They bled her.
In the process of moving locations, they lost their grip. She’d bolted and her blindfold fell. The faces of two small boys stared back at her aghast, seen also by me and imprinted into memory.
The men overpowered her.
Lord Archer’s study. His books referencing Stonehenge. The ritual. The separating of the ashes, pouring them into the fissures of the stones.
* * * *
Madness promised the greatest escape.
What followed when one found oneself immersed in the alternate reality of insanity, those of us who manage to hold on will never know. Pacing the house, I struck the furniture and threw it against the walls that confined me, rousing a once dormant fury, and sending me into a diabolic frenzy. I decimated the place.
When Sunaria’s screams were eventually silenced, there came a moment of relief that her suffering was over. Falling to my knees, my cries were unceasing. My maker, my lover, my beloved, was dead.
I nuzzled my nose into one of her soft gowns that she’d left behind, finding no easement from her scent.
I want her back. I want her back. I want . . .
The anger raged on and took me over. My blood lust disrupted my ability to think straight.
When I reached the edge of the cliff, I hesitated. The sheer drop was enticing. For the first time since Sunaria had given me the gold ring, I eased it off to read the words inscribed along the inside of the band, “Orpheus, I’m yours eternal.”
With a trembling hand, I slid the ring back on.
Far off, twinges of crystal-like orange flickered along the horizon, promising sweet relief.
The kind that’s permanent.
With my back facing the cliff, I stretched out my arms, and fell . . .
Chapter 60
May 1805
I GAVE MYSELF OVER TO IT.
Inside the mausoleum, the same one that I’d been trapped in as a boy, Sunaria’s resting place, I found some solace replaying my time with her, pretending she was near. I’d returned to Santiago de Compostela, hoping to remember in detail that first vision when she’d appeared to me. Holy ground, the one reason the tombs were not torn down, and as though God had taken pity on me, I remained undisturbed.
And so I slept for sixteen long years, on and off. Unconsciousness, my only respite, freed me from the harsh, glaring grief. On the rare occasion when I roused, I’d consider with fascination that I could survive without frequent feeding. It did result in exhaustion and a loss of will, but as such the drag of sleep came easier.
As society encroached, the noise outside my self-imposed prison increased. For the most part, I blocked it out, but as time and the elements wore away at the boundaries of my sacred resting ground, the time came for me to rise.
The faces of the two boys were mentally preserved, though they’d have grown in years. Still, such a lead offered me hope that if I found them, I’d find Sunaria’s murderers.
I made my way to Palos.
Stopping off at a private residence, I found a change of clothes, grateful for the opportunity to freshen up. And feed.
The journey to the port provided proof of my longevity. I’d not changed like the landscapes around me, society ever enduring, ever evolving.
Upon my arrival, I arranged for my oak chest to be delivered to the largest sea-going vessel in the harbor, and placed in my private cabin.
That feeling of being watched again stirred a familiar feeling, but I shook it off.
Returning to England possessed my thoughts, and I ruminated on what I’d find. Unfinished business beckoned.
Strolling along, I was captivated by the way fashions had changed, though the people seemed the same. They still went on with their miserable lives, working and playing as though completely unaware that within them time ticked away, ever threatening to cease. With nothing in common, the reality that I was an outsider rippled through my veins.
Even at this late hour, the place was crowded, and I pushed through the horde. Thick fog lay heavy, reaching out amongst the docked ships, swirling around them.
A tall, slim figure loomed at the entrance to the pier. The man stepped out of the shadows; moonlight dancing upon his face, illuminating his features.
“Hello, Father.” Jacob cocked his head.
Almost three hundred years since his death and he stood there. His complexion was pale. His translucent brown eyes held my gaze. A young face, but irises that reflected an era, evidence of his transformation, and proof that he’d not died that night in my arms.
And yet I failed to react.
“When I left the room?” I made it a question.
Jacob nodded.
This time upon our reunion, there were no open arms, no words to convey the relief I felt in seeing him.
I felt nothing.
“It’s taken me all these years.” He sighed. “This takes some getting used to.”
I rubbed my eyes as though they needed it.
All this time, I’d grieved for the son I thought I’d lost.
“I was searching for answers,” he responded to my silent ruminations.
“You took your time.”
“Forgive me.”
I looked away. “I didn’t want this for you.”
“Sunaria?”
“I told her not to go.” My mind drifted.
“Father, Sunaria may not be lost to you.”
“It’s unlike you to be cruel.” I narrowed my gaze. “How long have you been in Spain?”
“Years. But it’s all relative, right?” He glanced at the boat. “You do realize the fashion in England includes the wearing of wigs.”
“The women?”
“The men.”
“Who started that craze?”
“Louise XIII.”
“Of course,” I said, “a French aristocrat.”
He smiled for the first time. “Stay here with me.”
The thick evening air was stifling.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Fine, and you?”
He followed my gaze. “Don’t get on that ship, Father.”
A bell pierced the quiet.
“It’s over,” he said.
“It’s the only way I’ll have peace.”
“Let her go.”
“Never.”
He looked away, breaking my stare. “What will you do?”
I smiled.
“Don’t follow that path. It’s an empty one.” He stepped nearer. “Come with me. We can make a new life together.”
With conflicting emotions, betrayal being one of them, I tried but failed to empathize with him. Sunaria had deceived me, breaking the promise that I’d kept, and I hated her for it.
Jacob sighed.
Sunaria had tried to tell me on the very evening I thought he’d passed away, as I climbed into my coffin deep within the depths of Belshazzar’s.
And yet I still loved her.
“Come with me,” I said.
He offered his hand to me. “Stay here.”
Sunaria’s ashes were buried within the pillars of Stonehenge, and I was going to retrieve her.
Retrieve all of them, every last vampire and then revive them.
“Things are never what they seem.” He held my gaze. “You know that.”
“I don’t know who to believe anymore. Who to trust.”
From the ship’s deck came a last call for passengers. My life had been a series of regrets, and here now, I had to make another choice, either follow through on a promise, or come to terms with my darkest side.
“You’re heading for its very center.” Jacob read my thoughts.
Two last-minute passengers scurried up the ramp to board.
“Where have you been all this time?” I needed to know.
“Searching for the truth.”
“Is this conversation veering off?”
“True spirituality has nothing to do with religion.”
I shrugged.
“There are secrets about our kind, truths that will dazzle you.” He opened his lips to say more and then stopped himself.
“Go on then, what are they?”
“Not here, not like this.”
I’m dead inside.
He held out his hand to me again.
“Her face haunts me,” I said, wistfully.
A lone sailor stood port side with both his hands on the wooden drawbridge, ready to pull it in.
“I’ll always love you,” he whispered.
The ship swayed and creaked in the dock.
“Jacob, you were my rock, you know that, don’t you?” I turned back to face him.
A chilling breeze billowed my jacket.
I was alone, dazed, but strangely calm.
Strolling along the pier, heading for the Blue Rose, I hoped that the weather would hold, at least until I reached Cornwall.
About the Author
Vanessa Fewings (aka V.M.K. Fewings) is the award-winning author of The Stone Masters Vampire Series. Prior to publishing, Vanessa worked as a registered nurse, midwife, and served in the British Army at the rank of Captain. She holds a Masters Degree in Psychology. She has travelled extensively throughout the world and has lived in Germany, Hong Kong, and Cyprus. Born and raised in England, Vanessa now proudly calls herself an American and resides in California with her husband.
Vanessa Fewings is repped by management firm IPG. Visit her on Facebook.