I vowed that I would, though even as I spoke those very words, I wasn’t sure such a promise would ever be realized. London offered nothing but the saddest of memories, the deepest pain.
The future beckoned.
With no business dealings to keep me occupied, having left Marcus to initiate the transformation of Belshazzar’s, my time became wrapped up in Sunaria and she loved the attention.
Settling into a modestly decorated, desolate château overlooking the ocean, we took our time to acclimatize. Before we ventured into the heart of the country, we wanted to get a feel for the societal changes that had unfolded since our departure. Taking our time, we gauged the mood of the people, researching how far they’d advanced with their knowledge of the undead. Catholics were known to burn the accused, whether they’d actually sinned or not. With our affected accents, we’d stand out. A foreigner with a strange inflection could alarm even the most passive of villagers. Not that the thought of a man chasing me with a burning torch made me nervous. The disruption to my evening would be more of an annoyance. Not so for Sunaria, who insisted that we sleep in coffins again for the first three weeks upon our arrival, until I persuaded her otherwise.
Discreetly, we tried to ascertain how many night walkers were in the province, those who slept by day and withdrew at sunset, eager to play all night. We wanted to keep a low profile.
After an entire night of seeking out new pleasures with Sunaria, we returned to the château. Sunaria had teased me all evening. We made it home with an hour to spare before sunrise.
I had my revenge before the fireplace in the great hall.
After wrestling with each other, each vying for control, I managed to restrain her, binding both her hands behind her with a silk sash that I’d found. She lay prone, perfectly vulnerable on the silken rug.
Starting at her ankles, I planted kisses there and then moved upward, driving her into a frenzy, her well deserved punishment, giving her no choice but to submit. I left her lying there, unsated and desperate for me to finish, her hands still secured, her movement restricted.
I withdrew from the house, strolling along the neglected pathway, hoping to free my mind while all the time imprisoning hers.
The sea air stung my nostrils and the cool air cleared my mind. Over the grassy bank, waves buffeted the golden shoreline. The swell of the sea was a continuous rhythm, inducing a soporific sensation. Foam sprayed up onto the beach and several birds flew along the horizon.
Coming home to Spain was one of my better decisions.
I liked it here.
After several minutes, I returned to the house.
Sunaria’s turquoise stare begged me to resume. I wondered how long I could just stand over her, full of desire. Pleasure before the pleasure . . .
* * * *
Outside the wind howled as though jealous of the lovers inside who tumbled daringly close to the hearth. Sunaria’s head fell back and her tussled locks cascaded over her flushed face.
Daylight loomed.
“You’re my everything,” I whispered.
The fire crackled in the hearth and an oak aroma lingered. The lapping of the ocean lulled us.
This was the longest that I’d ever held her gaze. “Do you miss London?”
“What does London have that Spain doesn’t?” She sighed.
“Endless rain.”
Sunaria’s laughter rippled.
“How do you remember it all?” she asked.
I shrugged.
Her inquisitive stare pierced me. “Why do you refuse to talk about the past?”
“Some memories, I choose to forget.”
“The pain fades,” she whispered.
“What if I don’t want it to?”
A soft smile curled her lips. “So you hold onto the pain and forget the cause?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“To survive eternity?”
“To exist.” Now I smiled.
Sunaria rose and pulled my black cloak around her shoulders. “I don’t have your sense of danger.” She pointed at the window and headed for the door.
Leaning up on both elbows, I glimpsed the ocean. The sun threatened to cast its colors upon it. I jumped up and dressed.
I froze.
An envelope lay on the maple table. I ripped open the seal. We’d been summoned to a local vampire’s coven.
Apparently, Sunaria and I resided in the very center of a lair.
* * * *
We ignored the dubious invitation, enjoying our own company instead, preferring to visit old haunts, and finally put old ghosts to rest.
We traveled to Nuevo Portil by carriage. Years had changed the city, and the population had increased. Having ridden along this pathway several times, we now saw new home after new home. The Ocean View Manor was no longer there.
Close by, we found a well tended churchyard. It took us very little time to find Alicia’s grave. Ricardo, her son, had been buried next to her. Their tombstones were the only mark of their lives, and a dragging regret for leaving her came out of nowhere. We found no grave with Miranda’s name on it. I gave a smile, considering that she’d probably searched out another nightwalker and persuaded him, or her, to transform her.
Sunaria left me kneeling before Alicia’s tombstone, and I tried to convey feelings that I no longer felt, honoring my sister with my fondest memories of her. Alicia would have wondered what had happened to us. I’d written to her, but had never gone through with actually sending the missives I’d penned. I hoped the rest of her life had been easier.
Shaking off the melancholy, I rejoined Sunaria. She was lounging upon an old grey mausoleum, and with her black locks dangling over the side, she appeared like a dark goddess, here to guide the newly deceased, not into heaven and not even to hell, but somewhere else, somewhere forbidden.
Leisurely, she lifted her head and raised an eyebrow.
She slid off the monument and together we strolled through the graveyard. I looked forward to sharing new luscious delights with her, an array of thrills.
She stared up at me with a glint of something indeterminable in her expression and her hand took mine. I felt her slide something onto my ring finger. I gazed down at the gold band.
“The mark of ownership.” Her voice was low, sultry.
I went to respond, and then felt that familiar craving capturing me, as her words lingered. Only in silence could the sensations be best appreciated.
Chapter 58
1789
DECADES UNFOLD AS EASILY as ripples on a pond and just as fleeting.
Eternity, the perfect promise.
As though in a warped time zone, people and places transform. We, however, remain unaffected. Time advanced, though for us stasis was a given.
To ease my adjustment, Sunaria encouraged frequent moves to new provinces, her belief being that such would provide the subtle illusion that one had merely changed to a more progressive town, though the world evolved.
Falling back into the leisurely pace of life had been easy. Removing myself from the tediousness of residing in a frenetic city, immersing myself in solitude, rediscovering old pleasures found in literature, music, language, and art, and finally allowing what little was left of the man within to reawaken.
A personal renaissance.
Preferring coastal life, taking solace in long walks barefoot along golden sandy beaches, beneath starlit skies, I stilled that inner, unquiet voice. Evoking the delusion that I wasn’t really alone, and that somehow, God might find a way to forgive me, and I him.
Even at night, midsummer’s warmth lingered, and a gentle breeze carried that sweet, salty scent of the blue-green ocean.
Standing precariously close to the edge of the cliff, admiring the rocky shoreline, the crescent moon reflected sunlight off its grey-silver orb. I’d never been one for sunsets, at least that’s what I told myself.
Remembering Señor Machon, my first tutor, I smiled fondly recalling his lessons, which enlightened me at such a young age, feeding me knowledge that I’d actually used. And later, my relationship with Miguel, his lessons not from books but drawn from life itself, his wisdom that only now I appreciated.
The voices in my head had almost gone. Here I’d managed to suppress many of the old inner ghosts, subdue the angst that disallowed any sense of calm, searching for self-forgiveness or even insight as a poor second. Striving to keep at arm’s length that awful feeling of being overtaken by the unseen, and fearing I’d be unable to prevent it.
The hairs pricked on the back of my neck. With a quick check of my surroundings, I confirmed that I was alone.
Holding Marcus’ letter, I re-read the missive: London was even more avant-garde than when I’d left, Rachel flourished, and Belshazzar’s thrived.
“Come back to me,” his final words written in a steady hand.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Sunaria approaching. “How long have you been watching me?”
She looked surprised. “I just got here.”
I knew that expression. “What’s wrong?”
She gave me a wary nod, uncomfortable with me being so near the edge. Her dress billowed.
“The clouds broke an hour ago.” I flashed her a smile. “I love this view.”
“How many times do you have to see it?” Sunaria grumbled. “I yearn for something else, something different.”
I turned away. “We’re not going to Madrid.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Madrid.”
“I’m not ready to go back yet.”
“But I am.”
I pointed to the small fishing boat off in the distance. “Now that’s a hard life.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“What’s brought this on?”
“Boredom.”
“Why so desperate to return to London?”
“Cornwall.”
“Seek out your ancestors?” Reluctant to bring up an old argument, I looked away.
“Why not?”
“Because there’s risk and no gain.”
“I’ll gain joy in seeing how my descendants have fared.”
“You’re not going.”
She pouted. “I hate this place.”
“But it’s so peaceful.”
“Too much time to think.”
“That’s what I like about it, less chaos.”
“I’ll only be gone for a few months.”
“You’ve made up your mind then?”
“This is important to me.”
“You’re being reckless.” I sighed.
“Please try to understand.”
“Your relatives are dead. Their ancestors are a diluted version of them.”
“You think that this is living? This is stagnation. Marcus and Rachel are living the high life, mingling with society’s finest, and I’m here. Sand is in my hair, under my fingernails, and in my knickers!”
I burst out laughing.
She also saw the funny side, her laughter rippling, as she snuggled into me. “The same view is driving me crazy. I need variety.”
“You’re the one who suggested this place.” I squeezed her into me.
“Not for forever.”
“My mind’s getting close to some kind of resolution.”
“Finding you will be easy. You’ll still be here.” Her lips met mine.
With the deepest kiss, I tried to persuade her to stay.
Sunaria strolled back along the cliff and then she turned and a gust of wind blew strands of hair across her face. She smiled.
I considered going with her.
Far off, where the ocean met the sky, a melding of dusky blue hues, a glorious array, bestowing a familiar, restless mood, a precursor to a night of hunting, when I’d search out new ways to amuse myself. A large seagull swooped low over my head and I ducked, losing my footing. I quickly regained my balance.
Sunaria had gone.
Chapter 59
SUNARIA’S SCREAMS SHATTERED the silence.
I flew out of bed, feeling abject fear, finding myself alone in the small chateau. Sunaria, now a continent away, was calling out to me. Paralyzed with terror, an awful realization hit me that she was in the utmost danger, and I was powerless to save her. Unable to get to her, I used the mind gift to relay that she must stay calm. Escape.
She’d only been in Cornwall a few weeks.
“Stone Masters,” her voice drifted in and out.
They had her.
I’d slaughtered Lord Archer along with many of his men, but the Stone Masters had reestablished.
I’d failed her.
Within that dark prison, I shared her misery.
The agony unfolded as sounds, sensations, and feelings were relayed by her. I refused to leave the château, refused to abandon her. As the hours unfolded, everything unraveled. Sharing Sunaria’s suffering was unbearable, but I wouldn’t let her go, or let her down, staying with her in thought and trying to comfort her.
I’d never known her so afraid. Or me.
She lay blindfolded, gagged, and bound. From what she conveyed, I gathered that she was held in a dungeon.