Secret Worlds (200 page)

Back at the manor, Amaia toyed with her ring as she paced in the darkness. Her eyes traced the building, isolating the energies of the baby’s parents. They were down the hall from the nursery. She would kill the father first. For some reason, he didn’t seem to be as much to blame. It would be quick and silent. Then she would take her time with the mother. There were a myriad of games she could play with the woman, taunting her, prolonging her misery.

Yet her feet stayed planted on the ground outside. As much as Amaia wanted to, she couldn’t commit to the idea of killing the parents. That would leave the baby Michael without a family to care for him. She certainly wasn’t going to raise him. Looking at the ring on her finger, she knew she couldn’t hurt him, directly or indirectly.

Resigned to the fact that her bloodlust would not be satisfied, Amaia made her way back onto the roof. The maid snored softly, baby Jean still in her arms. In sleep, he appeared peaceful, blissfully unaware of the turmoil his very existence caused Amaia. She was grateful his eyes remained closed. She didn’t know how she would handle those gray eyes staring out at her from the face of a baby.

There was no more time to delay. She needed to return to Paris before Lawrence missed her. As she set off, she knew she hadn’t stopped back by the manor out of a desire to kill his parents. That explanation was simply easier to live with than the pull that even now urged her to turn around and stay near him forever.

Calais, April 1668, 19 years, 6 months later

Her feet led her to the woods southeast of Calais. They knew the path well, whether they were making the journey from Paris, or Amsterdam, or her new home in Aachen.

Amaia wished they could stay in Paris forever, but they had spent far too much time there. Not long after Michael’s birth, the unrest in Paris had erupted into civil war, and they’d left. From there, they headed to Amsterdam. Amaia enjoyed Amsterdam, a bustling city full of intrigue, wealth, and strong auras to breed. In 1655, a plague had ravished the city, and Amaia and Lawrence were tasked with disposing of opportunist vampires who increased the death count.

After a lengthy stay in Amsterdam, her little clan relocated to the Free Imperial City of Aachen where it took her almost five hours to reach Calais. She made the trip to see Michael once a month. About a hundred yards away from his energy, Amaia stopped and hid her body behind a tree. Perched on a large white mare, she saw Michael attired in a crimson tunic with a thick gold chain. Lucky for her, he was hunting with his friends. He was much more interesting to watch when he was out and about instead of attending to business matters.

Michael—it was easier to think of him as Michael than Jean—nocked an arrow into place and tossed his long, light brown hair out of his eyes. The bow strained under the pull of Michael’s hand on the string. His whole stature shifted, assuming a precise pose. His eyes focused down the length of the arrow on the stag at the other end of the clearing. The shoulders relaxed first, followed by the rest of his body. A measured exhale and then
twang
. The string made a satisfied sound behind the slice of the arrow. Amaia knew the arrow would hit its mark before it landed.

“A fine kill, sir.” One of the plainer-dressed men in the party spoke.

“Thank you, Marc.” Michael’s voice sounded so familiar to her, even as it spoke a different language. Whenever she heard him, she felt as if he spoke directly to her, even though he wasn’t even aware of her presence. Her heart reacted to the vibrations of his particular timbre.

Amaia enjoyed watching particularly skilled people. She loved the way his hands deftly moved without thinking, the smooth line of his body as he perfected his stance. It was rare that a man took such exacting care in his work and a refreshing change from the usual human foolishness.

His manner was the same as it had been when she’d first known him. Michael had always been sure of himself. This life could just as easily have been his first; there were differences in circumstance and environment, but he was the same. The way he tossed his head, the smile that graced his face when he came to a decision, they were all the same, merely painted on the canvas of a different body.

Amaia watched him ride to the stag carcass. He dismounted and examined the kill shot with his gray eyes. It had been spooky to see those eyes in a young boy, but he had grown into them nicely. It was a clean kill, keeping the meat intact. Four other men rode up beside him as two men tied the carcass to a pole to carry it home.

“That’s seven. I think it’s time I should be heading back.” Michael swung back up into his saddle.

“Aw, come on, Jean, you can stay longer.”

“No, unfortunately, I can’t. Mother has a young lady she would like me to meet at dinner tonight. I shouldn’t keep them waiting.” Amaia’s skin crawled, and her thumb absently rubbed against the band of her ring. Why she should care whether he married or not was a mystery to her. Yet she did.

“You mean to tell me that you will abandon our good company to meet a woman? Stay with us, and I’ll rent you a whore when we get back.”

“Stop, Charles. You know I would rather spend my time with all of you, but my duty requires that I find a wife. I can’t abandon the needs of my family.”

“Sure, the needs of your family come first. Forget about your friends and what they need.” Charles had full, pouty lips and large brown eyes that he probably used to get what he wanted on most occasions. Amaia didn’t like him.

“You need a good dose of responsibility. I’m sorry I’m not as wealthy as you, Charles, but I must continue to provide for my family.”

“Fine, go meet your potential bride, but take it from a man who knows: wives are nothing but trouble. I’d do anything to give mine back. Why do you think I spend so much time with you boys?”

The men laughed. Amaia picked out Michael’s distinct rumble, rich and full. It was the most pleasant sound she had ever heard. He turned his horse and started for home. Before he disappeared into the trees on the other side of the clearing, he turned and looked directly into her eyes. Amaia’s stomach fluttered, and it took her a split second to hide herself behind the tree. She stayed there until the sound of his horse’s hooves disappeared in the distance.

As the sound of Michael’s retreat faded, so did her sense of well-being. Seeing him had calmed something in her. Already, she felt the urge to follow him. The only thing that stopped her was that last look. His eyes had made contact with hers. He had to have seen her. It seemed impossible that he hadn’t, but he hadn’t stopped. His sight probably wasn’t good enough to make her out. The simpler explanation was that he had caught a flash of light glinting off her necklace and earrings. Still, it seemed too risky to follow him. She had seen him. That would be enough to get her through. For a while.

Amaia knew she shouldn’t have come, but the pull proved too powerful. When Michael was younger, it had been easier to resist. Whole years had gone by without her visiting. It was different now. He was different. He was becoming the man she had known.

Each year, she witnessed his growth. His voice formed French words instead of English. His frame was shorter than hers rather than taller. All cosmetic differences. None hid the truth.

Running to the beach for a few minutes in the sand, she felt the strength of her immortal body as she leapt across the ground with an agility no man possessed. Why had she let her weakness overcome her? Why did she let a mortal affect her so? Foolishness. This was no way for a vampire of her standing to behave. She had come to the conclusion long ago that Lawrence was right. Michael was simply a reincarnated mortal, nothing more. That conclusion should have closed the matter, but she kept returning to see him. There was no satisfactory reason for her to continue harboring an interest in him.

In the distance, she heard a man walking. She listened and confirmed that he was alone. A smile lighted her lips. This was how she should act. Lowering her fangs, she altered her course for the man who would sate her hunger.

***

Curiosity proved a firm master. After eating, Amaia found herself obsessed with Michael’s evening plans. The soft sand and cold water at the beach were not adequate distractions. After much deliberation, she decided that a little more time wouldn’t hurt. It had been too easy to convince herself that by spending more time now, she could avoid another visit. The sun had set, and clouds obscured the moon. Darkness facilitated Amaia’s spying. Lying on the roof of Michael’s house, she hung her head over the edge, right next to his window.

Michael’s mother was a strong woman. Firm, yet kind. Amaia found herself grateful that she had resisted the urge to kill her all those years ago. For some reason, Michael’s safety mattered a great deal to Amaia, and his mother watched over him. Perhaps, in this life, Amaia would be able to see him as an old man.

“I don’t understand what the problem is, Jean. Brigitte is a perfectly nice girl.”

“Yes, Mother, she is, but I’m looking for more than a perfectly nice girl.” Michael sat in a chair beside the hearth, soaking in the pleasant warmth.

“What more is there?”

“Fire, passion. How about intelligence, wit? Brigitte hasn’t an opinion on anything. She will live and die swayed by every stray wind. I want a woman who can stand beside me, be more of an asset than just her dowry.”

“You ask for too much.”

“No, I ask only for what Father found in you.”

Her eyes softened as she grinned. “You flatter me, dear.”

“I’m sincere.”

“I know. I just fear that perhaps you are shooting for the moon when a star would suffice.”

“No, she’s out there, Mother. I can feel it. I won’t settle. I won’t bring an unworthy woman into this family.”

“Fine. I admire your resolve, even if I do think it is born in the naïveté of youth. I hate seeing you alone.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mother. I’d rather be alone than miserable with a wife.”

She patted his arm and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Very well. Good night, my child.”

“Good night, Mother.”

After the door closed behind his mother, Michael approached the window. Amaia’s skin tingled at his closeness, but she knew it would be impossible for him to see her.

“Maybe she’s right, Spartacus.” Michael spoke to the Irish Wolfhound curled on the rug. “I just can’t help the fact that I’m not attracted to any of the women I’ve seen. Not the type of attraction that holds a man’s attention for a lifetime. I won’t marry a woman just to abandon her in my heart.”

The dog moaned, no doubt hoping for attention. “I know. I’m depressing even myself. It’s time to sleep and let the woman of my dreams comfort me. It’s not my fault I can’t find her in the lighted hours.”

Amaia knew there’d been a time when Michael had thought she would be that woman. He had proposed to her, sworn his undying love and affection. Amaia remembered the words. They weren’t so different than the words spoken by many of her clients. Hearing him talk about his feelings toward marriage, she felt again what it had been like with him. She had been that woman for him. He had been persistent, but he didn’t cheapen her. He had refused to pay for her after the beginning. He was only going to have her if she were truly his. His pledge of love had sung a familiar refrain, but he was the first man who made her believe him.

It would be so much easier if he would just marry. As distasteful as Amaia found the idea, she thought it might give her some closure. Maybe she could leave him be if he found a wife. She would have no interest in watching him share his life with another woman.

There was nothing to be done tonight. Lawrence would miss her if she stayed to watch him sleep.

Aachen, April 1668

Approaching her townhouse, Amaia knew Meg waited for her inside. She felt her from across the street. She wished she could have made it home unnoticed, but the situation could be worse. At least Meg was alone, and Lawrence hadn’t tried to contact Amaia while she was gone. She had timed her outing to coincide with his own hunting trip.

“Where have you been?” Meg eyed her disheveled appearance.

There would be no hiding the smell of salt water clinging to her hair. Better to tell as much of the truth as possible. “I was at the ocean. I suppose I got carried away and lost track of time.” Amaia smiled, hoping that by sheer force of will she could convince Meg to cease her questioning.

Meg stared at her for a moment, lifting her brows in a questioning manner. When Amaia didn’t say anything else, she sighed. “Fine. Well, since you’re not working tonight, Liam and I thought you might want to join us at the hot springs.”

Amaia undressed. She had worn the plainest outfit she owned: a dark blue riding habit. It was better able to withstand the journey, but she would still need to have the poor thing laundered and mended before she wore it again. “You mean
you
want me to go. I don’t think Liam would care if I burned at the stake.”

Meg came up behind her and assisted. “Of course he would. It would put me in a horrible depression.”

Amaia laughed. That was the truth of the matter. “The hot springs sound fun.”

Meg handed her a plain green dress. “Good. I feel as if I hardly see you anymore. You work too much.”

“You know the work isn’t my fault. Lawrence loves all the business.” Aachen was a gold mine for expensive prostitutes and courtesans. She dressed and grabbed Meg’s hand, pulling her out of the house. “We shouldn’t keep Liam waiting. I don’t want him cranky with me.”

***

Hot water warmed Amaia all the way through, mimicking the pleasurable heat of feeding. Liam and Meg splashed about and wrestled in their secluded hot spring, but Amaia couldn’t bring herself to join them. Her thoughts journeyed hundreds of miles to Calais.

How was it possible for him to reincarnate with the same energy and different features? What was it about him that arrested her attention? She was interested in him for curiosity’s sake, for academic purposes. She made it her business to study people’s energies. Lawrence insisted she do it all the time. In their quest to form a superior race of vampires, learning more about Michael would prove beneficial.