The banker had married her youth, and she his money it seemed, and now she lay in Sunaria’s arms. I wondered if business had really taken her husband out of town. Sunaria gestured she wanted me to join them.
Twenty or so plush, tasseled burgundy pillows were strewn over the carpet. This room had been prepared.
But I wasn’t.
“Daumia,” Sunaria beckoned.
“I’ve never liked surprises,” I muttered.
Sunaria’s smile faded.
Whatever Sunaria had told the girl, it wasn’t the truth. So lulled by what had been done to her before I’d arrived, she seemed exceptionally passive.
I gave Sunaria a long stare, then turned and walked out.
* * * *
Imagining what they were up to, I lay on the living room rug staring up at the ceiling.
A lifetime lay ahead of trapping and devouring and it caused an awful dread. There had to be another way, a cure even. As an eternal being, I had the unending possibility of finding a way back. Fear of what I didn’t know scared me. I’d become the myth.
The legend, documented by those who’d encountered our kind and lived.
And I yearned to learn everything about what I’d become. Never had I needed anyone like I needed Sunaria. Perhaps that’s why, uncharacteristically, I’d left the hunter alone with the victim.
After several minutes, Sunaria rejoined me.
“I wasn’t sure whether you wanted me to fuck her or drink from her,” I snapped.
Sunaria lay down beside me.
I frowned. “How old is she, for God’s sake?”
“What does it matter?”
I couldn’t look at her. “This is not who I am.”
“Get used to it.”
“Never.”
“Says he who fed on twenty men back in Santiago.”
I turned away from her.
She grabbed my arm. “You have to let go of your past.”
“The past is who I am.”
“No, it holds you back. Remember it, but don’t clutch at it.”
“What of my humanity?” I pulled away from her.
“You’re not human now.”
“What happened to her husband?”
“He’s away.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Don’t speak to me like that.”
“What are we, Sunaria? Lovers?”
“We are not equals.” With a superior expression, she reached up to my face and her long nails dug into my chin. “You dare to defy me.”
I shoved away her hand. “You left me under the earth for days.”
“And if you don’t shut up, I’ll put you back there.”
“I’m done.” I leaped to my feet.
“I own you. I control you.”
“I’m leaving.”
I reached for the door handle, but a strange sense of powerlessness ensued, and I knew it was Sunaria’s hypnotic power that held me. I struggled against her. “Please—” Impossible to resist her. “No.” I slumped to my knees.
Locks of Sunaria’s hair fell over my face. Her lips met mine in a smoldering kiss and passion exploded. A desire like nothing I’d ever experienced. Her thoughts were inside my mind. She controlled me, and held me down. Sending panicked thoughts, I begged her to release me. Her will, not mine, forcing my obedience, intermingled with my anger, a desire for this powerful union. Confusion interfused with moments of clarity.
“Now,” her expression changed from seductress to mistress, “go back upstairs.”
* * * *
Back in the bedroom with the pallid, naked girl, I felt strangely controlled by Sunaria, as I whisked our sleeping victim up into my arms, my touch stirring her. She stared up in a daze that turned quickly to panic. There was an initial struggle until fear stilled her. The sweet taste of cinnamon, as she flooded my mouth, was quickly followed by a tingling in my throat.
Arms folded, Sunaria watched.
Too fired up to pull away, wanting nothing more than to drain her, to save her, I peered up.
Sunaria gave a nod that I must finish it, and the girl’s arms flopped by her sides and her breaths grew shallow. When I found her true self deep within her, I chose to proceed after her, and in doing so, lost myself. All compassion dissolved and I couldn’t follow where she headed. As the final patter of her heart ceased to beat, I knew the true horror of what I’d done.
I clambered off the bed and flew at Sunaria. With a shove, I had her pinned against the door. “I’m a monster!”
She tried to push me away, but I thrust her back, and grabbed her wrists to control her. Another kiss, this time deeper, punishing her, conveyed my anger for this violation. I pulled away. “You did this to me.” I ripped at Sunaria’s dress.
She scratched at my face.
I spun her around, pushed her down, and bent her over several of the pillows, not caring if I hurt her or not, assuming she could take it.
Sunaria fought against me.
“Hands by your head,” I demanded.
She reached back and scraped my forearms, drawing blood. I spanked her so hard that she sucked in her breath and froze.
“Do it,” I snapped.
Slowly, Sunaria brought her hands up in front of her, holding one hand with another.
I followed the arch of her back, brushing my fingernails over her and digging them in and along. Sunaria’s raven locks tumbled over her shoulders and she softened, her sighs revealing a lifetime of yearning for this very moment.
With a firm grip on both of her arms, I guided her so her forehead rested upon the black rug, her long hair spilling over it.
“Don’t move.” I rose and strolled past the dead girl, avoiding her vacant stare, and picked up one of the tall, red candles. It had burned halfway but still had some use, and its flame flickered as I carried it back.
Sunaria had obediently remained still. I stood before her, staring down, and savored having her subjugated at my feet, exhilarated that I’d become her master. Sunaria’s taut stomach muscles flexed, as though she threatened to spring up in defiance.
“Do it and you’ll regret it.” I tilted the dancing flame and dropped hot red wax onto her spine.
She gasped with each splash and dared to lift her head. Another sharp smack to her derriere persuaded her to resume her pose
With another tilt, red wax trickled onto her upper back, snaking its way, circling and hardening, leaving fine, red lines and scarlet welts that soon dissipated. She was shaking uncontrollably.
For a long time, I waited and watched, enjoying having conquered her, savoring the sense that I now had her. Empowered, I luxuriated in the frissons that pulsed from my solar plexus, lingered there, and then surged downward. The more I resisted the urge to finish this quickly, the more delectable it felt.
Sunaria’s nails clawed the rug, revealing her need, her fingers splaying out, and then curling again. With the candle still burning, I positioned it close by.
I taught Sunaria her lesson . . .
Sunsets and sunrises were lost to me, the finest meals, the best wines, but not this last pleasure. This one rapturous thrill could never be stolen from me.
From us.
The dead girl’s eyes were open and her jaw slack, her expression calm, our only audience, our perfect, naked witness.
I drove Sunaria on, feeling her surrendering.
And then I paused. I yanked Sunaria up and whispered, “If you ever do that to me again, I’ll never take you like this again.”
She sobbed with pleasure.
“Understand?” I resumed, taking her to the edge of pleasure and sending her over.
She caught her breath and leaned back against me.
I enfolded her in my arms and whispered, “We are equals.”
Chapter 28
NINE O’CLOCK AND I FELT more than ready for my confession.
Sunaria and I had stopped off at Vigo’s old parish church, a slight detour on our way back to Palos.
I’d be seeing Jacob soon.
Sunaria insisted on waiting in our carriage. I noticed a subtle change in her demeanor, a slight shift in her manner, and her affection more evident than previously, a refreshing change to her usual austere presence.
It felt good to take back my authority.
I carried with me the small wooden box, the one I’d found in Felipe’s secret chamber.
Inside, there was a rich aroma of incense and a severe chill. Churches are cold, a detail I’d forgotten. Their stone walls omit warmth, designed this way perhaps to keep the congregation awake during boring sermons.
Putting myth to the test, I took a moment to linger before the large wooden cross hanging behind the ornately decorated altar, and then waited for hell to be unleashed.
I gave a shrug, bored but pleased that there was still no aversion to religious artifacts, not for me anyway. Maybe that also meant I could find a way to face the daylight. Yellow light flickered over white washed walls and peeling paint. Felipe had stolen the money for the church’s restoration.
Taking long strides, I made my way to the back of the church and slid the box into the confessional booth entrance and then entered the confessor’s side. The red, drawn curtain hinted at authority and equaled its sense of mystery.
I wanted to see Bishop Bonaire’s expression, the man on the other side of the curtain.
“These items belong to the Church,” I said. “And I trust that you’ll return the documents to their rightful owners.”
“Where did you find this?” Bonaire lifted out the communion chalice.
“At the senator’s residence.”
He shuffled through the papers. “It belongs to Senator Grenaldi.”
“Did.”
The bishop fidgeted. “Did he ask you to return them?”
“Not exactly.”
Bonaire pulled the curtain back. His heavily lined face revealed a lifetime of worry, though I detected a strong faith, a dedicated man of God, and a comforting presence.
“Is there something you wish to confess?” he asked.
“I don’t actually have that much time.”
He frowned.
“I have something for you.” I held up a crisp scroll.
He opened the rusty grate.
“This belonged to Columbus.” I passed it through.
He unraveled the map. “Where did you find this?”
“In the box I just handed to you,” I lied. “It’s evidence of a plot against the king.”
“Senator Grenaldi?”
“He’s at its center.”
“But he’s the king’s closest ally.” Tension rose in his voice.
“Felipe wanted us to think that. It’s time to restore power to the Church.”
“How does this map prove the senator’s heresy?”
I handed Bonaire the letter that Felipe had scribed before Sunaria in The Captain’s Table Inn.
Bonaire fidgeted. “He wrote this?”
“Felipe’s handwriting and his signature.”
“Has he gone mad?” Bonaire’s jowl shook with surprise.
“Felipe is after the precious metals that Columbus is currently searching for.”
“But why write a letter to the king?”
“As a warning? Perhaps we will never know.”
“He threatens Columbus?”
“When Columbus finds land, Grenaldi plans to claim it.”
“He is mad.” Bonaire rolled up the letter. “When this gets into the king’s hands—”
“You will be free to take care of your parish.”
He peeked again at the contents of the box.
“One more thing,” I said. “Behind the bookcase in Grenaldi’s office is a chamber, in case the authorities need more evidence.”
In order for me to appear as a convincing religious zealot, I lingered for a moment or two, kneeling before the altar. I genuflected and then headed out, passing the font full to the brim of holy water.
Something in the receptacle caught my eye. I approached and, careful to avoid contact with what could apparently burn me, I glimpsed in.
After I caught my breath, I took another look. My refection stared back. Although I recognized a little of the old Daumia, there were real changes in my appearance, my hazel eyes were luminous and my chiseled bone structure was striking.
And my hair was sticking up.
* * * *
I gave a nod to our horseman that we were ready for our journey to Palos and climbed in, sitting opposite Sunaria. With a crack of the whip and a jolt, the horses trotted off, pulling our carriage along. We rocked as the wheels rolled over the worn cobblestones of the churchyard.
“Nice church.” I flattened my hair with my palm.
Sunaria gazed out of the window. “Will you ever forgive me for bringing you over?”
I rested my feet on the seat opposite. “I never took you for one who’d ask for forgiveness.”
“You have time with your son.”
“And time with you.”
Moonlight shimmered off her dark locks, her perfect, porcelain complexion enhancing her beauty, and her infinite, blue-green irises intensified when her mood darkened, like it did now.