them, he was a hunter who
preyed on the unsuspecting and corrupted the innocent. Like them, he could only
devour.
There was
one difference. He sensed it in how the fairest of the three looked so coyly at
him, how she covered her mouth with
her hand as she laughed and,
above all, how she backed away as he reached for her.
He thought
of how young she had been when she'd been taken, and how cruelly she must have
died. Since then, she might have
killed, but he was confident
that she had never used her victims for sexual pleasure.
"Shall
I be your first willing lover, Countess Karina?" he asked and held out his
hand.
She took it,
her own still a delicate child's hand, the nails sharp and translucent against
the whiteness of her skin.
He moved his face close to her, whispering though he knew the
others could hear. "Devour me slowly as he devoured you. Want me, as he
wanted you, and I will give you all the pleasure I have learned to give. It is
my gift. I know that compared to the one you can bestow on me, it is nothing,
but I can offer you no other, Countess Karina."
Karina
looked from him to the taller of the dark-haired women. She drew a breath into
her lungs and asked in Hungarian, in a
voice both eager and shy,
"Is what he suggests possible, Illona?"
The woman
nodded. "Use him as you wish, though I think you will be disappointed.
Then let him live. Later, we will feast on him
together."
Gance wanted
to ask if they would share their eternal life with him, but Karina was already
pressing close, her lips covering his.
They were so cold against his that he shivered. Illona turned her
dark eyes toward the flames. As they rose, she vanished into the glowing
yellow pool of their light.
The third woman remained, standing
motionless in the shadows. A strange, mad smile grew on her face as she watched
Karina slip her gown off her shoulders, watched it fall and disappear before
it touched the dusty stone floor. With a quicksilvery laugh, she vanished,
leaving the pair alone.
Karina floated toward Gance as if
her body had no weight at all. Her arms drew him close. Her hands that should
have been so innocent moved knowingly up his body, finally brushing away the
soft whisps of white hair that had fallen over his face. For the first time,
he noted the color of her eyes: the brilliant blue of the daytime sky. He held
her tighter, his desire real this time, and felt his arms close together, her
presence leave him.
In the
morning when he woke, her eyes were the last thing he could recall. There were
no marks on him, no sense that he had
done anything except sleep,
and dream.
A piece of
pale blue lace was caught in the splintered table leg. He reached for this
joyfully, but as he fingered it, its ancient
threads crumbled in his hand.
Perhaps the
scrap had been a part of Karina's gown once, but no more. She had died. They
had all died. I'm as insane as Mina,
he thought, then laughed
aloud. At least now he could fully appreciate her terrible delusions.
No, he would
not tempt insanity any longer. He gathered his things, intending to leave.
At the top of the stairs, Gance saw
the light from open outer doors, halted and whistled. There was no sound of
hooves on the hall stones, no tinkle of bridle chains against one another, no
snort or whinny. Not certain what he would find, he pulled his revolver from
his pack. Gripping it, he started downstairs.
He'd
descended only halfway before he saw the horse lying on its side-its belly
ripped open, its entrails savaged.
But there
was no blood on the stones, no marks on the animal's forelegs to show that she
had fought. Gance would have walked
toward the carcass, but a gray wolf padded between it and the
stairs, eyeing him as if he were a rival moving in on the kill. As Gance stood
motionless, the revolver cocked and ready, the wolf sat back on its haunches.
Six others padded through the door behind it. Three were nearly as large as
the animal who apparently guarded Gance; three were half-grown.
Gance might
have stood against one or even two, but a pack was more than he cared to
challenge. Still facing the beasts, he
retreated backward up the
steps and down the hall to his room.
He waited until he was certain the
bones must have been stripped and then opened his door again. The wolf that had
first faced him as he stood on the stairs now sat in the hall outside. It
stared at him with almost human confidence, then bared its teeth in a soundless
warning. Gance slammed the door then pried open one shutter. The rest of the
pack lazed in the sun-drenched courtyard below.
Gance could
shoot the wolf outside, he thought, then wait for the others and take them one
by one.
If they came
at the sound. Most likely they would not, and he would have to face them in the
courtyard, or on his flight-on foot,
he reminded himself-down the
mountain.
Gance had no
lack of courage, but he knew the limitations of his strength. He closed the
shutter, built a little fire and ate a bit of
bread and cheese. He chewed
slowly, savoring every mouthful and stopping as soon as his hunger pangs
subsided.
If the
wolves were still outside in the morning, he was a prisoner here. If so, the
food he'd brought could be the last he would ever
eat.
When he'd
finished his sparse meal, he lay down and closed his eyes. Tonight, when his
beautiful jailors appeared-whether in
flesh or in dream-he wanted to
be alert and ready.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sundown! Karina moved from sleep to
waking with all the swiftness of her first rebirth. For an instant the
closeness of the space, and the scent of the ancient earth beneath the silk
and velvet of her coverlets, panicked her. When she had been alive, she had feared
such places, and death had not vanquished that fear.
She willed
her soul outside the box, and as she watched, fascinated even after centuries
by her power, her body thinned to a mist
that leaked from the lid of
her marble coffin and swirled around her, slowly taking form.
"It is
the soul that gives substance to the body," Illona had told her the first
night of her second life. "To destroy us completely,
someone must also destroy our
soul."
"Can
that be done?" Karina asked.
"With great difficulty. Perhaps someday you will learn
how." "I don't want to know," Karina said, for at the time even
the strange half-life of her new existence seemed preferable to death.
"Time
has a way of twisting perspective." Illona laughed, throwing back her head
as she did. The sight of her teeth, so long and
white, made Karina shake with
the memory of her human fear.
Then time had done exactly what
Illona had predicted. Karina, who had longed to be free of her estates and her
duties, had been trapped in the castle for over a hundred years. Often, she
willed herself to sleep through the nights as well as days until hunger made any
rest impossible. But tonight she had risen eagerly, as she had last night.
Someone was here, someone who gave more than blood and life.
A shard of
hope.
So much that her human body had valued was lost to Karina now, yet
surprisingly much still remained. Human comforts-the need for warmth and the
pleasure of food and drink-meant nothing, but the trappings of human life took
on a more profound meaning, as if by reclaiming them she could somehow reclaim
a part of her lost humanity.
When had she last worn a new gown?
Or listened to music? Or danced? Or laughed! Once the clothes had been
possible. Now it had been months since the gypsies had camped near to the
castle bringing with them bolts of cloth and beads and delicate lace.
And when they had, they'd danced and sang in their encampments,
never coming within the castle walls unless Dracula himself summoned them. Now
he was gone. They would never come again.
And so this
Englishman's presence took on a deeper meaning for Karina.
Lord Gance
could give her all she desired and more; he said as much. And he had known what
she was and shown no fear when
she kissed him. Strange,
magnificently strange.
Though as
cautious as all her kind, she went to him as soon as she woke, eager for his
touch.
He slept.
She moved through him, imagining herself mortal for a moment-warm, breathing
softly. The heartbeat that was so
imperceptible to the human
senses seemed so clear to her in its soft and steady march towards death.
She pulled
away and, hovering above him, drew her body over her soul like a cloak. Her
fingers brushed Gance's lips; her hand
moved under his loose shirt
and up his bare chest. She called his name.
He opened
his eyes and looked up at her, smiling when he recognized her, lifting his head
so their lips could touch. "Last night?"
he asked.
Breath was needed to speak. She paused, inhaled and said,
"Last night was a test, a dream. Tonight will be real." "Can I
be certain?"
She smiled
because she knew the sight of her teeth would please him, would convince him of
her nature. "Certain? Is my power
that great?"
"If you
were the one who controlled last night's visions, it is."
Those had
not been visions, and she hadn't been alone. She saw no reason to remind him of
that. Instead she asked, "Will I be
Lady Gance if I let you share
my life?"
"Lady
Gance should have a grander chamber for her wedding night," he replied.
"So
should a lord. Come with me."
She took his hand, and he followed
her on faith through the darkness of the outer hall and up a winding staircase
in the tower. If he had not gripped her cold fingers so tightly, he would have
believed himself alone, for only his footsteps sounded on the stairs, only his
breathing hissed in the stillness of the dark.
He climbed
past the pale shadows of open doors, past drafts from open windows. A bat
skittered by his face, one leathery wing
brushing his cheek before it
swept on, following the cold draft toward the night sky.
At the next
turn, she led him into a room. As they entered, the fire flared, revealing a
space that still held all the beauty of its
medieval past.
Candles were lit everywhere,
illuminating the wealth contained here. Gold chains circled the velvet-draped
bedposts. Tasseled pillows covered the velvet-draped bed. Fur rugs lay
scattered on the slate floor, and a shield nearly the height of a man hung
above the hearth. Beneath it, a thick sword that seemed even longer was
mounted on pegs. Its polished brass hilt seemed to be waiting for someone to
grasp it, though Gance wondered what man could wield so huge a weapon.
He heard her indrawn breath, listened as she said, "His
sword. Even now, after so many centuries, I can smell the blood on it." "Where
is he?" A pause, another indrawn breath. "Gone." "Dead?"
Emotion flared, glowing red in the
depths of her sapphire eyes, but he could not tell if it was anger or triumph.
"Gone! Gone beyond the realm where he can touch any of us, but do not
assume that a will such as his can be vanquished." She walked to the center
of the room, threw up her hands and pirouetted to music vivid only in her
memory.
And laughed,
rippling waves of mirth that he could feel brushing his body. "Shall I be
your partner at our dances? Shall I sing for
our guests?"
"Sing
for me."
Eyes closed,
head bowed, she let the music grow in the silence of her memories, then lifted
her chin and began.
He had expected something childish. Instead she picked an old
Hungarian folk tune about a couple who had just met, pledging their love for a
lifetime and beyond. The irony of her choice did not escape him, and her
singing voice was not as he expected. It had a deep, trained richness that her
speech lacked.
When she'd finished, he pulled a green silk scarf from his pocket
and handed it to her. She unfolded it carefully and saw a gold ring in the
middle, with an emerald of deep clarity, the fire in its center visible even in
the dim light. "It is yours, Karina, a sample of all the gifts I will
give if you let me share your life."
She cupped
it in her hand, watching the emerald flicker in the firelight. "No one has
given me a gift for so many years."
"Share your life," he repeated. "And I will take
you from this place." "It isn't so simple, my lord. If only it
were."
"You
know the way." He held her in a manner that no mortal who knew her nature
had ever held her before, his face close to
hers, ready for her kiss.
"And if
I could bring only death to you, would you rescue me anyway?"