The Burning (45 page)

Stephan blinked into space on the grassy lawn marred by jutting pieces of masonry inside the ruined abbey walls on the north side of Maitlands. The empty Gothic arches stretched above them in the moonlight. The moon was waxing. Its sly smile had grown into a knowing grin. Stephan’s night vision swept the grounds, expecting to see the guards who had turned off Van Helsing the other night. He found only silence and . . . the vibrations of very old vampires.

He glanced to Ann. Her eyes were round as saucers. She felt them, too.

“It looks as though you were right,” he whispered, and took her hand. He led her out onto the gravel drive at the front of the house. Lights shone from several rooms in the house, but out here the stars had come out and night wrapped all in dimness. Several dark shapes lay in disarray on the drive and another under the great fir tree in front of the house. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air. He stalked over to examine one shape. A guard, his throat slashed.

“Polsham, Mrs. Simpson,” Ann whispered, frantic, and
took off at a run for the back of the house. Stephan ran after her, knowing what she would find.

Ann let herself into the kitchen, Stephan right behind her. The thick smell of blood was everywhere, mingled with garlic and beefsteak and the acrid scent of cooked chard. The Daughters must know they were here. They would be waiting somewhere in the house to feel his vibrations. Ann might be a surprise. Still, she was newly made. She would present no difficulty for vampires as old as Freya and Dee. Ann grabbed a candle and struck the flint in its holder, more out of habit than necessity, he suspected.

The light only revealed more clearly what they saw anyway. The two servants sat slumped over their meal at one end of the long kitchen table, their heads in their plates. The food, the plates, and the table were covered with gore. Stephan was surprised the Daughters had not fed, but maybe they had had their fill with the guards outside.

Ann gasped then made a dash for Mrs. Simpson. The sobs began as she lifted the woman’s head carefully from the plate “Oh, oh no, oh!” she cried as she cradled Mrs. Simpson. The woman’s eyes were all unseeing, her left cheek smeared with gravy and blood. Her white uniform was claret red where the great gash in her neck had flooded it. Stephan lifted the dead woman’s head from Ann’s arms and let it down gently.

“Sit over here.” He simply lifted Ann at her waist and sat her in a chair at one corner of the chopping block. Then he laid Mrs. Simpson and Polsham out respectfully on the floor. Of course, that only made the wounds in their throats gape. The Daughters had not been careful. Behind him, he heard Ann whimpering.

He turned to her. There was blood on her hands, her dress. He grabbed a wet cloth from the great stone basin and wiped each of her hands. “Get hold of yourself,” he said sternly, “unless you want to stay here while I confront
them.” Now that the Daughters must know they were here he would rather have her with him where he had some chance to protect her.

She gulped and shook her head, steadying herself. She was courageous, this one. His heart seemed to both expand and contract at once. Dear Ann. How could he risk taking her with him? How could he risk leaving her where the Daughters could catch her alone?

“They’re waiting for us upstairs.” He pulled her up and started across the kitchen.

“They . . . they know we’re here?”

“Just as we know they are here.” He gritted his teeth. They made their way up the back staircase to the great hall. He had a fix on the Daughters now. He stalked down the corridor and pushed open the library door.

They stood next to the great windows that gave out onto the night. The wind had come up and it was tossing the trees about. They wore diaphanous gowns, as they always had. The chiffon was laid over silk now, and neither the skirts nor the necklines were slit to the waist. But the colors were the same, black for Dee, white for Freya. Only Stancie’s red was missing.

At Stephan and Ann’s entrance, they turned slowly. Dee’s eyes burned with hatred and triumph. Freya looked only sad.

“I said they would come.”

Stephan and Ann both jerked toward the voice. Van Helsing stood with one boot on the andiron, a brandy in his hand. Dee’s triumph and hatred were echoed in Van Helsing’s eyes. The smug set of his mouth made Stephan want to break his teeth.

“Erich!” Ann exclaimed.

“What are you doing here?” Stephan growled.

Van Helsing raised his sandy brows. “Why, I am come to claim my bride, Sincai.”

Stephan jerked back to Dee and Freya.

“Our servant deserves some reward for being so . . . useful,” Dee murmured.

“You serve the Daughters, Erich?” Ann asked, incredulous.

“Correct.” Van Helsing clicked his heels and bowed in military fashion, though it made his waistcoat strain across his belly. “Always have.” He started to take a gulp of brandy then stopped, arrested, and peered at Ann with creased brows.

“We sent him on ahead to keep track of Kilkenny when your training was delayed. Kilkenny never suspected we would send a human,” Dee sneered.

“I told you I had powerful friends, Sincai,” Van Helsing remarked. He was still staring at Ann, though. Now outrage poked through his smugness. He stalked forward, staying just out of Stephan’s reach. He turned on the Daughters. “You know what I want. After all my service . . .” His voice rose in an unattractive whine.

“And you shall have her, Servant.” Dee was haughty. “When you have finished with her, she will deed you her property and you will kill her.” Her words made a chill run down Stephan’s spine. Could he not have found a way to make Ann stay in the cave?

“But now she’s strong!” Van Helsing protested.

“And we are stronger.” Freya sighed, weary.

“And what of the bedroom, will you be there to compel her, too?”

Dee shot him a look and held up her hand. He stopped in mid-sentence. No one pressed the Daughters. Dee went to where her cloak and a reticule lay over a leather chair. Bending to pick something out of the reticule, she tossed Van Helsing a small bottle. “Give her laudanum. You can have her whenever you like.”

Laudanum! The one way to suppress the Companion! “Drug her,” Stephan hissed through clenched teeth, “so this animal can have his way with her?” He could feel Ann’s fear.

“Keep her as long as you like, Van Helsing.” Dee shrugged. “Then cut off her head. I want no made vampires left behind. And you’d better not steal a drop of her blood or we’ll serve you out the same,” she warned.

“Have you two no souls?” Stephan growled. “You can have me. Punish me for making her, but let her go.” He knew that was impossible. She was made. They would kill her.

“We’ll punish you anyway,” Dee snapped. “For your lapse with her, and for Kilkenny.”

How did they know he had let Kilkenny go?

“We were watching in the wood,” Freya explained.

God, they had killed him! The effort to spare him had been for nothing.

“No, not yet.” Freya responded to the look of horror on his face. She took a long breath and let it out. “But we will. After we’re done here, we’ll hunt him down.” She didn’t sound happy about it.

“I’m only sorry we can’t take you back to Mirso and mete out your punishment in front of the whole monastery.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Stephan asked, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m to be an example to keep anyone else from getting any rebellious ideas. Isn’t that it?”

“Essentially,” Dee agreed. “You always were. You know, you had more natural power than anyone we had seen in a long time.” She cocked her head, and smiled. “That, coupled with the history of open rebellion over the years, disregard of the Rules . . . Well, you had to be brought to heel.”

“And did I not submit to . . . everything?”

“You submitted to training,” Dee snapped. “But when it came to obeying the Rules? Once you were outside the influence of Mirso you didn’t do so well, did you?”

They had him there. But he had to try. “I should think Rubius would want something more from his followers than blind adherence to Rules that were set so long ago. There is
a morality beyond any of his Rules. If the Rules tell you to kill wantonly, then they’re wrong.”

Dee snorted. “You see, Freya? I told you he would not even bother to repent.” She turned on Stephan. “Made vampires must be killed. We dare not upset the balance.”

Freya looked away.

“And what of the guards and the servants?” Ann asked, her voice trembling with emotion. “They were innocents.”

Freya shot Dee a reproachful look.

“Necessary,” Dee snapped. “Steps to achieve our end.”

Stephan began to gather himself, mustering control. He would need all his strength against the Daughters. He tried not to think about how futile his effort would be, or the fact that he had wasted that precious strength making love to Ann today. A shush of memory wafted over him; the confident certainty of her love in Ann’s eyes, her touch, so wondrous to him and even more so to her as she ran her hands over his body, the miracle of sex transformed into lovemaking once again. No, he would not regret making love to Ann. He knew what the end was likely to be here. He would not shy from death. He only had to find some way to keep Ann safe.

“I have grown in power since Mirso,” he said, trying to put a sureness into his voice he didn’t feel. “You won’t find me an easy target anymore. Let her go, though, and I will submit without a fight.”

“Your mistake, Harrier.” Dee sneered. “Your power makes it easier to dispose of you now. And Freya and I together will have no problems with you.” She was enjoying this. Her eyes went red. She was prepared for any fight Stephan could make. He could feel her vibrations cycle up beyond feeling them. “Freya, help our servant here get Miss Van Helsing to swallow that bottle of laudanum.”

Freya looked dismayed.

“The whole bottle?” Van Helsing asked, incredulous.

“As you said, she’s strong now . . .” The red in Dee’s eyes deepened.

Freya stepped forward, her mouth set, her own eyes going carmine. It was now or never.
Companion!
A red curtain descended over the room. Stephan gathered all his will and pushed it out at Freya, who wavered and stopped.

A blast of compulsion burst over him, almost knocking him to his knees. Wave after wave drenched him. Dee walked forward, her mouth grim.

“You think to challenge us?” The words echoed and boomed around the room as though they were the voice of a god. Slowly Stephan sank to his knees. His will couldn’t reach Freya. “Freya!” Dee barked.

Freya’s eyes went a deeper red as she advanced on Ann. Stephan’s vision began to darken at the edges as he pushed against the compulsion Dee showered over him. He saw Ann’s eyes go big, then blank.

“Give her the bottle, Van Helsing,” Freya whispered.

Stephan threw his mind against the barrier that held him. He grunted and shivered. The blackness expanded until it seemed as though he saw Ann and Freya and Van Helsing at the end of a long tunnel. Van Helsing unstoppered the bottle and held it out. Ann raised a shaking hand and took it. She lifted it to her lips.

“No!” The shout was torn from Stephan’s soul.

And then the blackness snapped shut upon the tunnel.

Stephan woke slowly. His head throbbed as though it had been bashed against a stone floor. He tried to remember. Dee had held him in a vise of will while Ann . . .

“Ann,” he muttered and tried to raise his head. It slammed down on hard stone, as will came crashing down on him. Dee and Freya moved into his line of vision, hovering over
him. Their eyes were crimson, and the color deepened to burgundy even as he watched. They wore the scraps of diaphanous fabric they had worn at Mirso, the ones split to the waist and down to their navels that gave them easy access to use of him. He was naked. He had seen that when he raised his head. The Daughters’ faces glowed inhumanly in the light of a great fire he could see roaring from the corner of his eyes. He was sweating. Heat poured over him. He was in a dark place, lit only by the great fire. He lay on stone—a bench, perhaps? That made him shudder inside. Was he back in the bowels of Mirso?

“Well, Penitent,” Dee murmured, moving a strand of hair off his sweating forehead. “Not penitent enough, were we? Father was right to doubt you.”

“Let me talk to him . . .” Stephan managed. “Let me explain.” Rubius would never forgive him, but it would buy him time.

“I told you we wouldn’t take you to Mirso,” Dee admonished. “Too exhausting for us to keep you under control during such a long journey.”

“Then, where am I?” He raised his head and this time they let him. The space around him was vast. Columns and Romanesque arches disappeared into the dimness. He was chained to what looked like . . . a stone coffin, though it was not the chains that held him there.

“The old underground crypt of the abbey,” Freya said, in a low voice. Her explanation earned her a hostile stare from Dee.

“Where is Ann?” Stephan ground out the words through gritted teeth. He was still at Maitlands, or near enough. If he could get away . . .

“Having the time of her life, I should think, albeit through a haze of laudanum.” Dee chuckled. She rested her gaze on Stephan, almost tenderly. “As you will be shortly.”

Stephan groaned, thinking about Van Helsing’s pudgy hands on Ann, his wet mouth probing hers, the suffering she would endure, far worse even than rape. He had to find a way out of here! He
had
to stop Van Helsing.

Dee glanced to Freya. “Are you ready?” It was a challenge, as though she didn’t trust her sister.

Freya took a breath and nodded.

Stephan felt his loins tighten. His cock began to throb.

God, they were going to bring him up and use him here? Now? He began to struggle against the compulsion even harder, trembling with effort. He couldn’t go back to being used like they had used him, not after making love to Ann.

“No, no, my Penitent, there is no choice for you,” Dee cooed as she ran her hands over his chest and down his belly to fondle the head of his cock.

Did they want to torture him before they killed him? Why didn’t they tear his head off and be done with it? But he couldn’t challenge them with that. He must stay alive to keep alive the possibility that he could help Ann. He swallowed.