’

Then she gave him a look that drove a penetrating coldness through his body. Because Tom had seen that exact look before on another face he’d loved. The same expression of regret was on his grandmother’s face as she lay in a hospital bed. She’d been battling cancer for months, and there had always been a fiery spark of defiance in her eye. Not that day, though, when the family gathered at her bedside; her eyes were growing dull and faraway. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she’d whispered. ‘I can’t fight the cancer any more. I’m going to have to let it take me . . .’ An hour later his grandmother was dead.

Now the same expression poured from those other-worldly eyes of Nicola’s. She’d fought and she’d fought. Now she couldn’t fight the curse any more.

‘Tom, forgive me. This is too strong now. I’m going to keep changing. And then I will hurt you. The worst of it is I’ll
know
that I’m hurting you, but I won’t be able to stop myself.’

‘Nicola, we can make you well again.’

‘No, Tom.’ There was such deep sadness in the slow shake of her head. ‘I know I can’t resist it. You must be strong and let me go.’

Earlier that day, he’d watched the river engulf the village; now he felt an overwhelming emotion engulf him. The grief hurt so much that he wanted beat his fists against the stone wall. Broken bones, however, couldn’t hurt any more than this sense of desolation and loss.

‘Let me go, Tom. This is the only way now.’ Her voice became tougher. ‘Don’t you dare make me suffer by allowing me to hurt you. Because I will – I know I will. The curse is turning me into a vampire. So, when the moment comes for me to leave, say “goodbye” and keep smiling as you say it.

‘Nicola, please . . .’

‘When all this is over I’ll keep remembering your smile. That will be something I can hold onto.’

‘Just give me one more hour.’

‘No, Tom. I have to go now, while I still have control over what I do.’

He knew she was right. Even so, he felt incredibly bleak inside, and he dreaded what the next few minutes would bring. ‘OK, how do we do this?’

‘I’ll go down and call for Helsvir. He always did his best to protect me in the past. I’m sure he will again.’

‘But you’ll be condemned to exist like some wild animal.’

‘Remember, Tom. When you say “goodbye”, smile. Keep smiling until I can’t see you any more.’

With a heavy heart Tom followed her down the steps and back into the ancient building. Chester, Joshua, and the others stood at the far end of the church near the altar. Mrs Bekk watched Tom and Nicola. Her expression was clear: she knew what her daughter intended.

Tom thought Nicola might have said her farewells to her mother. However, she moved faster now – an urgency gripped her. Time was running out.

Within seconds, they were outside on the strip of dry ground. Tom could see lights moving along the flooded backstreets. Rescuers were searching the houses there before venturing into the village’s centre. Fortunately, Bolter’s corpse lay on the far side of the tower; at least they’d be spared his presence, even in death, when they said their goodbyes.

‘Helsvir.’ Nicola’s call sounded so light, and so normal. She could have been gently calling a dog to her. ‘Helsvir.’

‘We convinced him to leave,’ he said. ‘Helsvir won’t come back.’

She gave a stuttering sigh. Her body stiffened. The changes to her flesh – and to her mind – were accelerating.

‘
Helsvir. Come.
’

Tom wished the creature wouldn’t come back. These were his last few moments with his wife. Just days ago he’d met Nicola – and they’d been such magical, enchanting days. He’d fallen in love with her; what’s more, he’d soon decided she was the person who would be at the centre of his life. He’d fought some bitter battles as well: with his father, with Chester, and with Bolter. And he’d finally won through. He’d married Nicola tonight. Now this bitter twist of fate. They’d finally been defeated by an ancient curse that was intended to safeguard the Bekk family bloodline. Yet that curse had ultimately ended a dynasty. There would be no more Bekk children after Nicola.

How ironic.

And he still loved her so much.
Love conquers all.
But that glib phrase now ripped wounds across his heart. Love hadn’t conquered this monstrous change in Nicola.

‘Helsvir, come.’

Nicola anxiously scanned the floodwater with those eerie eyes. She wanted so much for Helsvir to surge from the depths.

Don’t come
, was Tom’s desperate thought.
Don’t show yourself here.

Because I’m having one last good time before I die. One last happy moment with Nicola before they nail down the lid . . .
That’s what it felt like. This was like
his
death. Because he was losing Nicola forever.

She gasped with pain. ‘I can’t stay here, Tom. I don’t even feel like
me
any more.’

‘We could go back inside for a while?’
Any excuse to delay the inevitable . . . Just a few more minutes together . . .

But his wife was having none of it. Nicola firmly shook her head. ‘Tom, I’m leaving you tonight. I don’t want to, but there’s no turning back. The Viking gods might have lost most of their power, but boy-oh-boy do they know how to hold a grudge.’ A ghost of a smile had appeared on her lips as she said those words, then she added with grim emphasis, ‘If those evil, mean-spirited gods of my ancestors get the chance to make human beings suffer then that’s exactly what they’re going to do. That is their nature – they demand vengeance at any cost. I rejected them, and their so-called protection, and now they’re punishing me.’

Once again, he had to force himself not to reach out and embrace her with a comforting hug.

‘Helsvir,’ she called. ‘Helsvir, come.’ The moonlit waters were smooth. No sign of the creature. Then came the moment he’d dreaded. ‘I’ll leave in the boat,’ she told him. ‘The current will carry me far enough away so I can’t hurt you.’

Tom seized the moment to embed this scene in his memory:
here’s the church where I married the woman I love. And this is the final time that I’ll stand close enough to kiss her.

Even so, he was deprived of that intimacy. If he kissed Nicola, then maybe that would break down the last barrier of her resistance and the change to vampire would be complete. No, he wouldn’t risk that, because Nicola was so scared of losing control and harming him.

So Tom Westonby did what had to be done.

Quickly, he grabbed the prow of the boat and pulled it up higher on to dry land, so Nicola could step in. As he did so, one of his feet slipped into the water. He felt its wetness against his skin. The trivial accident seemed to anchor the tragedy of what was happening to reality. And seeing his wife step into the boat was even more heartbreakingly real, because he’d done something as mundane as getting his foot wet.

Here goes . . .

Gently, he pushed the boat. At first it scraped across the ground, then everything became fluidly smooth as it glided across the flooded graveyard.

He watched her – so pale and still in the moonlight. A slender figure standing in the prow of the boat. And she watched him. He knew she was locking the scene inside her own memory. What she saw now – her husband standing there – would last her for an eternity.

Tom raised his hand in farewell. ‘Nicola – I’m smiling. Can you see? Just like you asked, I’m smiling.’ He wished he could sink into the earth to join the dead in their graves and be at peace. But he forced himself to keep smiling. ‘Goodbye, Nicola. I love you.’

The boat drifted out over the submerged wall of the graveyard. Currents caught hold; soon they were carrying the little vessel, and Nicola, along the flooded street towards the part of the valley, which lay in shadow. He didn’t let the smile die for a moment. With sheer force of will he held that smile on his lips.

Moments later, the water stirred beside the boat as a glistening, rounded hump appeared.

Helsvir . . .

He watched Nicola step from the boat on to the back of her old friend. Slowly, she lowered herself until she sat astride its back. A girl on a steed from a magic dream. Helsvir would protect her now. He would know a safe place.

And so Nicola, his beautiful Nicola, the last child of the Bekk dynasty, rode the magnificent dragon of the Vikings away into the valley. They seemed to be passing out of this world and into a world where ancient gods were as real as a wet foot in a sodden shoe. Where dreams had the bite of reality. Perhaps to a place where people that we have loved, and who have died, wait patiently for us to cross over that bridge, which we build from love.

He watched until she’d gone – and all that remained on the water was shadow. He stood there and watched until the sun rose.

And then even the shadow was gone.

Six months later . . .

T
he flood had gone. So had Nicola Westonby.