Dawn Thompson (33 page)

“You cannot escape me
,” a disembodied voice boomed through the utter stillness. Cassandra heard it, too, and shuddered at the sound. She clung to Jon, crowding closer in his arms. The vampire’s message was chillingly plain; though they’d had their little victory, the race was not yet run.

The sun had risen over the mountains by the time they reached Milosh’s cart. Jon was hoping to find the Gypsy there, but the cart was empty, just as they’d left it.

“Where do you suppose he’s gone?” Jon asked, his narrowed gaze sweeping the mountainside. “He was barely conscious to lap up the draught—in no shape to put himself through what he did up there. I wonder if he even has the strength to change back.”

“I do not know,” Cassandra said. “If he hadn’t come when he did—Jon, it took the both of you, and still . . .”

“How did you know to bring that trencher? You said you had a vision . . . What exactly did you see?”

Cassandra drew a ragged breath. She had changed her soiled frock and torn petticoat, choosing a white sprigged muslin morning dress sprinkled with dainty roses from among her frocks he had repurchased at the open market, and was tugging it into place. How lovely she was in that frock. How he wished he could have bought back all of her things.

“I didn’t understand what I saw at the time,” she said, “only thought that it might be important I see it. The rest came to me when Milosh crashed into you and Sebastian on the mountain. If you remember, he said that we could not shapeshift during the ritual—that whatever incarnation
we were in when we began the rite, we must stay in. Breathing the steam from the herbs brought on the vision, and I saw the wolf standing on its hind legs, drinking from the cauldron. When I saw the trencher, I just knew I must take it.”

“Did you have any visions after you drank the draught?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No . . . none.”

“I had no visions from the steam, but I did from the draught. It evidently has affected us differently. It might be wise to keep a supply of the herbs on hand. Your . . . ‘powers,’ if you will, must be different from mine.”

“What did you do up there?” she said. “My heart nearly stopped when you jumped off the mountain to get that coat. What were you thinking?”

He took her in his arms, soothing her. “That’s right,” he realized. “You don’t know. I didn’t, either, until Milosh showed me. Watch.”

Crouching, he sprang into the air and drifted slowly to earth some yards distant. Cassandra watched, mouth agape.

“I was never in any danger,” he said. “It works both ways. I am able to jump down or leap up. The ledge below was wide enough to accommodate me, and I’m better at it than I was the first time.”

“Can I do that?” she murmured. “As a panther I can, but I never dreamed . . .”

Jon smiled. “We won’t know unless you try,” he said, holding out his arms.

Following his example, she crouched and sprang, landing on her feet close beside him, and went into his embrace.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he murmured, grazing her cheek with the back of his hand. “There wasn’t time to explain.”

Cassandra nodded. “What do we do now?” she asked as he helped her onto the seat of the cart.

“First, we go back to the cottage and see if Milosh has returned there. We need to know what caused him to revert back to what he was before his first blood moon ritual. We need to know when and if it will happen to us, Cass—our lives could depend upon it. He said that as long as we repeated the ritual regularly we would stay as we are now. That seems untrue. We need to know why.”

Cassandra’s expression clouded. “I don’t think I could bear to go back and become as we were,” she murmured. Her misty eyes brought a lump to his throat.

“We are what we are, Cassandra,” he said. “There is no way ’round it. We must take what boons Providence allows. Now, we have work to do—vampires to run to ground and destroy, beginning with Sebastian. We must seek his resting place during the day and destroy him, and we risk dealing with his creatures of the night until we do.”

“A-and then what?”

“And then we do what needs must for as long as needs must. Just because we no longer suffer from the bloodlust doesn’t mean that we are cured. We will be hunted more relentlessly than we were before by the undead who cannot bear our privilege. No matter what occurs, we are what we will always be—vampires.”

The cottage was empty when they reached it, but there was nothing to be done, no time to hunt for man or wolf; they dared not waste the daylight while they were safe from Sebastian. Jon filled the empty flask with water from the stream and blessed it. Then, collecting wooden stakes, the mallet, a second flask of holy water so they could each arm themselves with one, and Milosh’s deadly cleaver, he put them in a sack and they set out straightaway.

Cassandra didn’t court conversation. She was afraid Jon would read her thoughts. She had lied when he asked if she’d had any more visions; she’d had one under the influence of the draught, but she couldn’t tell him now. She had the power of premonition, there was no question. That she’d had this one during the rite only magnified the urgency of the message. The moment Jon’s seed filled her, she knew she had conceived, and she knew it was a son. She also knew that for some reason it was vital that she know it now, when it would ordinarily be too soon to know, too soon to guess. She didn’t question why.
Through some mystical phenomenon, she’d felt the child take root in her womb when they’d made love, and in her vision she’d seen its birth. How would Jon take such news? Would he welcome or abhor a child of their union? It was too soon to know. She couldn’t tell him—not yet. Not until they were safely on their way back home to England, for that was where the child would be born. No, this she would keep to herself awhile. He was not ready to hear it now, and she was not ready to hear what he would say.

Cassandra didn’t ask any questions, not even when they neared Sebastian’s burned-out shell of a castle at the top of the first mountain they had climbed. It was daylight, after all; they would be safe until dusk. That there still was no sign of Milosh wasn’t encouraging. She had seen Sebastian in action. Even with Milosh to help them, she couldn’t imagine how they would defeat the vampire.

The thought of descending into the bowels of that castle again turned Cassandra’s blood cold. Sebastian had brought her there the last time, as bait for Jon. So much had happened since, all of which seemed as if it had happened to someone else. It was midmorning when they left the cart where it had been left before. Cassandra remembered the place well, remembered the indignity of being carried in Milosh’s great wolfish jaws and stuffed without ceremony into a foul-smelling rope mesh sack, albeit for her own good. Somehow, everything looked different now.

They hadn’t met a soul along the way. That had been a worry, since they would still be hunted. Jon was careful to stay far afield of settlements. The villagers were unlikely to be hunting vampires in broad daylight, but they would surely recognize them, as well as Milosh’s cart, to say
nothing of Petra, who had for a time exchanged places with one of the townsfolk’s animals. Caution was the watchword, and they’d kept well to the fringes of the narrow path that sidled upward, where tangled snarls of nettle, thorn, and young saplings hemmed the approach to Castle Valentin.

They hadn’t gone far when Jon’s hand on her arm slowed her pace. “Look sharp from here on,” he said. “When I came this way with Milosh searching for you, a band of wolf shadows blocked our way. It was then that Milosh pointed out my ability to jump great distances.”

“But that was after dark,” she said.

“Yes, but we do not know that all Sebastian’s minions are nocturnal. He is a ruthlessly cunning entity. He has had centuries to perfect his defenses. It would only stand to reason that he has servants of all sorts to see to his needs. The only hope we have of besting him lies in his overconfidence. That breeds mistakes. This will be more a battle of wits than physical warfare. We are novices, inept by comparison. Do not delude yourself: It shan’t be easy.”

Cassandra said no more. Castle Valentin loomed before them, demanding all their attention. They hadn’t seen up close the ravages inflicted upon the ancient keep by the fire. The damage was staggering. The great, iron-spiked doors were no more; their ironwork littered the ground. Entering in, they stepped with caution. All around, the floor was heaped with slag, cinder, and ash. The malodorous stench of burnt wood soaked with rain and the permeating stink of foul, decaying flesh rose up in Cassandra’s nostrils and threatened to make her retch.

“I think it best that we stay together,” Jon said, “but if you would rather remain here . . .”

He was studying her closely, and she could only imagine what was written on her face. She did not want to be there at all. The sight and smell of the place—even in daylight—recalled memories unpleasant enough to drain the blood from her scalp and cause her knees to wobble. Which would not do. If she was to assist her husband in his new calling, as she’d resolved, she would have to steel herself against unpleasantness and fear. But it was all so new.

“I am not fond of viewing burnt corpses,” she said, “but I expect I shall have to get used to it, shan’t I.”

“And worse, I have no doubt,” he agreed. “As long as there are
vampir
, it will be thus. I’m sorry, Cassandra, it is that or lose our souls. Hunting down and destroying these creatures is our salvation—our redemption, if you will; I do not know a better way to put it. We must help others like ourselves, those caught in between, and rid the world of those beyond our help. It is hardly what I had planned as a life for us, but ’tis a noble enough calling.”

“Agreed,” she said. “But I do not agree that we should stay together now. Since time is short, it would be best, I think, if we search separately. We can cover more territory apart.”

He gave the matter thought. She read opposition in his eyes, but at last he nodded. “Very well,” he said. Reaching into his greatcoat pocket he drew out his flask of holy water and handed it over. “Take this,” he said. “Use it if needs must, but stay within shouting distance. The holy water will repel but not kill vampires, Cassandra. Likely you will need me for that. Besides, from the look of the place, it isn’t only vampires we need worry about. The fire has undermined some of the castle’s structure—the important parts, like the beam supports. There are bound to
be pitfalls. You could misstep and do yourself a mischief. Test your steps before you take them.”

“I’ll be careful,” she assured him, climbing over the slag on the threshold that had spilled across the Great Hall. They both agreed that unless they came upon a passageway or chamber that had been overlooked when they first visited the castle, it wasn’t likely that they would find anything. The purpose of the visit was to make certain they could rule out the castle as Sebastian’s resting place. Then they would move on and search elsewhere.

Some rooms were impassable, and one staircase was hopelessly blocked where wooden beams had fallen across the span. Jon went below alone; since he had burned Sebastian’s resting place and set the other pallets ablaze, he would know if anything had been disturbed there since. Cassandra made no objection—she had no desire to revisit Sebastian’s dungeon. She stopped on the landing at the top of the staircase where a tapestry on the wall in the recessed alcove had been half consumed by fire. She tore it down . . . and revealed another door.

“Jon!” she called. “I’ve found something!”

Bounding up the narrow staircase, he was at her side in seconds.

“Here,” she said, pointing. “Did you enter here when you burned the castle?”

“No,” he said, fingering the large iron ring that served as a latch. He gave it a tug, and the door creaked open to a narrow, tunnel-like corridor sparsely lit by torches in wall sconces that reeked of some anonymous rendered fat. “Stay behind me,” he said, nudging her back with his arm spread wide.

There was no alternative; the tunnel was so narrow that two couldn’t walk abreast. The stench was unidentifiable,
and unbearable. Cassandra grimaced, covering her nose and mouth. The smell worsened the farther they went, and she gagged and gagged again while attempting to keep back the bile that kept rising in her throat.

“Someone or something must tend these torches,” Jon observed. “Look sharp!”

No sooner had he spoken than the corridor underfoot changed from solid rock to a wide metal mesh that was hard on the soles of Cassandra’s leather slippers.

She stumbled. “What is this?” she murmured.

“Some sort of grate,” Jon replied.

Slipping a firm arm around her, he took a torch from its bracket and lowered it to the floor for a better look. A rumble of discordant sound drifted upward. It grew louder.
Voices!
All at once, hands shot through the open grille-work; grasping, clutching. Cassandra screamed in spite of herself as pinching fingers closed around her ankle.

“The holy water,” Jon cried. “Use the holy water.”

Fumbling with the flask, she fought to keep her balance as Jon tried to loosen the fingers from her ankle. Opening the container at last, she sprinkled the holy water through the grate, and a heart-stopping chorus of shrieks rose from the creatures below. The hand fell away from her ankle trailing smoke.

Unfortunately, so many other hands were gripping the grating from below, a section gave way and fell in. Screaming, Cassandra slid down the length of it, grabbing fast, just short of falling into the sudden pit below where creatures were milling and moaning and shrieking their complaints. Needing both hands, she dropped the holy water flask. It struck the stone floor below, making a hollow clang that rang in her ears like that of a bell, and she loosed another troop of screams as the
creatures—untouched by the splashed holy water—groped her feet, her legs, and her waist familiarly, meanwhile tugging upon her with the intent to pull her all the way down.

To her horror, her fangs began to descend. There was no arousal, no feeding frenzy, but the fact that they appeared at all was devastating after the blood moon ritual—and in daytime, too! Hadn’t the rite worked after all?