Blood Marriage (42 page)

"As long as he's in the bell tower, he's in the church. If he stays there, he's safe enough. It won't enter," Nicholas said.

"Neither will it wait forever," Bergen said. "Unless it's the thickest demon that ever escaped Hell, it's only a matter of time before it pummels him with rocks or prods him out with a stick."

Bergen was right. The
diavol
wouldn't wait forever and neither could Nicholas. Leo needed Vlad's help, and quickly. But even if he hadn't, Lucy and Randall were out there somewhere. And so was Elizabeth. He needed to kill the thing that had possessed Amelia's body, find a way to save his friend, and find his wife. His head believed her safe with Vlad, but his heart needed to see her, touch her, be certain. 

"Beneath those boards Fielding's standing on, there's a ladder that leads down into the church. We can tear up the boards and get him into the church below. Once he's out of the way," Nicholas shook the lamp gently, making the flame inside dance, "we can send the
diavol
back to Hell easily enough." 

Bergen patted the thatched roof on which they lay. "Set Amelia's wedding gown on fire and you may burn this church to the ground with Leo and Lennie inside."

"I won't set it on fire here on the roof, but the threat should give you a chance to get Fielding inside," Nicholas said.

"Well enough, but you take these." Bergen took the chains he'd been wearing about his neck since leaving Maidenstone and settled them on Nicholas's shoulders. "They'll just be in my way."

They waited for the
diavol
to pass around to the far side of the bell tower and then sprang to their feet and rushed across the roof. Nicholas pulled one of the chains from his neck as he ran. Holding the lamp before him in one hand like a shield, he wielded the chain in the other, cracking it like a metal whip. The whip hit the
diavol
full in the face as it came around the corner. Dead flesh tore and the creature screamed. It stumbled back, then lunged at him in fury, only to stop short when he held out the lamp.

Nicholas forced it back across the roof with whip and fire. It hissed and spit, but retreated. Nicholas closed his mind to the way the metal shredded the lace of Amelia's wedding gown and tore into the face of his mother-in-law, a face that reminded him too much of the delicate features of her daughter, his wife. He'd driven the monster nearly to the edge of the roof when he heard the crack of splintering wood from the direction of the bell tower.

A horrific howl rang from the
diavol
as its meal disappeared with Bergen down into the church. Nicholas backed off several paces, hoping to keep the creature on the roof long enough for Bergen to return. But with a final howl, it dropped over the edge, slamming face first into the ground below. It clambered to its feet and loped off across the graveyard toward the forest. Nicholas shielded the lamp with one hand and followed the creature to the ground, landing lightly where it had sprawled.

"Nick," Bergen said from the roof above. "Leo's dying. We have to do something now or we'll lose him."

Every instinct within Nicholas screamed for him to follow the escaping demon, to destroy it before it destroyed. 

"Nick?" Bergen stepped off the roof.

Nicholas forced instinct to yield to logic. Elizabeth was safe with Vlad. His father was safe in the tower at Maidenstone. The villagers were secure in their homes. Leo needed him now. Killing the
diavol
would have to wait. But as he watched the creature disappear into the line of trees at the edge of the graveyard, a sense of dread wound its way around and through his heart.

Chapter Forty-Four

After the warmth of the stable, the night air pouring over her flesh was like a dash of icy water. Elizabeth studied the night sky, wishing Vlad would hurry. She fought the urge to lift her skirts and run across the open yard to the safety of the house. The priest had said Lucy would not come again tonight, that she would want to heal. Elizabeth didn't share his confidence. What if the creature's desire for vengeance proved greater than its vanity? 

Vlad pushed the torch handle into the dirt and went to close the stable doors. Elizabeth moved well away from the flame, clutching the burlap bag tighter to her chest. The cold metal of the sword hilt protruding from its top pressed against her neck. She shivered. Yet she welcomed its touch, drawing strength from remembering Nicholas standing between her and Grubner's hungry corpse, using this same sword to save her life. 

Her life. 

Elizabeth looked out across the lawns to the forest. Even with the light from the waning moon, she should not have been able to see as clearly as she did. And the pain in her joints no longer troubled her, not even in moments of panic. She thought of the two sets of puncture wounds hidden beneath her skirts. 

The duke had said Nicholas once suffered from the same weakness of the blood that had decimated her family. He'd taken his son to Romania because of that illness. But Nicholas was no longer ill. Vlad had said Bergen's clan were healers. Nicholas was a member of that clan. 

So was her husband trying to heal her, or turn her into a vampire? And did it matter which, if either meant she need not be separated from him by death? 

A vision of Nicholas, his teeth bared as he held her down in the moss beneath the oak tree, came unbidden to her mind. To her own surprise, she did not flinch from it. But when that memory was pushed aside by the grotesque scene of Grubner's corpse, its fangs exposed, its swollen purple tongue straining to taste first blood, Elizabeth felt dizzy with horror. How could she risk becoming such a creature, craving the blood of others, preying on unsuspecting victims? 

Death was a familiar companion. She'd lived with its reality for so long that the idea had become almost comfortable. But to live as a vampire? The thought made her shudder. She adjusted the sword so that it no longer touched her throat, and still the chill did not leave her. 

"Come, child." Having closed the stable doors, Vlad retrieved the torch from the ground.

Together they walked past the mounting post where, on her wedding night, her husband had swept her into his arms and onto his horse. Elizabeth stopped and smoothed her palm over its worn surface, remembering the feel of Nicholas's sleek, muscled body. An ache started deep within her. Where was he? Was he safe or, at this very moment, locked in a battle for his life?

Vlad plunged the torch into a nearby horse trough. The sizzle of the extinguishing flame sparked uneasiness in her. That fire had been like a shield for them since leaving Maidenstone. Without it, she felt exposed, naked. Her eyes raked the sky and lawns, alert for signs of danger.

Vlad dropped the dead torch beside the trough and offered Elizabeth his arm, patting her hand reassuringly when she placed it on his sleeve. They walked the short distance to the kitchen entrance, the priest setting an unnervingly sedate pace. He held the door open for her. 

She should have felt safer leaving the open air behind, but the shadowy quiet of the house seemed too close, suffocating after the open expanse of the outdoors. 

Vlad stopped at Cook's door and leaned in close to the oak panel. "Hilda, it is Vlad and Lady Devlin. Nothing to be alarmed about. We're retiring now. Remember to remain in your rooms and not answer your door for anyone or any reason until morning. Goodnight."

A muffled acknowledgement came from the opposite side of the door. As they passed through the kitchen, every cupboard, every row of hanging pots, every table and chair and barrel seemed to throw an eerie shadow. Elizabeth had the odd sensation that the very walls were watching them. She gave herself a mental scold for being such a fanciful coward when her companion seemed so at ease. Nonetheless, she quickened her pace, feeling an increased urgency to put the room behind them.

Once again Vlad held the door for her to pass into the main part of the house. She stopped a few steps into the entry hall, feeling comforted by the familiar sights: the tapestry of the knights of old and the display cupboard that sat along one wall, the moonlight coming through the transom drawing a now familiar circle of light on the floor, and the massive staircase stretching up to the next floor and the safety of her room. Some of her tension eased. These were familiar sights. This was home, safe and inviting. Though none of the sconces on the ground floor had been lit, they ones attached to the walls at intervals up the stairs and on the landing above burned with a welcoming glow. Their dancing flames seemed symbols of normality, of light and warmth, and security. But Elizabeth wouldn't feel truly secure until Nicholas was with her again.

"How long until dawn?" she asked the priest. "Will the men be home by dawn?"

Silence.

"Father Vlad?" Elizabeth turned back to the door that led to the kitchen. It was closed. She spun on her heel. Her eyes darted to every corner of the entry hall. The priest was not with her. "Father...?" 

Sudden fear numbed her body. Horrific images of what might be happening to the gentle old man flashed through her mind. She put her hand on the kitchen door, then snatched it back. She needed a weapon. Holy water had worked before, but in her mind's eye she saw it disappearing behind the cart, left in the center of the forest path. 

She plunged her hand into the burlap bag, yanked out the rope and tossed it aside. Useless. Vlad's book followed the rope to the floor. She couldn't read Latin and wouldn't know which prayer to use. Only the sword remained. She had no idea how to use it or even if, heavy as it was, she would be able to wield it, but it was all that was left. She jerked it from the bag and dropped the burlap sack in a single motion. The scrape of metal on metal rang through the hall as she drew the sword from its silver scabbard. The discarded scabbard landed on the burlap bag and she reached for the kitchen door. Her hand had barely touched the knob when the door burst open, the edge slamming into her chest, knocking her from her feet. 

She skidded across the polished hall floor on her bottom, the tip of the sword scratching a thin line on the floor in her wake. Dazed, she slid to a stop at the edge of the circle of light, fighting to regain the air that had been knocked from her lungs. The transom window above swam before her eyes. 

The slow click of boots on marble pulled her attention back to the kitchen door. The sight of Randall's gap-toothed smirk sent a mixture of anger and hope flooding through her. It wasn't Lucy or the demon that had stolen her mother’s body. Vlad might still be alive. 

"Where's Father Vlad?" Elizabeth demanded. 

"He won't be joining us," Randall said. "Like the servants, he's hidden away behind closed doors. So scream if you like, my dear. No one will come, but I rather enjoy screamers." 

"You can't touch me," Elizabeth said. "Devlin would kill you."

"Your husband is out demon-hunting. Dangerous pastime. He'll be dead soon, if he isn't already. But should he survive, it'll make no difference. Lucy has promised I'll be a vampire before the sun rises. I'll have nothing to fear from Devlin or any other man, ever again."

Elizabeth forced herself to be calm. She'd dealt with Randall before. He was a bully, but also a coward. Standing up to him had worked well in the past. Ignoring the spinning in her head, she scrambled to her feet, and lifted the sword with both hands, holding it out before her in a threatening, if awkward manner.

"So, the kitten thinks she's a tiger." Randall made a scornful sound and his gap-toothed smirk deepened. 

He scooped the scabbard from the burlap sack. In three steps he was on her. She swung the sword at him with all her strength. He parried her assault and, with frustrating ease, whirled the scabbard around her blade and wrenched the sword from her grasp. It tumbled through the air and clattered to the floor near the front door.

Randall threw his head back and his triumphant laughter reverberated through the hall. But Elizabeth couldn't afford defeat. She kicked out hard and her boot connected with his injured knee, producing a sickening popping sound. His laughter turned into a yowl of pain and he fell to the floor. 

Elizabeth darted past him, only to jerk to a standstill. Her oil-weakened dress tore and she sprawled forward, hitting the floor hard. She kicked at Randall's hand, which was fisted in the hem of her skirt, and tried to scramble away from him. For one hopeful instant she thought she'd broken free. She surged forward and her hands closed on the burlap sack and rope. Then she was sliding backwards, dragged on her belly across the floor. 

"You bitch!" Randall cried. "I'll show y--"

She flopped onto her back and sat up in one motion, whipping the rope with all her strength across Randall's face. He yelped and released her, his hands flying up to cover his eyes. 

Elizabeth's first instinct was to run, but the chances of outrunning Randall were slim and if she did manage to make it to her rooms and lock herself in, what good would it do? Randall was not a demon vampire; he didn't require an invitation. He could simply kick down her door. And what of Vlad? How could she leave him?

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something shiny. She rose on her hands and feet, lifting her bottom off the floor and scuttled backwards like a crab. Randall, his eyes red and swollen, lunged after her. Her fingers closed on the cold metal of the scabbard at the same instant Randall's hand wrapped one of her ankles. 

"I'm going to break every joint in your lovely body before I kill you!"

The scabbard slammed into the top of Randall's head with such force, Elizabeth's fingers burned from the impact. He released her ankle, rising up on his hands and knees, hatred burning in his eyes. He lurched at her and she whacked the scabbard club-like against the side of his head. The impact tore the scabbard from her hands and it clattered to the floor. Blood trickled from Randall's ear. He toppled, striking the back of his head on the base of the china display cupboard, causing the dishes inside to dance and chatter.

Elizabeth scrambled to her feet and backed away from him. Her heel hit the silver scabbard, sending it skittering across the polished floor. It stopped its forward slide at the edge of the circle of light, spinning there in place like a silver pinwheel.