Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (16 page)

Susan was drawn into the account against her will. If the woman was making it up, she certainly had an amazing amount of detail, details that Susan had never considered. Susan chose her words carefully, reluctant to give any ground. “My grandmother talks about how difficult it’s been to live through changing times. If you truly are 700 years old, how have you survived that change? It would be as if you came from another world.”

Ryan nodded. “That’s exactly my point. I would imagine your grandmother had to heat water over the fire in order to take a warm bath.”

“Yes,” Susan nodded, remembering their conversations, “And you had to do the same?”

“No,” Ryan laughed. “We did not bathe. I’m amused by your ‘historical’ depictions. I never saw anyone that clean. The filth we lived in would have been considered obscene by 20th century standards.”

Susan thought back to the earlier conversation.

“So how did you end up fighting for the Black Prince if you were politically ignorant?”

Ryan shrugged. “It was very common for the poor to be ‘conscripted’ into the army. I fought as a mercenary. I fought for two years, never knowing what I was fighting for. I returned home when I was perhaps 18, 19 years old, at which time my life changed forever.”

Victor watched the child in the bed. Now that she was clean and her golden hair was untangled, she did indeed look more female than male. He frowned. At some point in time, his instructions for her to take the waters every day had been ignored. Perhaps at the same time the instructions for her to stay in the village had been ignored.

Victor controlled his anger. Years of planning had nearly been destroyed; he had taken his fury out on the village. He cared nothing that the child had exacted her revenge against Derek and the others. He cared only that she was now here.

The child moaned slightly in her sleep and rolled over. Miriam eyed her carefully for signs of awakening, then returned to her stitchery.

“Child” was probably not the appropriate term for the figure in the bed, Victor reminded himself. She was nearly two decades old now, and by common standards, a fully grown woman.

Victor gazed again at the figure, this time with misgivings. To his mind she was still little more than a child, far too young. He sighed his frustration and Miriam glanced over at him beneath raised brows. Victor waved towards the door and Miriam nodded primly and disappeared.

Victor began pacing about the room. He knew it would be difficult once he was in her presence; he had underestimated how great that difficulty would be.

No he hadn’t, he reminded himself. That was why he had kept her away for nearly two decades. It would have served no purpose to take her as a child.

And she is still a child, he told himself.

The figure stirred in the bed once more, and he moved to her side. He stared down at the perfect features, the golden lashes, and his jaw clenched. In a sudden fury, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. He stalked down the halls of his castle and through the courtyard. He took the reins of his favorite stallion and, throwing one long leg over the horse’s back, galloped from the castle into the night.

Miriam watched him from the window, a candle in her hand. Her face was expressionless as she watched her master flee.

Victor stayed away several days until he felt he had regained control. His reappearance was greeted with the usual lack of reaction from his staff; he had chosen them well although he could hear their whisperings even from great distances.

He spoke briefly with the stablehand on care for his horse then left for his own quarters. The girl’s room was adjacent to his own, and he wondered if she was still sleeping. He cocked his head to one side as if listening to something that no one else could hear; he didn’t think so.

When he walked into the room, the bed was empty. He glanced to the window, then to the far corner. The room was empty.

He frowned, more annoyed than concerned. He again cocked his head to one side as if listening to a far-off noise. He started down the passageway to the great hall.

He entered the great hall and caught sight of the figure on the far side. She looked like a young boy once more, dressed in leggings and an oversized shirt. She was balanced precariously on the hearth, reaching for a sword hung ceremoniously on the wall. She came down, sword in hand. She turned, startled to see Victor a few feet from her.

“I don’t think you need that.”

The lithe figure gazed at the Man with supreme distrust. She did not know where she was or why she was here, but she recognized this man. She raised the sword in front of her.

“I’ll judge that.”

The man smiled ever so slightly and the next thing she knew, the sword was out of her hand and in his. She had not even seen him move and wondered what sort of magic this was. He tossed the sword aside as if it was inconsequential. She felt for the dagger concealed in her shirt. The man saw the movement.

“Why don’t you give me that as well?”

She removed the dagger from its hiding place then made as if to hand it to him. Instead, she dodged to the right and fled from the hallway.

Victor simply stood there, sighing. He didn’t know why he had assumed this would be easy.

The girl fled down the hallway, accidentally tackling the nursemaid, Miriam, in the process. Miriam screamed and the girl continued to flee. Victor came striding down the hallway, unperturbed. He glanced at Miriam, who was attempting to gather the basket of spilled yarn. He continued after the girl.

The girl was completely unfamiliar with the layout of the castle and found herself going up when she wished to go down. She wanted to backtrack down the spiral staircase, but was uncertain how much of an alarm had been sounded in the castle. It seemed to her as if no alarm had been sounded at all.

To her frustration, she wound up exactly where she had started, which was on the level of her original quarters. She heard footsteps behind her and had no choice but to enter the bedroom she had so recently left.

She hid herself behind the doorway, the dagger clutched in her hand. She had never feared any man, nor ever found one she could not do battle with. But for some reason, this man seemed different.

The door opened and the dark-haired one walked in. She lunged forward with the dagger and he turned and caught her easily. She surprised him with her strength, however, and broke her wrist free, slicing forward with blinding speed.

It was only Victor’s own preternatural speed that allowed him to deflect the blow. The dagger glanced off his leather jerkin and caught him just above the collarbone, nicking the skin. A drop of blood welled in the cut, then began to trickle downward, staining his white shirt.

The child stared at the bloodstain, feeling the strange lightheadedness that had overcome her at other times. But this time it was different. A knot began to twist and uncoil inside of her. Breathing became difficult and her mouth was suddenly unaccountably dry. She stared at the bloodstain as if mesmerized, unable to draw her eyes from it.

Victor watched the reaction and felt his self-control begin to crumble. A thousand arguments formed over hundreds of years tumbled through his mind and none of them seemed to matter. His words were an anguished whisper.

“You are still too young.”

The girl looked up at him, but her eyes were drawn back to the blood seeping from the wound. She took a step forward and Victor no longer cared about her age. His passion for this young one was all-consuming.

She reached up and touched the wound, fascinated at the blood she came away with on her fingers. She could not understand the compulsions filling her as she touched her fingers to her lips.

The sensation was strange and thrilling. An odd pleasure shot through her, beginning on her lips but spreading throughout her body. She had tasted blood before, but it had been salty and metallic. This tasted different, and was not so much a taste but a feeling.

She raised her hand again but Victor caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. He sat down on the bench and pulled her onto his lap so she was facing him. She wanted to ponder the strangeness of this position, but her attention was attracted to the blood seeping from his neck. It was much nearer her face, now, and she leaned forward to touch her lips to the wound.

A shudder went through Victor at the touch. He entangled his fingers in the golden hair and pressed her head to him.

The girl’s mouth filled with blood but it was neither salty nor metallic. With a certain horror, she swallowed and felt a powerful warmth spread throughout her body. It was as if an old hunger was suddenly satisfied, but the satisfaction only increased the hunger. She began to drink.

Victor leaned back, knowing the child had no understanding of what she was doing. She had the appetite of an infant, instinctive and undiscriminating. Her own neck was exposed to him in this position and he fought to control himself. But he had waited so long and had shown such extreme patience that his control was slipping. The combination of her power and her vulnerability was intoxicating to him, and he was tired of waiting.

He grabbed her by her shirt collar and lifted her forcibly off the ground until her feet dangled in the air. He slammed her backward against the stone wall, pressing the full length of his body against her lithe, muscular form. He could feel her powerful heart beating in her chest and it was the final sensation that pushed him over the brink.

Pinned against the wall, her feet dangling above the ground, she felt the familiar slicing to her neck. But now it was agonizing. She felt warmth run down her back and down her chest, and realized it was her own blood she was feeling. She also realized this was not the first time this man had fed off her in this fashion.

She tried to feebly struggle against him, but she was locked in his iron embrace and growing weaker by the minute. She kicked at him but it had no more effect than would the kick of an insect.

Her head was swimming and she could no longer focus on the objects in the room. Her eyelids grew heavy and she fought to keep them open. Her head grew heavy and she rested it on the man’s shoulder.

Victor felt the girl’s limbs grow heavy and fought for control. It took everything in his willpower not to kill her, because oh, what a sweet consummation that would be. Instead, he forced himself to pull back from her and lowered her feet to the floor.

She was unconscious and for a moment, Victor simply held the limp body, still grasping her by her shirt collar. He felt her blood race through his veins and felt powerful, more powerful than he had in ages. He lifted her body and carried her to the bed. He lowered her bloodied form onto the pile of coverlets, then went to the door and locked it. He settled into a chair by her bedside and began his long vigil.

She swam through a strange world on the border of life and death. She had been here before, but never so close to death’s side. Her mother and father were there, and she wanted to join them, but the Man was standing in her way.

He did not speak but his piercing black eyes spoke for him. He would not let her cross the border, not now and not ever. She was so very tired and wanted to cross that border, but was not strong enough to fight him.

She awoke, feeling lightheaded and nauseous, too weak to even lift her head. She was no longer wearing bloody clothes but was wearing another oversized shirt. Several blankets were piled over her to keep her warm.

She slowly turned her head and the pain in her temples was excruciating. She closed her eyes but white light flashed behind her eyelids and she wondered if this was a vision from god. She re-opened her eyes and focused upon the Man, and her thoughts were that it might be a vision from Someone Else.

The man gazed at her, unperturbed and with a hint of amusement in his black eyes. She wondered why her mouth was so dry, and why the thought of water did not appeal to her.

Victor stood and moved to the bedside. His passion was not completely satisfied, but he felt more controlled now. He felt the risk of killing the child had passed, and now it was time to complete the act. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

She tried to move away from him, but did not have the strength. Her feeble attempts seemed to amuse him even further, and this angered her.

“What kind of monster are you?” she whispered with hostility.