In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Second Season: Episodes 6-10 (31 page)

"He won't kill her, foolish witch. He would never do that," Lorelei snapped.

Beneath the water, Carys shook her head, the hilt of the dagger plunged into her chest piercing the surface. "He'll destroy her."

"You can't escape, you know..." It was Rhonda, sitting at the edge of the water. The wind played with her curls and the reflection of the moon glowed in her eyes. "It'll wash over you and drown you. Just like me."

“Rhonda,” Vanora whispered, her heart breaking.

“She killed me, Vanora,” Rhonda said, indicating Lorelei with a quick jerk of her chin.

“You needed to come home to face your fate,” Lorelei said with a false sweetness.

“I don’t understand…”

Carys continued to bob beneath the waves, eyes closed in death. “Run, Vanora. Run away.”

"Vanora, ignore them. Come here!"

Spinning about, Vanora saw Roman standing in the darkened doorway of the mausoleum. "Roman..."

"Vanora, don't listen to the Fates."

"The Fates?" Vanora stepped onto the crisp grass lawn of her home and left behind the beach, the ship sailing in the distance, and the three women on the shore.

The female voices jumbled together as they whispered:

"Run away."

"He won't kill you. You're his future."

"You can't escape."

"Nothing is set in stone, Vanora. Nothing. The Fates conspire, but will not win. Do you understand?" Roman set his hands on her shoulders when she drew near.

"No, I don't. Not at all."

"The wolf will give you the answers." Roman kissed her cheek gently, then sifted into gray ashes that coated her damp feet.

The darkness of the mausoleum loomed in front of Vanora, summoning her silently to enter. Behind her she could hear the three women still arguing, but she ignored them. In the mausoleum,  answers waited for her. Gingerly stepping inside, the frigid, stale air closed around her.

Somewhere in the dark, something large and furry moved. A low growl rumbled through the mausoleum, echoing as though in a vast chamber.

"Are you the wolf?" Vanora asked.

"Yes," came a woman's voice. "Step closer."

"Vanora, don't."  Armando swept her into his arms and carried her into the golden light of a single candle tucked into an alcove. "Don't listen to them. Any of them."

"I want answers, Armando," Vanora protested. "I want to understand."

Armando's handsome face and golden eyes drew close to her and his lips met hers in a fiery kiss. She lost herself in his touch and when they parted she saw the glimmer of his sharp teeth behind his lips.

"Let me save you," he said as he lowered his mouth to her throat.

Vanora closed her eyes and the bite came.

Vanora drifted out of the tormented world of dreams. Groggily, she lifted her head unsure of her surroundings in the first few seconds of awareness. It gradually sank into her bewildered mind that she was in her old bedroom in the Socoli Mansion. To make matters even more unusual, she was snuggled against Armando’s nude body. Sweeping her hair from her face, she rested a hand against his chest and lifted herself to peer at his face. She’d fallen asleep with the lamp on and the warm glow illuminated his features. To her relief, he appeared in a deep slumber even though his chest was still and he hadn’t moved since the sun rose.

Fingers trailing along his collar bone, she kissed Armando’s chilled lips. The love she felt for him burned so hot inside her, it almost hurt. The door that had opened between them that wonderful, yet terrible Halloween night had never truly closed. She saw that now. The fact she had stepped through it and into a deeper relationship with the vampire was terrifying. She couldn’t allow herself to think about what the future held for either one of them. It was difficult to do when she knew they could both lose their lives.

And if somehow they survived, what future could there be for them? Last night she had vowed to embrace the present and not fret over what might be. Gazing at Armando, she had no regrets about her decision.

A glimpse at the clock revealed it was a little after noon. Her stomach was grumbling and her mouth was parched. Vanora found her pajamas among the covers and dressed rapidly. The room was very cold and she made a mental note to check the heater. She supposed the vampires didn’t notice the freezing temperatures, but she certainly did. Adding a bathrobe to her ensemble, she shoved her feet into a pair of fuzzy penguin slippers.

It was surprisingly difficult to leave Armando’s side. The vision of him lying on her bed surrounded by the gauzy drapery of her canopy made her heart beat just a little faster. It unnerved her to realize his heart was silent. That thought reminded her of the fragility of humanity. He was kept alive by something unnatural that she couldn’t fully comprehend. The metronome of her heart was the root of her life and its silence would mean her death.

Pausing at the door, she deeply inhaled the icy air filling her room. To feel alive was vitally important all at once. She needed to feel the oxygen rushing into her lungs.

In the hours since she had arrived in Houston, she had lost her grip on the human world and being consumed by the one of the undead. She was the lone human in the battle against the coming darkness.

Exhaling, she let herself out of the bedroom.

The house was utterly dark. All the curtains were drawn, blotting out the sunlight. She dared to take a peek out of a ground floor window and was nearly blinded by the glare of the day. Rubbing her smarting eyes, she stumbled to the kitchen. Miss Robbins had taken the time to refill the refrigerator with all the things Vanora enjoyed eating in anticipation of her return home. Vanora rummaged around before finally settling on warmed leftovers of Irish stew and a piece of apple pie. The food and the iced tea she poured herself chased away her hunger pangs and caffeine cravings. Poking the crumbs of pie crust with her fork once she was done eating, she let fresh, but silent tears fall before finally wiping them away with the cuff of her robe.

It hurt to know Roman was gone forever, but there was really no time to mourn him. She needed answers, and to uncover the truth she would have to be bold and brave. Hopefully, she could be both. There was no point running away and she knew it, but that didn’t make the situation any easier. After cleaning the dishes and setting them in the sink to dry, she returned to the second floor.

Instead of joining Armando, she let herself into her sister’s studio. Like the rest of the house the curtains were drawn. The gloom had finally eaten on her last nerve, so she opened the drapes and raised the shades. The light at first hurt her eyes, but when they adjusted she realized the daylight was muted by heavy winter storm clouds. She had become so acclimated to the dark that even the diluted sunlight had seemed too bright. Again, she was unnerved to realize how easily she was adapting to the world of the vampires.

Someone had taken the time to stack the paintings Alisha had strewn about the night before. Vanora started to sort them on the work table, but rapidly realized this wouldn’t be plausible. Instead, she started to lay them on the floor in a semi-circle by themes.

One set was all about Roman’s death. It hurt just to look at them, so she placed them face down in a stack.

Another set featured her sister and the family mausoleum. Alisha was depicted as a bloodthirsty vampire, complete with bared fangs, and the mausoleum was featured in each one. Was this her sister’s fear? Or was this her reality? Alisha painted the future, but she already existed as a vampire so what did the paintings actually mean?

Another series confused Vanora. It was of regular objects burning. A hair brush. A pair of shoes. If Alisha hadn’t hid them away Vanora would have assumed that they were just a new study utilizing fire. Alisha had been building a reputation in the art world for her penchant for vivid imagery comprising of various light sources before retreating into obscurity.

The final set truly bothered Vanora. All of them were of Vanora being overwhelmed by the dark. Sometimes she was in water, other times it was a thick black mist. One painting revealed Vanora reaching for a lit candle as the hand of an unseen assailant dragged her from it. And, of course, there was the painting of the phantom male pressing his lips to Vanora’s throat that had bothered Armando so much. The night before his face had clearly displayed his displeasure. Whether or not she was supposed to be dead, sleeping, or swooning was left up to interpretation. The paintings born of Alisha’s supernatural and artistic abilities were disturbing and uncomfortably personal. It was like peering into Alisha’s mind.

Within her was the niggling feeling that she was missing vital information, but it wasn’t in front of her. Vanora stared at her sister’s artwork in dismay. She’d been convinced there was some hidden meaning in the swirls and strokes of paint, and that feeling was not leaving her. 

The racks lining one wall were filled with Alisha’s art pieces that were not born of her gift. Vanora hesitated, then hurried over to them. Maybe Alisha hadn’t realized the significance of a painting and stored it among the others. Sometimes Vanora’s gift was much stronger than other times. Carefully, her long fingers flipped through the canvases, surveying each one with thoughtfulness. She definitely felt drawn to this location and trusted her instincts. It was in the third rack that she found a painting that literally made her gasp aloud.

Painted in vivid colors were seven women in a circle, each gripping the ankle of the one before her. Jerking it free of the racks, Vanora stared at the image with disbelieving eyes. The only difference between Alisha’s painting and her sketch was that these women were floating in the dark night sky and glowed like stars. It took several seconds for Vanora to make the connection.

“The Pleiades,” she whispered.

But what did the seven sister goddesses of Greek Mythology, or the constellation named after them, have to do with what was occurring in her life?

With trembling fingers, Vanora set the painting aside and continued her search through Alisha’s art. She was almost to the final few when she nearly dropped the canvas she had drawn from among the others.

The albino vampire stared out of the painting with his mesmerizing lavender eyes. Trembling so violently she could barely withdraw the oil painting from the rack, she pulled ragged breaths of cool air into her lungs. Dizziness swept over her and she fought to retain her balance.

Vanora carried the painting to the work table and laid it on the surface. Hands pressed to her lips, she stared at the flawless face that was perfectly captured by her sister’s talent. Though he wasn’t depicted as a vampire, but a warrior, there was no mistaking that this was the same man who had entered her dreams, her visions, and even her apartment that one fateful night. His white hair was long and plaited and he wore a beard that made him seem even more imposing. The pale sculpted beauty of his chest was covered in blood, and he held a sword and battered shield as he stood beneath a glowing white moon. As always, her sister had perfectly captured the brilliance of light for it was as if the moonlight poured out of the painting to illuminate her hands.

“The Pleiades.” Vanora traced over the constellation of the seven sisters tucked into the evening sky in one corner. “What does it mean?”

Returning to the first painting, she laid them side by side and flipped on the overhead lamp. What she had missed the first time she’d viewed the painting of the seven sisters was that the dim outline of a winged man was superimposed over their celestial form. Only the barest difference in the paint colors gave the figure definition. Tilting her head, Vanora scrutinized the painting of the albino warrior and soon spotted a similar vague outline.

Feeling sick to the pit of her stomach, Vanora hurried out of her sister’s studio, darted into her bedroom, and grabbed her phone from the bed stand. She hesitated briefly, studying Armando’s silent form. Tears pricked at her eyes and she pressed one hand to her shivering stomach. If only he were awake, so she wouldn’t be forced to face this terrible revelation by herself. Yet, a piece of her was unwilling to share what she’d discovered with him. In fact, the thought of imparting her revelation to him terrified her.

Vanora didn’t want to search for the cause of her reluctance. She wanted to cling to her love for him and what little happiness it brought her.

At last, she returned to her sister’s studio. It took a little bit of time to get decent pictures of the paintings, but she was satisfied with a few she had taken.

The desperate need for an explanation of the images filled her and she fidgeted with the ends of her long hair as she stared at the art pieces. She was terribly afraid, but excited. The paintings held great significance; she just needed to ask the right person to acquire the answers she craved.

Again she thought of asking Armando and again the reluctance she immediately experienced frightened her. Armando was keeping something from her, but what? Did it have to do with the strange women and the albino vampire?

Looking over her shoulder at the remaining paintings, Vanora was reluctant to continue her search. What if there was something even direr hidden in the remaining pieces? She had to know if there was even if she was afraid.

Carrying the two paintings to the racks, she stored them away before starting to review the last few canvases. The only other canvas that gave her pause was of a giant wolf staring forlornly at the moon. In Roman’s dream he had said the wolf would reveal the truth. Her teeth tugging on her bottom lip, she set the painting on an empty easel and studied it.