Beloved Forever (16 page)

He gave her an indulgent grin. “There’s nothing there to drain. You’ve taken it all.”

She snarled at him again and tried to return to the man’s body. It had fallen to the ground in a permanent slump. His eyes were wide with pleasure, and he had an erection visible in his baggy trousers.

Nicholas pulled her to her feet.

She pushed against his chest, determined he wouldn’t stand between her and the blood.

“Calm yourself. There’s another.”

She tried to drop to her knees again, and Nicholas held her. Emily struggled against his hold, throwing off one of his hands. She reached for the body of her first victim, but he was out of reach. “More.”

“Not him.” Nicholas shook her shoulders to get her attention.

Emily’s mournful gaze remained on the man’s torn throat. Her puncture marks were nothing like the neat, tiny holes Nicholas had drilled through the old woman’s throat. His wound was messy and gaping. He looked like he’d been torn apart. Rather than repulse her, the thought excited her, and she shoved against Nicholas.

He shook her just hard enough to get her attention, bringing his nose against hers. His black gaze bored into her eyes, and he spoke clearly. “Relax.”

Her body went limp, though the bloodlust didn’t pass so quickly. Slowly, Emily became aware of her surroundings, and her eyes came into focus to meet Nicholas’s. “What happened?”

“You got caught up in the moment.” He shrugged. “It happens to most new vampires during their first feedings.”

She laid her head against his chest, feeling as though she couldn’t stand up. “I’m still hungry.”

He nodded. “We’ll share the woman. I’ll go first.” He grinned. “I want to ensure there’s something left, and you’ll get sick if you drink too much.”

She nodded, following him to the woman. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and she made a low, keening sound. Her mind had clearly left her body already.

Emily didn’t even experience a vague stirring of conscience as she knelt on the filthy ground on one side of the woman. She leaned forward avidly as Nicholas’s fangs punctured the mother’s skin, watching his throat as he swallowed several times. She was enchanted by the rhythmic movements of his Adam’s apple as he took in the blood carefully, with little wasted.

When Nicholas lifted his head a few moments later, the woman’s eyes were glassy, and her cheeks were pale. She slumped forward, leaning in Emily’s direction. She moaned softly when Emily took her into her arms, but didn’t try to pull away.

Emily tilted the woman’s neck and sank her fangs into the unbroken skin on her left side. She struggled to feed with the same finesse as Nicholas, but the blood seemed to drip into her mouth. She didn’t have the patience to wait, so she ripped through the vein, struggling to swallow quickly enough to take it all in and not waste any. Rivulets of blood still flowed from her mouth and down her chin.

With the edge taken off her hunger, Emily became aware of the woman’s body. She could hear the heartbeat slowing to a stop, and was aware of the moment when the woman’s breathing ceased. She longed to continue feeding, but peripherally saw Nicholas watching her carefully. Reluctantly, she pushed the woman’s body away, letting it topple over backwards to stare skyward, as if stargazing. She wore a contented expression.

Emily crawled toward Nicholas, unable to summon the energy to stand. She was full and sleepy, but still hungry. Her head turned in the direction of the boy when she heard his fingernails scraping across the concrete. She licked her lips.

Nicholas touched her cheek. “No more right now. You’ve had enough, and his blood is tainted.”

She frowned. “Tainted?”

He nodded, rising to his feet and helping her up. He pulled her toward the boy, dropping her hand when he knelt to lift the boy. “Smell him. Put your nose against his neck and breathe in his scent.” He passed the boy to her. “Don’t bite him though.”

She did as Nicholas said, though she found it almost impossible to fight back the urge to slide her teeth through his tender skin and rip open a vein. She inhaled deeply, at first smelling only the scent of the streets, unwashed body, the tangy odor of urine, and the dumpster nearby. When she took another deep breath, she detected a bitter odor underlying it all. It was sickly-sweet, like the smell of decay. She put the boy on the ground and lifted her head. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s sick.” Nicholas shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what he has. It might not harm you, but why take the chance?”

“Can you always tell?”

“Yes.” He walked forward, putting his arms around her. “If the blood smells foul, don’t ever drink it.”

She put her hands on his chest, feeling a second type of hunger stirring, even as she forced herself to remain focused on the conversation. “Would I die?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what would happen. My sire warned me about it. I’ve never seen a vampire who drank bad blood.”

“I see.” She tilted her head, catching the way his eyes lingered on her face. A hint of red had crept into his pupils, and he licked his lips. She reciprocated, once again tasting the blood of her victims.

He pulled her closer, crushing his mouth against hers. The kiss was brief, but it left her knees weak. Then his tongue moved to her chin, and he began to lick away the blood. Emily moaned with pleasure as his fangs raked across her cheek. The pain was delicious. She dug her nails into his arms until she heard him groan. His blood trickled over her hands, and she broke away from him to lick at the wound on his left arm.

With a rough motion, he pulled her face back to his and continued to clean her. Emily pressed her body closer to him, feeling liquid heat pool in her pussy. She briefly wondered if her inhibitions and common sense had been lost in the frenzy of feeding, but thinking required too much concentration. She lived only to feel—the rasp of his tongue across her skin, the hardness of his cock pressing into her stomach and his yielding flesh under her punishing nails.

She lifted her hands to frame his face and force his mouth back to hers. Emily plundered the hot recesses of his mouth, growling with pleasure at the mingled taste of blood and Nicholas. She nipped his tongue, adding more blood to the cocktail, and cried out when his nail scraped across her throat, grazing the vein. A thin trail of blood rolled down her neck, and he broke the kiss to position his tongue to catch it.

His hunger and desire slammed through her when he nicked the vein with his tooth and took some of the blood flowing through her. She could feel him under her hands, but could also feel her breasts in his hands as he moved to cup them. She moaned as the simultaneous sensation of her nipples hardening and his fingers rolling her nipples swept through her. The coppery taste of her blood filled her mouth as he drank lightly from the already-healing wound he had inflicted.

A cry of anguish broke them apart. Emily stumbled away from Nicholas, feeling coherence return in an instant. Her gaze swung wildly around the alley, expecting to find someone gazing with horror at what she and Nicholas had done. Instead, she saw only the boy on the ground. He had crawled over and laid his head on his mother’s shoulder. He held her in an awkward embrace and hummed some strange music softly. Tears glistened on his cheeks. “Momma,” he said in a broken voice, sounding as if he was rusty with the word.

Repulsed, she turned and ran down the alley, ignoring Nicholas calling her name. She plunged headlong into the foot traffic on Greenwich Avenue, unheeding of where she ran. She pushed aside anyone who got in her way, frantic to escape what she had done, desperate to deny the hunger still pulsing through her, and the desire pounding into her. She was desperate to outrun the truth. She had enjoyed the carnage and taking the lives of her victims. She had reveled in killing those people.

* * * * *

Nicholas found her several minutes later. When she raised her head, Emily saw him at the end of the alley where she had taken refuge. His expression was tender as he drew closer. She cried out and pressed her face against her thighs, unable to look at him without remembering what they had done, without wanting to do it again.

He crouched beside her, gently smoothing the hair off her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said in a soothing tone. “I felt the same way the first time I fed.”

She shook her head against the denim skirt. “You don’t understand. I’m a monster.”

Nicholas sighed. “You’re a hunter now, Emily. There’s no shame in taking pleasure in the victory.”

Her head whipped up with a popping sound. “It wasn’t a victory. We slaughtered those people. We left that boy without his family.” Her voice trailed off to a soft whisper. “I enjoyed it.”

“So did I. It’s part of who you are now. You’ll adapt.”

Her stomach knotted, and she rolled over onto her side to vomit on the cement of the alley. Dark-red blood splashed everywhere, including on them. “What have you done to me?” she whispered. “It’s your fault.”

“Yes.” He stood up and lifted her into his arms. “I’ll take you home now. After you’ve rested, you’ll feel better about what had to be done.”

She wanted to protest, to insist she could walk, but was too weak. It was easy to snuggle against him and let him carry her to a cab that he hailed on the street. She lay in his lap as the driver took them home, listening to the sound of his heartbeat thundering against her ear and oddly comforted by it. Perhaps it reminded her of prenatal days of floating in the womb, when she was still safe from the world. When she had been protected from Nicholas’s dark love and what she had become. What he had made her.

At the apartment, Nicholas left her in the cab while he paid the driver. Then he lifted and carried her inside. At the elevator, he said in a teasing tone, “The neighbors will think you can’t walk if I keep carrying you into the building.”

She tried to summon a smile, but was too overwrought. It was as if her body had shut down in response to her emotional turmoil. She didn’t know if she wanted to sleep or sob for an eternity. Either way, she would still have to face up to what she had done eventually.

In her room, Nicholas stripped off her clothes, as he had done that morning, and dressed her in pajamas. He placed a chaste kiss to her forehead before sitting on the bed beside her. He picked up her hand. “Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”

She didn’t want to be reminded of her atrocity, as she was each time she looked at him, but also didn’t want to be alone. Emily nodded. “How did this happen?” she asked in a groggy voice. “How did you become a vampire?”

He settled more comfortably on the bed, until his hip pressed against her shoulder. “Let me see if I can remember that far back now.” Absently, his hand stroked through her hair. “I was idealistic and more naïve than you can imagine. I was the eldest son of a baron, and I was devout, as he had raised me to be.”

“Catholic?” she asked around a yawn.

“Of course.” He chuckled, and it held an edge of bitterness. “When King Richard put forth a call for pious young men to take back the Holy Land, I was eager to go. So was William.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes. Father tried to stop us, but we were headstrong. At twenty-four, I thought I knew everything.” He snorted. “It didn’t take long to discover differently. Before I ever saw Jerusalem, I was fatally injured. William left me to die, intent on claiming his place as the next baron.” He touched her cheek. “I guess he was anxious to claim you—Emma—too.”

“What happened then?”

“I spent two agonizing nights in pain, begging for God to send me an angel of mercy to end my pitiful existence.” He sighed heavily. “Instead, Koss came.”

She blinked rapidly, struggling to keep open her eyes. “Who’s Koss?”

“My sire. He was an Egyptian reservist, called in by Saladin.” Nicholas paused. “I guess he saw something in me he wanted, because he offered me eternal life and the way to return to Emma. I seized the chance, not realizing the price.”

Emily had more questions to ask, but her eyes refused to stay open. She opened her mouth to ask him what happened before he returned to Emma, sensing there was more to the story, but couldn’t find her voice. She thought she heard a snore issue from her opened mouth, but wasn’t certain as she slipped into a deep sleep.

Chapter Nine

Elspeth returned to the plantation when the sun was high in the sky, having taken extra time to find the juiciest berries. She returned the sorrel to Abel, frowning when she saw the way he looked at her. His dark eyes refused to meet hers.

With a shrug, she grasped the basket of berries and hurried across the grass. Surely, Lord Tremont had eaten breakfast by now. It was nearly time for the noonday meal, and she wanted to ensure the berries were ready for him.

When she entered the kitchen, no one was there. Johanna wasn’t near the fire, and Griselda wasn’t kneading bread dough, as she was supposed to be doing. She set the basket of blackberries on the table, wincing at the scratches on her hands from the briar patch. She got a heavy earthenware bowl from the cupboard and dumped the blackberries inside before adding fresh cream, as Lord Tremont liked.

Muttering to herself, Elspeth fixed her hair and smoothed her hands down the apron before leaving the kitchen to search for her sister. The bread should have been baked by now. Griselda’s absentmindedness would see them both in trouble with Johanna and the master.

She entered the hall, relieved to discover Lord Tremont wasn’t at the long table, waiting for lunch. The hall was empty, and she frowned when she noticed no fire burned in the fireplace. She stepped closer to it and touched the stones of the hearth, finding them cold. Had anyone started a fire this morning? Lord Tremont would reprimand Agnes if he found out.

She didn’t take time to build the fire, feeling more of a responsibility for her sister than the other servant. She went up the stairs and hurried past the second floor to avoid having Johanna see her, knowing she probably lurked in the master’s room, under the guise of changing the linens. A small smile flashed across Elspeth’s face as she recalled once catching Johanna lying on the bed with her hand under her skirt. She had crept out without the housekeeper knowing she was there. If she had revealed her presence to the other woman, punishment would have exceeded her worst imaginings.

She found all doors closed when she stepped onto the third-floor landing. Surely, Agnes and Griselda weren’t still in the room. She walked over to Agnes’s door and tapped softly. When there was no answer, she opened the door and peeked in. A neatly made bed and empty room was all she saw.

She closed the door and moved down the hall to the room she normally shared with her sister. She opened the door and slipped inside after a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm Johanna wasn’t lurking behind her.

She became alarmed when she saw her sister lying on the bed, under the covers. “Griselda, are you ill?” When she didn’t answer, Elspeth walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. She touched her sister’s shoulder, frowning when she felt how cold she was. She pulled back the thin blanket and rolled her sister over. A scream blocked her throat, and she felt light-headed.

Griselda’s vacant eyes stared up at her. Her expression was one of terror. Dried blood covered the jagged wound across her throat, and the sheet she had been lying on was soaked through with a huge puddle of dark-red blood. Her sister was naked, and various cuts and bruises—forever frozen in the forming stage—marred her body. Blood had dried on her thighs.

The scream found its way through the blockage in her throat. Elspeth tried to clamp it off, but couldn’t. The shrill sound continued to pour from her, building in intensity until the door slammed against the wall. Even when she heard the heavy clomping of Lord Tremont’s boots on the thin floor, she couldn’t make herself stop screaming.

She couldn’t turn when he stepped up behind her, because her body remained frozen. Elspeth’s eyes widened when he clamped his hand over her mouth and nose as he pulled her against him, holding her so tightly her ribs ached.

“Whore,” he thundered against her ear. “Look upon the wages of sin.”

She struggled to breathe, but he held her too tightly. Elspeth’s hands clawed at his, trying to dislodge his grip. Her eyes grew round with terror as her oxygen supply diminished. She slumped forward.

He spun her around in his arms, dropping his hand from her mouth, and allowing her to draw in deep breaths. “You brought sin into my house.” His face was bright red, and the veins in his temples pounded visibly. “You were a party to your own defilement.” He roughly grabbed one of her breasts. “You are mine. How dare you allow another man to touch you?”

She yelped when he pinched her nipple. “Please—”

Lord Tremont shoved her toward the bed, sending her sprawling across her dead sister’s legs. He fumbled with his belt before lowering his breeches. “You will pay for this abomination.”

She screamed as he came near her. Elspeth kicked out at him, but he was like a man possessed. He easily subdued her and pushed up her skirts, tearing away her drawers as he settled between her thighs, taking her as roughly as possible. She cried out at the unbearable pain and lost consciousness as he thrust into her with all of his strength.

Emily’s eyes blinked open, aware of a heavy weight on her side. At first, she thought it must be Tremont, but when she turned her head, she saw Nicholas stretched out beside her, snoring softly. She wanted to push him off her and send him away, but her eyes closed again before she could form the words.

Elspeth lifted her head as the cellar door creaked open. She briefly wondered what Lord Tremont had in store for her today, but was too weak to sustain the line of speculation. The days had blurred into a seemingly endless string of tortures. Since he had covered the windows weeks—months, maybe—before, she couldn’t even look outside to tell day from night. Time had lost all meaning for her. If not for her swelling waistline, she would have had no measure of time passing at all.

The familiar thud of his boots on the stairs preceded his arrival. It was difficult to tell in the meager light provided by his candle, but he looked rumpled, as if he had thrown on his clothes in a rush. The only thing visible was his wide smile. She drew herself into a tighter ball on the dirt floor, temporarily ignoring her assorted aches and pains, dry mouth and rumbling stomach, deprived of the proper nourishment to ensure her babe grew correctly. Of course, Tremont had no concern for the child in her womb, never having mentioned it. He must assume it was Nicholas’s. She didn’t know herself, but preferred to believe she sheltered her lover’s son or daughter in her body, not her tormentor’s.

His chilling expression made her forget it had been a long while since he brought water, and even longer since she had seen any food. She sensed today would bring a new torture that would overshadow the others he had inflicted upon her during her confinement in the cellar. She was close to delivering the child and knew he would inflict great pain upon both of them when it came.

“Your lover draws near the plantation. My men saw his boat dock last evening.”

She frowned at his cheerful tone. Why would Nicholas’s arrival make him pleased? What was he scheming? She took a deep breath and tried to reassure herself that nothing Tremont planned to do would harm Nicholas. He could survive almost anything.

Lord Tremont walked over to her, jovially swinging the key to the iron clamps on her wrists. He knelt near her, but instead of opening the restraints on her wrist, he removed the bolt from the bar where she was tethered. He used it as a leash to haul her to her feet.

Elspeth swayed unsteadily. The room spun, and her legs refused to support her. She collapsed to the dirt floor, crying as he continued to drag her. She struggled to get to her feet, but didn’t succeed until he dragged her to the rough staircase, and her knees collided with the bottom step. She used her bound hands to push herself up and grasp the wooden railing as she hobbled up the stairs.

When they reached the door, she realized he was taking her out of the cellar. A deep blush spread across her face. She wore nothing but a tattered chemise and a torn petticoat. Dirt and blood stained both garments, and the petticoat stretched across her stomach in such a way to make her condition painfully obvious.

He lifted the doors, and the early morning light drilled into her eyes, making her cry out and shield her face. She hadn’t seen the sunlight in so long that it made her head pound to look upon even the pale light of dawn.

He dragged her outside, muttering with disgust when she tripped. Tremont jerked her to her feet and pulled her along without a trace of gentleness.

“Where are you taking me?” she dared to whisper. He preferred she didn’t speak, but she didn’t think obedience would earn her a reprieve.

“To prepare a surprise for Vallsade.” The merry note remained in his voice, though he was grimacing. “We cannot have him arrive without the proper welcome.” He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers up her spine.

They stopped near the barn, and Elspeth stumbled to a halt. All of the inhabitants of the plantation had gathered in a circle around a pole in the ground, with sticks and hay at its base. Many of those standing appeared anxious to be elsewhere, but she could see an avid expression here and there among the crowd. Standing slightly apart from the others was Johanna. She wore a red dress made from high-quality wool. Her hair was pinned under a bonnet rather than a mobcap, and she had black silk slippers on her feet. She held a basket in her arms and looked absurdly as though she was about to attend a picnic.

It was only when a cry issued from the basket that Elspeth realized it held a baby. How long had she been Tremont’s prisoner? Obviously, long enough for Johanna to become the mistress of Tremont Plantation and bear a child. She idly wondered if it had been worth it to the former housekeeper, to know she purchased her position with betrayal and Griselda’s blood. How had she felt, knowing Tremont kept Elspeth as his plaything in the cellar and visited regularly? Did he come to his marriage bed as often?

A sinking sensation filled her when she realized the child in her womb couldn’t possibly be Nicholas’s if there had been enough time for Johanna to birth the master’s child. Time truly had slipped away. All this time, she had assumed it would be his baby, had clung to life on the frail hope of escape, all to save a child she now didn’t want.

The babe kicked then, and tears misted Elspeth’s eyes. She put her bound hands on her stomach, trying to soothe the tiny life inside her. It didn’t matter who had fathered the child. She loved it either way and would gladly die for it. Nausea rolled in her stomach when she glanced around again, taking in the scenario. She would have the chance to prove that soon, she sensed, locking gazes with Johanna once more.

The malice and dark satisfaction she saw when she met Johanna’s eyes sickened her. Had it been any other woman, she would have wondered how she could stand to bring her child to an execution. She didn’t wonder about Johanna though. The woman was content to be married to a murderer, rapist and sadist. She clearly held no fear that he might someday turn his tendencies against her.

Tremont tossed the chain affixed to her manacles to a burly black slave in trousers. His ebony chest, bare as the day of his birth, gleamed with sweat, even so early in the morning. “Tie her to the post.”

Elspeth tried digging in her heels, but was no match for the strength of the man. He lifted her easily and carried her to the post, where Abel waited with a rope. Neither man met her eyes as they secured her to the makeshift post, a tree someone had chopped down.

Tremont watched with obvious satisfaction as they bound her. When the men stepped away, he raised his voice so all could hear. “This woman has brought sin into our midst. Like Eve in the Garden, she is unclean. We must rid ourselves of her presence.”

At least no one cheered, Elspeth thought with uncharacteristic cynicism. She saw Johanna’s smile widen and felt a rush of pity for the child. With two parents such as Lord and Lady Tremont, the babe was doomed. “What of my child? Your child, Tremont. It has committed no sin,” she yelled, taking a measure of satisfaction in Johanna’s scowl and the way those standing around flinched.

Stepping forward, Tremont took a torch from the slave and lifted it high in the air, apparently ignoring her words. He inclined his head in Johanna’s direction and received a girlish wave. As he touched the flame to the kindling at Elspeth’s feet, he said, “Today, we do God’s bidding.”

Elspeth closed her eyes as the temperature around her suddenly shot up several degrees. Already, the fire singed her feet, though the flames hadn’t reached them yet. She balled her hands into fists and summoned Nicholas’s image in her mind, clinging to him. As the first lick of flame reached her toes, she imagined the soft touch of his hands upon her, obliterating the things Tremont had done to her.

She was aware of the fire spreading up her legs and whimpered before biting down hard on her lip. She refused to give them the satisfaction of voicing her screams. Instead, she pictured the house she and Nicholas would have built. In her fantasy, children filled the house, and her sister was there. Each night, her husband held her close and told her of his love. He would embrace the child growing in her womb as his own.

The flames reached her waist, bringing intense pain with them. The baby kicked with a frenzy of movement, and she cursed her helplessness. Despite her resolve not to cry out, a scream ripped from her throat. It echoed around the clearing, making most of those required to attend flinch with horror. Surely, it was so loud it carried straight to God’s ears.