Aleksei was outraged. “My family? Do you meanâare you saying no one has attended to my family?” He might be ambivalent about God, but his mother and siblings had not been. The idea that no one had seen to their bodies, prepared them for burial, was horrifying to him. “You call yourself a priest!” He spat on the floor.
The cleric wailed pitifully in his defense. “The demon . . . the demon will not allow any to approach!”
Aleksei narrowed his eyes and stared at the priest. A young man, he wasn't much older than Aleksei. Why would a demon show himself to a man of God with so little experience? “And you say this demon is at my home? Waiting for me?”
The priest nodded frantically and resumed crossing himself. If Aleksei had doubts about God, then it seemed hypocritical of him to believe in the existence of demons. But the damn fool of a holy man wasn't going to leave him alone until he had seen this supposed evil spirit with his own eyes. The temptation to shake his fist in condemnation was a strong one, but then Aleksei decided that perhaps this meeting would be a good thing. It might resolve his uncertainty about God one way or the other.
“You will come with me,” Aleksei ordered the priest.
Aleksei was certain that, having relayed the information to its intended recipient, the priest wanted nothing more to do with the matter. Or him. He waited, fully expecting to hear some flimsy excuse for not making the journey, but the priest did no such thing. Closing his eyes, he began to pray, muttering under his breath and pausing only to kiss the crucifix he wore around his neck a good many times. But he did not refuse to accompany Aleksei. Perhaps his inexperience was a blessing.
The priest yanked the door open. “I will wait for you . . . outside,” he called back over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.
Wearily, Aleksei looked around for anything that might resemble clothes. He took a few steps and staggered a little. The feel of a hand pulling the rough blanket from him said Magda had emerged from the shadows. She put her hand around his waist to steady him. No doubt the priest would have been shocked to see her touching his naked body in so familiar a way, but now that he was over his embarrassment, Aleksei found he didn't care.
The witch handed him a bundle of clothes that were not his own. They smelled of another man, another farmer, judging from the faint aroma of manure. “Yours could not be saved,” she said by way of explanation. Aleksei dressed, surprised when she handed him his own boots. “Only your clothes could not be saved,” she grunted by way of explanation. “These are good boots with many miles still to be walked.”
“So what do you think?” Aleksei took the boots from her and put them on. He was curious to know her opinion. “Do you believe there's a demon waiting for me?”
Sticking two bony fingers into a bowl, Magda began coating the aching wound on his face with a thick salve. “It will help with the pain and the healing,” she told him, “but I don't think the girls will find you quite so handsome anymore.”
Aleksei grunted. Attracting the attention of a woman was the last thing on his mind.
“Still, it might be that you will find a woman who will not care about such things.” She pressed her hand to his chest. “A woman who can see what is here.”
There was nothing else to say, and although he was disappointed that she had deliberately ignored his question about the demon, Aleksei stepped back and bowed. It was the only way he knew to thank her for her kindness. And he didn't do it out of fear of her anger. He did it out of respect and because it was the right thing to do. A sudden frown creased his brow as he recalled the man in the dacha's kitchen. He had thanked him as well. Had that been a mistake?
Magda's hand on his arm stopped him as he turned to leave. “It was nothing but water, Aleksei, pure water from a secret spring that was birthed by the mountains. That is what I used to soothe your raging throat.” He felt his face flush that she knew he had thought it might be poison. “And it is no demon that waits for you. Do not fear him, Aleksei. Take what he offers . . . or not. The choice is yours.”
Outside, Aleksei was surprised to find Konstantine and his cart waiting. The old man gave him a toothless grin, and Aleksei knew who was responsible for bringing him to the witch. The priest was already settled in the back of the cart, but not wanting to share the journey with an unending recitation of prayers, Aleksei seated himself next to the old man.
It was a long journey, made even longer by the slow, plodding gait of the horse, but Aleksei minded neither the distance nor the cold. Something was waiting for him, and, in case it was a demon, these might be his last moments on earth. It was a sobering thought.
As they rumbled through the village, Aleksei could feel the eyes of every single person who lived there watching him. But no one came out to offer any condolences. They were all too terrified he would bring the wrath of the Petrov family down upon them. At the place where the dirt track turned off toward what had once been his home, Aleksei stopped Konstantine. The smell of burned timber mixed with the aroma of charred hide and hoof and flesh still hung heavy in the air.
“No farther, old man,” Aleksei said softly, patting him on the arm. This time there was no mistaking the tears that ran down either side of Konstantine's nose. He opened his mouth but, unable to find words, closed it again. Aleksei nodded. Sometimes the best words were ones that were not spoken. “Take him back to the church,” he said, nodding at the priest seated in the back. Not having taken the initiative to get down from the cart, the priest had plainly gone as far as he was willing to go. It was enough. Whatever waited for him, Aleksei would face it on his own.
Chapter 15
G
abriel watched the exchange of words between the driver and his companion before the man got down from the cart. He was pleased to note that the priest had no intention of joining the man, who now continued on foot. In fact, the priest's frantic arm waving seemed to be the cleric's way of urging the driver to put as much distance between themselves and the fork in the road as possible. Gabriel could have told him he was wasting his time. The horse had only one speed. It took a while, but eventually the priest stopped waving his arms.
Gabriel grunted softly. It was exhausting watching the priest flail about like that. If only he would put as much effort into tending to the needs of those he proclaimed to serve. With the cart and its passengers no longer a concern, Gabriel turned his attention to the figure making its way through the snow.
In truth, he was surprised to see him. Others in the past had abandoned their loved ones rather than face him, and it made him wonder what the priest had said to persuade Aleksei to return. Perhaps he hadn't had to say anything at all. It might be that the man would have returned of his own accord. Seeing Aleksei stumble, Gabriel narrowed his eyes. He would know the measure of his character soon enough, and that would decide everything.
It wasn't the scent of spilled blood that had brought Gabriel to this place. It was the loss of innocent lives. Even though over the course of the centuries he had taken more human lives than could ever be counted, he never took the truly innocent. He never took the life of a child.
After examining the bodies lying in the snow, their throats slashed in a fit of pique by a man who believed it was his right to do so, Gabriel felt compelled to stay. Someone had escaped the grotesque tableau. Separate splashes of blood in the snow, away from the bodies, told him there was a survivor. A man, judging from the depth of the footprints left by those who'd carried him away. And he was curious to know what kind of man could so inflame another's rage that he would slaughter an entire family. So he stayed that night, watching as the buildings burned to the ground. Then, as other predators were drawn to the carnage, he let them know one far more deadly had already claimed the bodies.
Gabriel had observed many rituals involving human burial. From the simplest to the most elaborate, there was one commonality linking them. The cleansing of the deceased body. So when the priest appeared at first light, he assumed it was to perform that task. But the cleric had come only to satisfy his own morbid curiosity as to the cause of death, and after investigating the vicious slashes across each throat, he turned to go without so much as offering a single prayer.
“Is it not your custom to bury the dead?” Gabriel asked, stepping from the shadows of the burned-out house.
Startled, the priest lost his footing and slipped on the packed snow. One hand immediately disappeared inside his coat, emerging a moment later tightly clasping a crucifix, which he held out in front of him. “W-w-what are you?” he stammered in a voice that wavered.
Gabriel frowned. His feelings of outrage at the priest's apparent indifference toward the dead had made him careless, allowing the man to see a hint of his true nature in his face. Why else would he have asked “What are you?” instead of the more customary “Who are you? ” Ignoring the man's words, Gabriel repeated himself. “Is it not your custom to bury the dead?”
The cleric nodded his head, the grip on the crucifix turning his bony knuckles white.
“Then why are you not preparing the bodies?”
“We c-cannotâthe c-count has f-forbidden it!” The priest's voice rose in agitation.
“Forbidden?”
“H-he has d-decreed that any who set foot on this land will f-forfeit their own and b-be b-banished.” It was hard to know if it was fear or cold that made the priest stammer.
“So you are defying him?”
The man on the ground shook his head. “The ch-church is exempt. Even the c-count fears f-for his soul.”
“His actions would seem to proclaim otherwise,” Gabriel commented. The priest scrambled to his knees and crossed himself a number of times. He then clasped both hands around the crucifix, locked his elbows, and thrust his arms into the air. He also began praying. Loudly. Dropping to his haunches, Gabriel placed one hand over the crucifix and grabbed the front of the priest's coat with the other. “Where is the one they left alive?” he asked.
The priest appeared shocked that the demon before him could touch the blessed item in his hand without any ill effects. “They t-took him to the w-witch.”
“A priest and a witch in the same village? How convenient.”
“If he d-dies under her h-hand, the c-count will not hold us responsible.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes and pulled the priest closer. “Make sure he returns, priest.”
“For w-what p-p-purpose?” the man wailed.
“Someone needs to see to the dead.”
* * *
As he made his way through the heavy snowfall, Aleksei was forced to conclude he was weaker than he realized. Either that or the path had somehow become much steeper since the last time he'd walked it. The fire in his lungs and the tremors in his legs forced him to stop more than once. And when he did, he noticed the only sound he could hear was his own labored breathing as he blew clouds of vapor into the frigid air. The silence unnerved him. He should have been able to hear the cawing of crows, but all that surrounded him was a blanket of ominous silence. Had the birds been scared off by the demon or Count Petrov? Was there any difference between the two? With a grunt, he continued on his way. The cold numbed his face so he could no longer feel the dull, throbbing ache of his cheek. So far it was the only good thing that had come of his effort.
The house and barn were nothing more than blackened timbers, and despite the layer of snow, Aleksei felt certain that it would take only a few kicks to uncover smoldering embers. Another heavy snowfall, however, would take care of that and, hopefully, the terrible smell that lingered. He'd never thought the smell of burned animal flesh would turn his stomach, but perhaps it was the circumstances that made him feel so nauseous.
The sun, such as it was, had begun to slip toward the horizon, marking the end of the day. “Idiot!” Aleksei muttered to himself. He had not thought to bring a light, and it would be dark soon. He might need to revisit the idea of finding some embers in the hopes of building a fire. If nothing else, it would keep the predators at bay. Just because the crows had abandoned his land, the same wasn't necessarily true of other creatures. Like wolves.
The thought filled him with alarm. If, as the priest had said, his mother and the children were still lying where they had fallen, then it stood to reason that predators might have already found them. The idea made him feel wretched, and he fell to his knees, making horrible noises as he vomited up whatever Magda had poured down his throat. She had told him it was water, but he doubted that's all it was. Grabbing a handful of snow, he rubbed it vigorously over his face, not caring if dirt penetrated his ragged cheek. He didn't know how he was going to do it, and cared not if it was frowned upon by the church, but somehow he was going to bury his family. Even if it meant clawing at the ground with his bare hands. Steeling himself, he made his way to where Nikolayev had murdered them.
They were gone.
He had prepared himself for the possibility of seeing partially eaten corpses, and he looked around for evidence that might indicate the bodies had been dragged away. But the snow was pristine; the only tracks visible were those left by his footprints. There was just one explanationâit was the demon! The priest had warned him, but Aleksei had thought the man a fool. Now he knew better. His mother, Larissa, sweet Sofia, and the twins had all been taken to hell at Satan's bidding.
With no bodies to bury, no family to mourn, he sank to his knees and began to weep. His chin struck his chest with each shuddering intake of breath.
“Do you mean to remain on your knees all night?”
A chill ran down his back. The voice reminded him of a fine bear skin, the thick, glossy fur hiding the menace of teeth and claws. It was also disturbingly arousing. Frozen in his current position, Aleksei turned his head to see the creature that had addressed him. If he was meant to die at this being's hand, then he wanted to look him in the eye before giving up his life.
A figure came out from the shadows, and long, elegant fingers stretched themselves out toward him. “I will graciously accept a woman being on her knees,” the voice said, with a hint of sly amusement, “but only if it is her choice. A man in the same position is not something that tempts me.” The fingers curled, beckoning to him. “And I can see that you are at a loss as to my meaning.”
Without thinking, Aleksei grasped the hand offered and felt himself being pulled to his feet with very little effort on the stranger's part.
“Definitely weaker,” he muttered under his breath.
Slight movement at the corners of the man's mouth told him his words had been heard. It was foolish to give away an advantage. Although if his progress up the steep path had been observed, then his body's limitations were already known. Was the man here at the behest of the count, sent to either finish him off or confirm he still drew breath? Aleksei looked at his clothing, which, though strange to him, seemed of a very fine quality and appeared to be more than adequate to protect against the elements. Likewise his boots appeared sturdy, and although he wore no gloves or scarf about his face, he seemed not unduly bothered by the cold.
Unsure what to do next, Aleksei stared at the man with frank openness. The stranger stood a full head taller than himself, and had shoulders that were wider and a chest that was broader than his own. Aleksei was considered one of the strongest men in his village, with the well-developed physique that came from a life of manual labor. But now, in comparison, he looked as weak as he felt. His gaze went back to the face, which was framed by hair as white as the fallen snow. Aleksei had never seen hair that color, and in the stranger's brilliant blue eyes he saw the hint of something tragic. A terrible loss. One that continued to haunt him.
Was this whom the priest had seen? Was this the demon he had been warned about? Except, now that Aleksei looked at him, he saw the stranger wasn't a demon at all. He was something else. How could the priest have made such a mistake? Hadn't his mother told him about the creatures that walked the night? But then perhaps this being had found no reason to smile at the priest and had not revealed himself as he was now.
“You know what I am.” It wasn't a question, but a confirmation.
There were many names for a being such as he. Seducer of the Night, Consort of the Dead, and others that were even more poetic in nature. But Aleksei was a simple man and didn't know how to hide the truth with ambiguity.
“You are a drinker of blood.” The head of white blond hair acknowledged the truth with a single nod, and to Aleksei it seemed the honesty of his reply was appreciated. “Did you take my family?” he blurted out.
“Take them . . . ?” The hand that had helped Aleksei to stand was now held out in protest. “Of course not. We do not feed from the dead.”
“Then where are they?”
“I moved them.”
“Youâyou moved them? Where?”
The long white hair fell like a curtain over his shoulder as the creature turned his head. “I put them inside the house. It was easier to watch over them in there,” he added by way of explanation.
Inside the house? There was no house. There were no walls, half the roof was gone, and what was left was being held up by two timbers that would probably collapse in the next stiff breeze. How would it be easier to watch over his family in there?
“Even the wolves know when to fear the shadows,” came the answer.
A lump in his throat robbed Aleksei of speech as he entered the ruined dwelling and looked at the bodies that lay next to each other on the floor. The priest, he realized, had been wrong about this also, because someone
had
taken the time to prepare them for burial. The skin was freshly washed, the hair clean and curling in soft waves around each face. It looked to Aleksei as if his mother and siblings were asleep instead of dead.
As was the custom, each of them was dressed in a clean white robe with coins resting on their closed eyelids. There was also a length of white linen wrapped about each throat. This, Aleksei knew, was not customary, but nevertheless he was glad of it. He did not know if he was strong enough to be reminded of how each life had been so cruelly stolen.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Aleksei asked, gesturing to his family. This was completely unexpected, and he could feel emotion swelling inside of him. “You do not know me, nor I you.”
The vampire shrugged his shoulders. “No one else was coming to attend to them, and this is your custom, is it not?”
“The priest told meâ” Aleksei broke off, suddenly too ashamed to repeat the cleric's words.