Broken (25 page)

"Atticus." He didn't turn to look at Merle. He'd known his cousin was there before he had spoken, he'd just been hoping that he would go away. They'd been back in Italy for nearly a week now, the meetings with The Council were well underway. It had been an endless day of pretending to be sane, pretending to be something that he wasn't and he was exhausted.

"What is it?" he inquired without turning away from the night.

He could hear the ocean crashing against the rocks of the cliff just below his villa but he didn't bother to look down at the water. The night appeared as bleak as he felt as he lifted the goblet to his mouth. He didn't bother with wine anymore, the alcohol may have helped to ease him the last time that he'd been separated from Genny, but she'd still been alive then. Now he needed a clear head. Though he had tried to lose himself to the alcohol while onboard the ship one night, he'd discovered that no matter how much of it he consumed, the wine did nothing for him anymore and he was unable to taste it.

Now the viscous liquid that pooled down his throat was blood from the human servant he had bled for it earlier. A part of him knew that Genny wouldn't approve of what he was becoming even if he had managed to refrain from killing the woman, but he had no control over the part of himself that needed the blood anymore.

Time was supposed to heal, he found himself being sucked deeper into the dreary abyss of nothing that had become his soul. The gaping hole within him was growing; the madness ate at his mind as relentlessly as the waves battered the rocks on shore. Blood was the only thing that helped to ease it even a little; vengeance was the only thing that he craved.

"Silas has sent a messenger," Merle replied.

He lifted the goblet and took another long swallow. Blood was the only thing he could taste anymore and though it wasn't sweet or even spicy like he remembered it tasting before, the acrid taste of it was at least
some
thing. Just being able to taste
any
thing made him feel a little more like the man he'd once been.

"What does he say?" Atticus inquired.

"He'd like to know if you wish to postpone the wedding, given the death of your father."

"No."

He listened as Merle stepped into the room and closed the door. "This may be your chance to get out of this marriage now."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Before Merle could approach his chair, Atticus finally turned to look at him. His cousin's blue eyes were filled with concern as he held his hands helplessly before him. "It's clear to me that you're still grieving Genny. I know this marriage was never what you wanted."

"It is now," Atticus said flatly.

Merle frowned in confusion. "Why?"

"It is a good match."

His cousin stared at him before shaking his head. He dropped it down to run his hand through his disheveled hair. "Are you sure about this?"

"The alliance is a strong one." And one he would need in the future. "I'd be a fool to turn it down."

Merle hesitated before shaking his head. "Put it off Atticus; give yourself time to move on…"

"I will never move on, Merle." It was the first time he'd admitted that to his cousin, and he immediately regretted the words but annoyance festered inside of him at Merle's insistent words. "I will fulfill my duties and be done with it." It was a lie but that was best kept to himself.

He turned in the chair and drank down the rest of the blood within the goblet. Merle stood behind him for a minute more before finally leaving the room again. By not postponing the wedding, he would be wed again at the end of next week. Only, to him, this one wouldn't count.

***

October 1, 1050

My dearest Genny,

Yesterday I married a woman that I want nothing to do with, but I forced myself through the ceremony. I didn't cringe or walk away when I kissed her and though my stomach turned when I inhaled her lilac scent, I kept my hand on her arm when we turned to face the small crowd. She's nothing like you Genny, that is a good thing though. If she reminded me of you in any way I'm not sure I could do what must be done.

Atticus put the quill down and stared around the room he had shared with Anna last night. She was still in the bed, buried beneath the mound of blankets. The most beautiful woman in the world was lying in his bed and yet it did nothing to arouse him. He simply sat and stared at her, wishing that she was someone else entirely, and that he had rethought his decision to walk out of the fire that had killed his father.

His thoughts drifted back to last night, when they had finally retreated from the celebration to this room. Anna's apprehension and shyness had been evident and though she was only a stepping-stone in his plans, he wasn't about to force himself on her, mainly because the idea of having sex with her was entirely repulsive to him. There had been no other women since Genny and if he'd been able to, he would have preferred to keep it that way for the rest of his life. That wasn't going to be possible though, not if he was going to have children, not if he was going to rise in power.

Anna stared at him last night as if he were about to launch himself at her, but he didn't even bother to touch her as she stood ringing her hands and trembling by the bed. Her dread was the exact opposite of Genny's fervor for him; he had to fight the urge to sneer at her as she watched him pour himself some blood. He kept that disgusted part of himself suppressed though, he was growing increasingly capable of wearing a mask that the rest of the world thought was his true face.

"I've never done this…" she began to stammer.

"I understand," he interrupted briskly and downed the blood. He truly wished that alcohol still did something for him, he would be nearly passed out by now if it did. The last thing he wanted to be was completely sober when he touched her, but he no longer had that choice.

Placing the goblet down, he turned back to her. She'd taken her hair down so that the golden tresses curled around her sensuous face. The candlelight caused the chemise she wore to be see through in some areas but his gaze didn't stay on her.

He focused on the wall behind her head. "This doesn't have to happen tonight."

"It doesn't?" she squeaked eagerly.

Even the sound of her voice grated on his nerves but he managed to smile at her. The smile felt forced to him but he'd worn it often lately and they all seemed to fall for it as they always smiled back at him. "No. We can get to know each other better first."

Her shoulders slumped; relief filled her features as for the first time she smiled at him. "I would like that very much."

He wondered if it was because he was handsome that he was able to put her at ease so quickly. His pretty face hid the worms of insanity within his mind; she would have run screaming from him if she knew his inner workings. Instead, she only smiled brighter as she sat on the bed.

"I didn't know what to expect from tonight," she admitted. "Jane told me that it would hurt but that it would be over quickly."

Was she really trying to talk to him? He wondered as he poured himself some more blood. He thought he might prefer to fornicate with her rather than listen to her. There was something about her voice…

It wasn't Genny's and that was all there was to say about it, he admitted to himself. He would have felt sorry for the girl, she was merely a pawn, but there was no sympathy left within him. Not even for the innocent bystander sitting on his bed.

"I suppose you could look at it that way," he finally responded.

"I was sorry to hear about your father."

His hand tightened around the goblet, a shudder ran through him. His fangs lengthened, bloodlust stabbed through him at the reminder of his father. She couldn't know that she was poking the savage beast within, but if she continued to do so he didn't know if he could keep himself under control.

"Thank you," he managed to get out in a somewhat normal tone.

"Are we going to be staying in Italy for awhile? I've never been here before and it's beautiful."

"I think we will," he confirmed. He finished the blood and shrugged off his outer tunic. He dropped it over the back of the chair and blew out the candle on the desk before walking over to the bed. "I'd like to get some sleep; it's been a long day."

"Yes of course," she murmured.

He laid down on the bed and waited for her to settle in beside him. The scent of lilacs caused his nose to wrinkle but he kept his face impassive when she laid down beside him. She tentatively rested her hand upon his chest. Revulsion slid over his skin but he didn't shove her away like he wanted to, instead a small part of him died even more as he wrapped his hand around hers.

It's only for tonight
, he reminded himself. Tomorrow she would return to the bedroom that adjoined his, and he would never have to share his bed with her again.

***

Over the next few months, he continued to play nice with his bride. He bought her presents and sat with her every night. He pretended to be interested in her conversation topics even though most of her talk of fashion and gossip amongst their peers bored him to death. It was all she knew though, this world of aristocrats, backstabbing, whispers and wealth that allowed her to lounge about during the day and dance and laugh away the night. She had no knowledge of anything outside of their world and wasn't overly concerned about anyone or anything outside of the aristocratic class.

It didn't make her a bad woman, it did make her about as interesting as a toad though.

At night, they continued to keep their distance. It was an arrangement he was more than content with and that she seemed exceptionally happy with also.

Merle married Jane a month after he married Anna. They had been sent to live in Spain by The Council to keep an eye over the vampire village there. Due to the fact that Germany and now England were off limits to vampires, the villages in the other countries had increased in size. Which also increased the vampires' risks of being discovered. The Council had ordered a higher number of nobles to keep watch and enforce the rules in these areas. They were there to make sure that another raid didn't occur, especially since no one could figure out what had triggered the humans in England.

It was the first time, since Merle had been born, that they'd been separated for more than a week. At one point he would have dreaded it, now it was a relief. He hated the way Merle watched him now, hated the sympathy and understanding he saw in his cousin's gaze. He was glad Merle was gone; it was much easier to get through the day without the constant presence of someone that had known how happy he'd been with Genny. Though his cousin thought him merely a heartbroken fool, if anyone could figure out the truth it would be Merle. If that happened, terror would replace the pity in his cousin's gaze.

Atticus took off his mantle and dropped it over the chair beside his desk table. His gaze drifted to the quill and parchment sitting there, waiting for him. This was the only time of the day when he actually felt any kind of excitement, the only time he looked forward to. When he sat down to write it was almost as if he were talking to Genny again. Almost as if she was standing behind him, with her hands on his shoulders and laughing as he kept his words hidden from her, just as she had done to him.

Before he wrote though, he read over her words again. Not all of them at once, like he had on the ship. Now he liked to savor them, to read over her life one week at a time, especially the laughter and happiness at the end of her life. His hand fell to the pocket he'd had sewn inside all of his inner tunics. He pressed the ring against his chest, where his heart would have beat if he'd been human. The press of the cool metal gave him a brief moment of relief from the suffering and turmoil that he lived with every day.

The scent of lilacs assailed him; annoyance shimmered through him as his head turned toward where Anna stood in the doorway. This was his time with Genny and she was intruding upon it. His teeth ground together so fiercely that he thought they might shatter. It took everything he had not to storm over to her, shove her out of the room and slam the door in her face.

Instead, he forced a smile to his face, one that seemed grim to him but she returned it. "I want to thank you… for these months," she elaborated when he remained immobile before her.

"You're welcome."

"I've enjoyed getting to know you better." He didn't know where this was going but a queasy feeling began to churn in his stomach. "And I think… I think I am ready now."

Fire burned in her cheeks before she ducked her head away. Atticus became as still as stone while he stared at her. She was even more beautiful when she was blushing, any man in the world would have been falling all over themselves to get at her. Instead of being turned on, he was as repulsed as he would have been if a thousand maggots were crawling over his flesh.

"I'd like you to come to my bed," she continued when he didn't speak.

That sensation of bugs sliding over his skin increased. "Are you sure?" he managed to get out.

Her blush intensified, it slid down her neck and burned over her arms. "I am."

Every nerve ending was screaming
no
at him but he found himself saying, "I'll be there in a minute."