Immortal With a Kiss (26 page)
M
y limbs were leaden, my vision blurred, my breathing shallow and quick. I felt as if I were swimming in a black sea, fighting against powerful currents to get to the door.
Eustacia stared at me, horror written on her young face. Her reaction sobered me somewhat, and I drew myself upright with supreme effort. “What is happening?” I managed, my voice a croak as air scratched against my parched throat. I could hear my words were slurred.
I must be drugged, I thought. I knew I was not right, and this could not be simple illness. I had not felt like this ever in my life.
The girl was before me, and I knew she was speaking, but for some reason I was having a great deal of difficulty absorbing her words.
At last the sound of screams rising from the girls’ dormitory penetrated my fog. I pushed Eustacia aside and launched myself down the corridor.
Where were the other teachers? Their rooms were near to mine. They were close enough to hear Eustacia pounding on my door, close enough to make out the cries of the girls in the quiet of the night. And how were the other students able to sleep through this? The sound of crying was a cacophony in the darkened halls.
I burst into the room where the sixth form girls slept, then stopped in my tracks at the terrifying sight before me. My strength seemed to run out of me, leaving me numb. I gasped for air, unable to get anything into my lungs.
In front of my eyes, bathed brilliantly in the light from an ample moon, the hideous form of a creature hovered in midair. The thing was part man, part . . . demon. It was naked, its flesh an inhumanly leathery texture tightly stretched over grotesque sinews and musculature that flexed like machine pulleys as it wavered, leering at me with its maw open, razor-sharp incisors gleaming in the light like diamonds. Its head was bald and whitish, its eyes fiery red. Plumes of smoke blew from enlarged nostrils, as though it were some great dragon, misting the glistening red blood that dripped wetly from its mouth.
I was taken aback only a moment; the blood of my mother asserted itself even as I hesitated. I knew the sensation, welcomed it as my focus tightened, my muscles tensed, ready to strike if need be. This was when I was at my best—in the fight, in the moment. All feeling of being drugged temporarily vanished. In moments like this, my Dhampir nature took over.
Valerian had told me long ago that the sight of a vampire feeding, in its unguarded state, stripped of all its ability to charm and deceive, was unspeakably revolting. He was correct. I knew that the thing before me was Ruthven—the vampire in its true form. But even more horrifying, Vanessa Braithwait languished in ecstasy in his arms, her mouth open and smiling, her blood black in the dim light of the dark room. Around her, crying loudly as they gazed up in mesmerized horror, were the other girls of the dorm, clinging to one another desperately in their state of terror. All except the other coven girls—Lilliana, Therese, Marion, and Margaret—who stood silent, watching the beast and Vanessa with something akin to rapture on their faces.
“Get out!” I cried. Again, my speech was sluggish, but it was strong enough to command the students. They broke out of their paralysis and began to scramble toward the door. “Go. Hurry!”
They ran out of the rooms, but the four silent girls stayed firm. I did not waste any time trying to convince them, but turned to the vampire. I put out my hand, but the Dhampir strength in me, which usually flowed in and out of me at such times when I called upon it, did not surge. The drugs, I thought. They were impairing me.
I could not give in to fear. It meant death for everyone in the room. With determination, I summoned my strength and shouted, “Stop!”—and to my surprise, this startled it. It blinked at me, and the tiniest of my preternatural resources bubbled just enough to reach the thing. Although my touch was more like a brushing-off than the punch I’d intended, the vampire’s reaction was astonishing. It reared at the sight of me, mouth gaped in horror as it bellowed a single word: “No!”
The vampire dropped Vanessa to fling its hands up over its face, covering its hideous appearance. At this unexpected display of vanity, I instinctively stepped forward to catch Vanessa before she struck the floor, but I was not quick enough. She fell with a sickening thud and lay there in a state of semiconsciousness. A glimpse of blood under her head indicated a head wound. The pool spread quickly.
I stood frozen in fear that he’d killed her, but her head rolled slightly as she let out a small moan. Her arms reached up, as if begging for her tormentor to take her up into his arms again.
I lifted my gaze back to the hovering revenant still cowering from me. My momentary advantage would not last, and the effects of the drug were taking their toll. I belatedly realized I’d made a grave error by coming here without any protections, any weapons. I had been so groggy and disoriented I had not realized what I was doing when I left the room without them. Cold dread seeped into me, like a bloodstain spreading fast across linen.
Then Ruthven did a strange thing. Instead of pressing its obvious advantage, it withdrew, recoiling away from me. To my amazement, it retreated several steps to the corner. Its twisted body was hunkered over, its arms held as if to shield its face from view. I watched this, amazed and puzzled. Then, as it threw an agonized glance at me, I realized it was ashamed! The proud Ruthven did not want me—its sister, its equal, its mate—to see it like this.
It whimpered, betraying its desperate state. Oh, yes, I knew this creature, for it had revealed itself to me in trying to seduce me. It longed to be admired, loved even, worshiped as a god and goddess in one. But this vicious, loathsome beast before me was its true form, one it had to assume when it fed. All guise was gone, all pretense of the charming lover, revealed for what it was in truth—not glorious at all, but ugly and base, greedy, sniveling, insecure, childish.
“It always comes to this,” I whispered. “It always ends in death. That was what Madge told me on the first day. These poor girls. They think you are beauty. But you are in reality this: A hideous monster. Death. Evil. Repulsive.”
I stressed the last word, testing it. Ruthven twitched, as if touched by fire.
I turned to the girls he’d cast under his thrall. “See, all of you, see what your Cyprian Queen truly is. Not beautiful, but ugly. A monster, not a god.”
They looked confused at first, then dawning terror claimed each one of them in turn. As it did, they scuttled away from the hulking creature in the corner, sobbing loudly and clinging to one another.
Ruthven’s mournful wail came from a reptilian throat. “My lovesick beauties . . .” He reached a taloned hand toward them, and they screamed, clamoring to get away from him. The razor-sharp claws closed into a fist. An unearthly shriek shook the room, and the creature curled venomously as it turned back to me.
I reached out my hand toward it, clamping down my mind in fierce concentration. Sweat broke out on my brow as I searched for its mind, its essence. My skill was weak, but I clung to the knowledge that this was what I was made for. It would come to me. It had to.
“I once thought you worthy,” it hissed. “You viper!”
It pushed back, and my connection snapped off. The girls’ screaming pitched anew. The sound seemed to annoy Ruthven, and it swept its hand in an arc toward where they huddled together. “Sleep,” it murmured, and silence fell as all in the room, save me, swooned into unconsciousness.
“No!” Margaret called, stepping forward with her hands held out beseechingly. “Not me! I want to see!”
I thought the demon smiled at her. It curled its talons in the air, a sickening gesture of affection, and as the other girls subsided, she remained standing.
“Eustacia,” I called behind me, afraid the young girl, too, would fall under the spell. But the vampire had not bothered to quiet her; she stood transfixed and silent. I urged her: “Fetch my bag from my room. It is under the bed—bring it to me immediately. Go!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Margaret step toward Eustacia as the younger girl turned to flee. Margaret snagged Eustacia by her nightdress and yanked her so hard Eustacia flew onto her back and yelped in pain. She lay there, stunned and unmoving.
“Eustacia!” I called out in alarm.
Margaret whirled to me, her eyes gleaming with a wicked fever. “Vanessa wants this. You must not stop it!”
“It is not true,” I shouted at her.
“He will make her eternal!”
“You ignorant fool! The transformation takes three times bitten. I assure you it is not giving you the transformation. It is feeding! Vanessa will die. You all will.”
She sneered, as if I knew nothing. “She will be his immortal love. He promised.”
“A cursed immortality,” I said. “Look at your god now. Did he promise to take you as well?”
“She will.” Margaret’s gaze fell to her friend, writhing on the floor. Her gaze softened and I saw her love for Vanessa written on her features, so plaintive and lost it hurt to look at. Her breath hitched as she drew in a shaking breath laden with the full burden of her emotions, and murmured, “Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!”
I lost no time exploiting this moment of weakness. With a well-placed kick aimed squarely to her knee, I brought Margaret down.
With a groan, Eustacia struggled to her feet. “Run!” I urged her. To my great relief, she staggered out of the room. Neither Ruthven nor Margaret attempted to stop her.
A rush of air behind me brought me back around to see Ruthven had taken flight and was almost upon me.
As with so many times when I faced my supernatural foes, I let instinct bid me. This time, I let myself fall back, reaching my hand out as I hit the ground. My palm slapped into a puddle of Vanessa’s blood. I felt its wet warmth on my skin.
I brought my hand up and held it in front of me. The creature’s attack halted immediately, nearly a hair’s breadth from my face. The blood of its victim seemed to have a deleterious effect.
My mind was working furiously, hampered by the drug. How long would it take Eustacia to get back with my bag? How long could I hold off the vampire like this?
“I would have made you a goddess,” Ruthven murmured bitterly. “My greatness . . . My art . . . I thought you would be honored, but you . . . you were jealous all along! You hate me because you see my greatness. You want what I have gained, you ungrateful traitor.”
“Her?” shrieked Margaret. “No! You promised Vanessa will be your goddess, and I her handmaiden!”
Ruthven swept its hand out with a cry of rage, and Margaret was flung away, up against a mirror standing in the corner. It shattered around her, and she fell among the shards, unconscious and bleeding.
The sound of running footsteps came from the hallway behind me, and I knew Eustacia was back. Ruthven knew it, too. It chuckled, and before my eyes, as it swiped the back of its long-fingered hand across its mouth, erasing the last trace of blood, it transformed into a beautiful youth. The face beyond lovely, with a serene smile and penetrating blue eyes, all capped with a halo of perfect gold curls.
Stretching out its arms, it flew up toward the ceiling, a vision of beauty neither male nor female, as transcendently awesome as Michelangelo Buonarroti’s finest painted masterpiece.
It held its hands out, a smile shining from its face. “I am the Cyprian Queen, god and goddess of love beyond imagining, and ecstasy beyond any human touch.”
A movement on the ground caught my attention, and I saw Vanessa had risen. Holding her hands out to the vision of youth, her blood-soaked hair clinging wetly to her body. She cried, “Her lips suck forth my soul!”
With a tinkling laughter, the angel came to stand before her. I moved quickly to intercept them, ready to fight for Vanessa. But she caught me off guard with a strength I didn’t expect. Her shove sent me back wheeling, giving her time to fling herself at Ruthven.
The beautiful vampire’s eyes shifted to me as it gathered her into its arms. “You will be very sorry,” it promised, and then it soared into the air, Vanessa in its arms.
The sash of the window flew open, and a frigid gust of wind blasted into the room. Then the fiend dashed out into the night.
“Vanessa!” I called, rushing to the sill. But it was too late. She was gone.
“Mrs. Andrews!” Eustacia cried from behind me. I felt her press my bag into my hand. But I could not tear my gaze from the window. The wind blew into my face, leaving me gulping desperately for air, but I barely felt the cold as it bit through my nightdress. The night was brilliant with moonlight, alive with the movement of the wind as it thrashed the treetops.
I watched helplessly as Ruthven hovered outside the window, chuckling as it clutched its euphoric prize. The maniacal look of its evil intent, somehow incalculably worse when written on such heavenly loveliness, was horrible to behold.
I fumbled in the bag, my fingers closing around the shaft of the stake. Even as I extracted it, I knew it would do no good.
“Eustacia, do not look,” I mumbled.
“But—”
“Do as I say. Close your eyes!”
I did not close mine. I watched Ruthven’s victorious glee as it dropped Vanessa Braithwait. The sound of her scream as she fell four stories, the sound of her body hitting the ground below, the immediate silence after, was beyond dreadful.
