Tempt Me When the Sun Goes Down (5 page)

The moment Bishop laid eyes on the mausoleum, he knew they’d found the right place.  The chamber itself was impressive, stone arches forming an open air temple of sorts.  The intricately carved sarcophagus bore a single epitaph in Latin –
Give the emperor what belongs to the emperor, give God what belongs to God, and give me what is mine
. 

Jakob had fallen silent for the duration of the ride into the English countryside, and he made no move to speak as they approached the massive structure.  The
Ellri
looked unusually pale in the moonlight, his shoulder length blonde hair stirring lightly in the breeze.  His steps slowed as he reached the stone dais, and Bishop came to a halt beside him.

“Maybe she’s not even in there?” Bishop ventured as they both stared at the darkened crypt.  “Maybe he’s got his wife stashed out here instead?”

Jakob shook his head, his voice pitched low in the stillness of the night.  “He gave her a proper burial at sea.  We do not put our dead in these morbid tombs.”

“Do you want me to open it?” Bishop asked softly, matching his tone even though there was no one around for miles and miles.  When Jakob made no response, Bishop stepped up to the heavy capstone, giving it an experimental shove.  The stone made a loud, grating scrape as it gave way, the glint of flaxen curls inside stealing his breath away. 

This time Jakob didn’t rush forward to finish the job.  This time, the
Ellri
remained rooted in place, even after Bishop pushed the massive stone free.  The moonlight revealed Carys’ delicate features, her cheeks pale, but smooth, rosebud lips slightly parted.  Jakob gasped, leaning forward to stare down at her in amazement, and Bishop’s heart clenched painfully at the sight of that lovely face.  Serene and composed, she looked as though she’d merely fallen asleep, at sharp odds with the wooden stake piercing her breast. 

Much like it’d been with Corinne in New York, there wasn’t much blood, her dress perfectly preserved apart from the terrible wound.   She appeared to be dressed for a night at the theater, in a turn of the century evening gown, all frothy blue ruffles and lace that gave her a deceptively sweet and innocent look.  Bishop knew the color would make her eyes sparkle under candlelight, he’d fallen under their spell before.  His hand extended to stroke her soft cheek, half expecting her to vanish in a swirl of illusion, but Carys was flesh and blood, right enough.   

“It’s really her,” Bishop murmured, fingers dusting across the curve of her jaw, following a path he’d traced countless times before.  His hand strayed to her shoulder and he hesitated, wondering the best way to remove the stake to cause her the least amount of pain. 

“I’ll do it,” Jakob rasped, his voice cracking with emotion.  In the next instant, he wrenched the piece of wood free, tossing it aside without hesitation.  Carys’ mouth opened in a silent scream, blue eyes wide with pain, staring but unseeing at the sudden agony.  The gaping wound quickly soaked her pretty dress with blood, but she showed no sign of weakness, fighting against Jakob’s hold like a wild animal, scratching and biting to be set free. 

Jakob was easily able to overpower Carys, but still she fought, thrashing and squirming to break his hold on her.  “
Vara stilla, älskling,
” he ordered, his voice gentle but firm.  Instantly, she ceased struggling, her face turning toward the sound of his voice. 

“Jakob?” she breathed, her lower lip trembling as his voice penetrated the haze of pain.  That single word sent a glow of warmth through Bishop’s heart – he’d never thought to hear that voice again.  It gave him hope that she could be saved, unlike mad Corinne who’d had to be put down.  It was a good sign that Carys was at least mentally stable enough to recognize her Sire. 

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, eyes misty with tears.  “Jakob, I’m dying,” she said in a piteous voice, her face pinched with pain. 

“No, beloved,” he smiled down at her, stroking the bright curls away from her brow.  “I’m here to save you.  Drink…”  There was no need to give her a command as her body’s need for blood took over.  Her fangs descended and she lunged for his wrist with a savage cry, pulling hard at his flesh.  Jakob moaned at the intensity of it, gathering her close as he murmured endearments into her hair.  The
Ellri’s
powerful blood spiced the air, which soon became thick with their intimate sounds.

Bishop’s eyes squeezed shut, doing his best to close his ears to the familiar catch of pleasure in her voice.  How many times had he been by her side when she made that contented purr as she fed?  How many times had she forced him to watch as she took her satisfaction from another?  It both shocked and dismayed him that it still bothered him to see her in a clinch with Jakob, even knowing that she needed his blood to repair the damage to her body.

“Forgive me,” Jakob whispered when she released him, sated.  “I swear to you, I thought you dead.  I had no idea you were in Lodinn’s care.  Say you’ll forgive me,” he begged, kissing her forehead, her eyelid, her cheek.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she replied, still half in a swoon.  “I knew you’d come for me,
minn hjärta
.” 

That was Bishop’s cue to leave.  He’d done what he set out to do, he’d found Carys for Jakob as commanded.  There was no reason for him to stick around, definitely not to watch their tender reunion.  He turned on his heel, prepared to go wait in the car until a single word halted him in his tracks. 

“Ulrik?”

He turned to find her watching him, her lips curved into a smile as though pleased to see him, but hardly with undying passion.  After weeks spent reading about her eternal love for him, it was a disappointment, to say the least.  Then again, she was still under Jakob’s compulsion not to love him, he reminded himself.  Still, it was disconcerting to see those calculating blue eyes regarding him as though it’d been scarcely a week or two since they’d last seen each other.  Maybe for her it was.

“Hello, Carys.  It’s good to see you again,” he said simply, not quite sure what else to say.

“How strange you sound,” she smiled, her brows drawing together in puzzlement.  “And how oddly garbed you are.  What company have you been keeping?”  Her own voice held the accent born of years of travel and a dozen languages spoken, heavily influenced by her Welsh upbringing.

Bishop looked to Jakob, not sure how to answer.  In all the months they’d spent on the road together searching, never once had they discussed what to tell Carys once they actually found her.  Though she’d retained enough of her wits to recognize them and carry on a simple conversation, there was no telling if there were any lasting effects of Lodinn’s treatment of her.  No way to know if it could be damaging to tell her how much time had passed. 

“That’s a question best suited for a later time,” Jakob said with an indulgent pat.  “I’m more concerned with how you are.  Are you in any pain, my treasure?  Do you need more of my blood?”

“Pain?”  Her hand massaged her chest where the wound had fully healed, smearing the blood all over her hand, and she stared at it in confusion.  “No… there’s no pain,” she murmured, her tongue darting out to daintily lap at her sticky fingers.  

“Yes, pain.  How long were you in torpor?” he tried again, but she merely shrugged. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Bishop probed, disturbed to see her placidly ignoring them while she continued to clean her hand like a cat. 

Carys stopped, staring off into the distance.  “There was a party, in Lichtenstein.  I wore my pretty dress…”  She looked down, her face crumpling in distress to see the bloody tear over her heart. 

“Did no one know who you were?” Jakob asked.  “Could you not tell anyone your plight or get word to me?”

Her blonde curls danced as she shook her head.  “No, he’d compelled me not to speak of it, and there was no one there in my acquaintance.  They were all humans,” her nose wrinkled with disdain.

That explained why no one had known she was still alive.  “Did he do this sort of thing all the time?”

“Not too often, no.  Mostly he delighted in keeping me to himself, depriving me of all good society,” she sniffed, her eyes growing shiny with unshed tears as she turned her gaze up to Jakob, who still held her in his lap.  “He subjected me to all manner of debasing indignities.”  Her voice throbbed with emotion, lower lip trembling with just the right touch of vulnerability that set off Bishop’s bullshit meter.  He’d caught her act before, it didn’t make it any less convincing though.  “I can’t even speak of the advantages he took of me.”  She dabbed at her eyes, crying prettily into Jakob’s shoulder when he pulled her closer. 

Knowing first hand how low she set the bar for moral standards, Bishop doubted that very much.  She’d continually shocked him with her behavior both in and out of the bedroom, and it was unlikely she would’ve rejected Lodinn under normal circumstances.  But he reminded himself that it’d still been a horrible ordeal for her.  No matter what her personal proclivities were, she hadn’t deserved being kept as little more than a pawn of revenge against Jakob.

He cleared his throat when she continued to snuffle and carry on, the tears ringing false with him, even if Jakob didn’t seem to notice. “When was this last party?” Bishop asked.  Judging from her style of dress, at least a hundred years had passed, unless she’d been on her way to a costume party.

“I hardly know,” she frowned.  “What day is it now?”

Looking to Jakob, Bishop took his subtle nod as a sign to go ahead and drop the big one.  “There’s no easy way to say it, but I’m guessing it’s been a century or more since Lodinn last took you out to play.”

Her eyes clouded with genuine alarm for the first time since she’d tasted Jakob’s blood.  “How is that possible?  I realize some time has passed, but surely not that much.”

“Carys, over three hundred years have gone by since we thought you died,” he said gently and Jakob nodded as well.

“But… why would you think me dead?  Surely you knew Lodinn had taken me.  He spoke often of taunting you with my capture.  Why did you wait so long to come for me?” she demanded, punching Jakob in the shoulder as her lips pouted in a petulant moue. 

“I had no idea you lived, my angel,” Jakob insisted.  “When the reports of your death came to me, I wept for a month, barely able to eat or sleep.  I was beside myself.”

Carys seemed mollified by his words, but turned to focus on Bishop.  “And did you weep as well, Ulrik?  Or was there nothing but relief?”

“I grieved,” he said shortly, not liking to think back to that dark period in his life.  He’d very nearly ended it all.  Carys had been the absolute center of his universe.  When he’d thought she’d killed herself because he’d driven her to it, it’d been almost more than he could bear.  If not for the Order, he might’ve followed her into the sun.  Only that wasn’t what’d happened at all, he reminded himself.  She probably hadn’t cared at all that he’d shacked up with another girl that night, her heart had been hardened to him for centuries. 

“Apparently not for very long,” she murmured.  His less flowery response clearly wasn’t what she’d been hoping for, and he had to admit, the old Ulrik would’ve thrown himself at her feet to beg forgiveness for having failed her. 

“It’s been over three centuries, Carys.  I’ve had time to get over it.”

“It seems like yesterday to me,” she said softly, and then Bishop did feel a tug at his heartstrings.  “Then Lodinn never told you he’d been keeping me here against my will?”

“No, we just found out he had you at all a few months ago.  Apparently, he decided his private revenge wasn’t enough to make Jakob pay and he decided to kick it up a notch.”  Bishop looked to Jakob, who shook his head almost imperceptibly.  Now wasn’t the time to bring up Anja.  Carys wasn’t paying attention to them though, her anger growing as she realized she’d been hoping for a rescue that would never come as long as Lodinn had kept her imprisonment to himself. 

“That whoremonger!” she hissed, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.  “Where is he?  I’ll skin him alive!  I’ll roast his liver and eat it for dinner!” 

Bishop would’ve laughed if he didn’t know she meant every single ugly threat that tumbled from her cherry lips.  His hands came up to stem the colorful swear words that were far removed from her usual ladylike pose.  “Sorry, there’s nothing left of him but ash.”

“Which one of you avenged me then?” she demanded, looking from one to the other.

“Jakob’s your man,” Bishop replied first, wanting none of the glory for his part in it. Besides, Lodinn would’ve been just as dead with or without his help, Anja had seen to that. 

“I hope you made him suffer before you tore out his black heart,” she smiled up at Jakob, a mixture of sugar and spite in her voice. 

“He had time enough to regret how he wronged you,” Jakob boasted, leaving out the actual details, for which Bishop was grateful.  Mollified, Carys flowed against Jakob like honey, her arms twining around his broad shoulders as she offered herself up as a reward – which Jakob gladly took. 

Bishop looked down at his boots, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the display as it grew more intimate – clearly her appetites hadn’t dulled over the years.  He cleared his throat, taking a step backward.  “Okay then.  We’re good?  I have to get back to Rome.”