Secret Worlds (203 page)

“Go to sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.” Amaia whispered in his ear.

“You promise?” Already his voice thickened with sleep.

“Of course.”

Less than two minutes later, Amaia heard the steady breathing that indicated he had fully succumbed to sleep. Rising from the bed, she dressed and left the man’s manor, attracting as little attention as possible.

Small huts nearby housed the peasants who supplied the manor. They would be a perfect place to find her next meal.

It would be easy enough to seduce a man, lure him in for the kill, but Amaia yearned for something different. She wasn’t a human, and she didn’t want to pretend to be one. What she wanted was to feel a man’s fear in her hands. Michael, who had always been so kind and patient, wouldn’t want her, no matter how his eyes regarded her when they appeared.

The full moon shone high in the sky, illuminating the quiet huts. She didn’t need the light, but it would glint nicely off her fangs.

She’d be hard pressed to find someone out at such a late hour, but that was easily remedied. Sheep grazed nearby. Their keeper would make a nice meal. Amaia approached the herd, letting out a perfect mimic of a wolf’s howl and running among the sheep, startling them into noise.

It didn’t take long for their keeper to come investigate the disturbance. He was a young man, near the same age Michael would be now. Freckles dotted his cheeks, and fair hair reflected the moonlight. Amaia crept behind him, waiting until she was close enough to touch him before allowing her foot to snap a twig.

“Who’s there?” The boy swung around, waving a dagger.

Amaia effortlessly followed his movements, remaining at his back. She repeated this game several times. Each time the boy grew more frantic.

Amaia approached him without making a sound and blew a cool breath on his neck.

“Ah!” This time when the boy turned, Amaia stayed where she was. The chattering of the boy’s teeth traveled on the still night air. When his eyes adjusted and he was able to see that it was a rather nicely dressed lady who’d frightened him, his face screwed up in confusion, and his grip on the dagger relaxed.

“May I help you, miss?” The boy was trying to sound as if he hadn’t just been terrified.

“Yes, you may.” Amaia dropped her fangs, snarling in the moonlight. The boy tried to scream, but all that came out was a strangled yelp as her hand closed on his windpipe. “We wouldn’t want anyone knowing you’re in trouble.”

Amaia leaned in, her lips brushing his left ear. “What does it feel like, knowing you’re going to die tonight?” Amaia pulled back to see the look in his eyes, allowing him enough air to breathe, but not to scream. His white orbs widened, and tears pooled. Hardly any of the dark blue iris peeked around the black of his pupils.

This time she murmured in his right ear. “Did you say your prayers like a good boy? Tell your mommy you love her? Maybe there’s a girl who will be crying into her pillow tomorrow night because her sweetheart’s gone.”

Teardrops splattered on her arm. The wetness on her skin was like rain nourishing dry ground. She loved this. Humans were nothing to her, a mere fascination when they weren’t providing her with the blood she required.

She examined his face for traces of the fear that radiated off him in waves. Even before she fed, the vibrations from this boy re-energized her. She delicately brushed his hair from his eyes, relishing the way he flinched as he wondered if this would be the killing blow. Her hands that could so easily take life could also be gentle.

“Shh. You don’t need to be scared. You won’t feel a thing; I promise you that. You’ll even enjoy the experience. It’ll feel like going to sleep. There’s nothing scary about sleep, is there?”

She peered at him questioningly, waiting for a response. With tears streaming down his face, he shook his head in quick, jerky movements. “Is there anything you’d like to say?”

Amaia loosened her grip a little more, and the boy spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, don’t do this.”

Amaia tutted and shook her head. “I think we both know that’s not an option. I had thought maybe you would plead for the lives of your loved ones.” Her hand tightened around his throat, cutting off his reply, and his hands flew to her arm. “But humans really are selfish creatures, aren’t you? Whatever will your family do without you here to tend the sheep? Perhaps I shall put them out of their misery quickly.” Amaia leaned in and tasted the salty tears on his lips. “You know, if you had asked nicely, I might have spared them.”

The despair in the young man’s eyes was fathomless. Without a voice, he couldn’t contradict her claims. He would go to the grave riddled with the useless emotion of guilt. Humans were peddled guilt at every corner of life, from their church, their god, their family, themselves. It was only fitting that this boy died in it.

“May I tell you a secret?” Amaia stared at the boy again until he nodded. His hands began to wring her wrist. The only sounds on the night air were his choked sobs and sniffling as he vainly tried to clear the snot that flowed from his nose.

“There is no God. No one awaits you at the other end of tonight. You’ll never see anyone ever again. You’ll simply sleep and never wake. So, you see, there’s no reason to feel bad. You’ll never see your family again. They’ll never be able to judge you for your weakness. All those sins you paid penance for, none of that matters. Just close your eyes, and go to sleep. I can offer you more comfort in death than your priest can.” Amaia leaned in to his neck. “Just go to sleep. A dreamless sleep.” Her fangs pierced his skin, and her mouth flooded with his warm blood, his terror giving it a pleasantly bitter tang.

She drank slowly, savoring every drop as it left his body. His energy waned. Nearly seventy years of practice enabled her to know the exact moment when his life hung in the balance. She pulled away from the bite she had carefully placed to avoid the quick and messy death that piercing an artery would bring. The boy couldn’t support his own weight anymore, and she lowered him gently to the ground, cradling his head in her lap.

“If I leave you here, there’s a good chance you will live. I haven’t taken enough blood to kill you yet. If I keep drinking, though, you will die. Are you ready to enter that eternal slumber?” She caressed his face the way she imagined a mother would touch her sick child.

The boy’s head lolled to the side in a pathetic attempt to answer in the negative. “Why not? Surely it is better than this? Why do you hold onto life so desperately? What about living is so wonderful? You will age and suffer if I leave you here. That doesn’t seem the Christian thing to do.”

Amaia combed her fingers through his hair. These were not creatures to be loved. They were to be despised for their weakness. The species possessed no redeeming qualities. They simply went about their lives like little ants who think the world takes special notice of them. No being whose sojourn on Earth was so short could ever have any real intelligence.

“It’s time.” Amaia put her lips to his ear. “And don’t worry. I won’t harm your family.” Her lips descended to the bite, and she sucked the last bit of life from him.

When the body was empty, she took care to hide it away. The young man would simply appear to have gone missing. If his body was ever found, it would be long after she had left. Enjoying the pleasant weather, she walked slowly home to pack.

Lhasa, August 1691, 3 months later

“You are different.” Cho walked alongside Amaia in the temple’s garden. She found it difficult to understand the monk’s meaning, and it wasn’t just her tenuous grip on the difficult language causing the problem. She had learned over the past several days not to underestimate him.

“Of course. Lawrence and I are from England. Meg and Liam come from Prussia.” Amaia admired the manicured cypress trees and the flowing willows, resisting the temptation to look at Cho and see how her misdirection had been received. Reading his energy was useless. Like most of the monks she’d met, Cho’s energy maintained a constant, steady hum.

“That is not what I mean. You will not reincarnate.” She should have known. She had come to the monks to learn about reincarnation, to try to make sense of Michael. At every turn, they had proven wiser than she had anticipated. The fact that Cho could speak about something so out of the ordinary in such a calm manner impressed her. He possessed a steadiness that she didn’t often find in humans.

“No, I won’t.”

“Your friends, they are different too.”

“Yes. Have you ever met any of my kind?”

“No.”

“Do I frighten you?” Amaia paused on the bridge they stood on and glanced down at the goldfish in the stream meandering through the garden. The fresh water left the fish clearly visible, larger and more colorful than any she had ever seen.

“No, you have simply completed your journey in this mortal realm. Why would that frighten me?” Cho stood patiently beside her, hands folded in front of him.

“Do you know what I am? Why I will not reincarnate?”

Cho shook his head. “No, and it is none of my business. Your path is your own.”

“Thank you, Cho.”

“Perhaps you would like to become more specific in your studies. I revealed my knowledge of your nature so that you might be more comfortable asking the questions you want to ask.”

It should have been disquieting to be seen so clearly by a mortal, but it wasn’t. Whether it was the garden or the monk’s demeanor, she felt surrounded by so much peace that she couldn’t help quieting her inner turmoil. Even the ever-haunting eyes receded in this place.

They walked on in silence. Cho never rushed her. The garden was immaculate, tended with a care that shone through in every clipped blade of grass, every perfectly shaped bush and branch. She longed to stay here forever, to be in a place where the pull of Michael’s energy didn’t consume her, where his eyes didn’t haunt her. As much. They were still there, he was still there, but here she was different. Her mind settled, and she could somewhat dispassionately examine her own life.

“Why would a person die at the same time during each of his lives? I thought each life was fluid, like a stream traveling to its destination.” She couldn’t resist hoping that Cho would have the answers she needed.

“It is, but sometimes the scars from a life can hold over, damage the lives that follow. That is why we reincarnate: to rectify those ills, learn, and grow.”

“But how can a person control the way he dies?”

“Humans can’t. Not on a conscious level. If a person were to die at the same time in each of their lives, I would question how they die. Therein may lie the answer.”

The first death had been by Amaia’s hand. He hadn’t died from a vampire bite again. The last death was from his chest, perhaps a heart attack. He hadn’t even bled to death. “What if how they die is different each time? Say someone bled to death, and then in his next life his heart stopped at the same moment.”

“You speak of the literal. Life’s lessons are rarely taught in such terms.”

“But how is death a life lesson?”

“The way one dies often reveals the way he lived. Everything in this life is here for us to learn from, even if the lesson is that not everything can be understood in our terms.”

Amaia felt that Cho must think of her as a child who needed everything explained in plain language. Even though she was twice his age, she felt very young around him. “I wish it were as simple for me as you make it out to be. I long for your peace, Cho.”

“You will achieve it someday. A long path led me to this point.”

“I appreciate you sharing your wisdom with me. These last few days, I have learned much from you.”

“I hope that you will continue your studies.” Cho produced a brown, leather-bound book from the satchel he carried. “Here, a gift from me.”

“Thank you.” Amaia handled the book with care. The characters on the cover read
A Meditation on Rebirth
. Tibetan had proved harder to learn than the other languages she had mastered, but she admired any language so artistically written. Tibetan conveyed a respect for words in the elegant way they were produced.

“Tonight is your last night here?”

“Yes. Tomorrow we are headed for Warsaw. I was wondering if I might stay here a while longer today.”

“Of course. You are welcome here anytime. Please, make yourself comfortable. I must tend to my duties.”

“Thank you, Cho. I have cherished our time together.”

“I hope that you will find the answers you seek. Perhaps we shall meet again.”

“Perhaps.” Amaia mirrored Cho’s bow, and the man left. She would never see him again. That’s how it was for her people. There was no sense forming attachments to humans, even if Amaia could overcome her distaste for them. Attachments made life messy. Amaia supposed that was why the mating bond was so strong. Whereas mortals formed attachments with a great variety of people, spreading out their love and devotion, vampires poured it all into one individual.

Amaia returned to the bridge, staring at the fish below, letting their languorous movements entrance her. What would she have to do to be reincarnated as one of these fish? The thought brought a smile to her lips. As she’d told Cho, she would not be reincarnating. Death for her was an absolute, which made it even more frustrating that it wasn’t for Michael. They played the same game with different rules. It didn’t bother her that other mortals played with a different guidebook, but Michael had engaged with her, and it felt incredibly unfair that they weren’t evenly matched.

Dusk fell, and it would soon be night. In the sky above, Amaia made out the first stars. If there was one thing she missed about her mortal life, it was dreaming, the concrete line between reality and fantasy. The eyes would be easier to handle if they only appeared in her dreams. Less disturbing.

At one time, she had given up feeding in the hope that eventually it would make her weak enough to sleep. The experiment failed. Starvation only deprived her of the energy to move. It did nothing to bring on drowsiness. In the absence of sleep, all she could do was blankly stare ahead, trying to will her mind to blankness, to empty itself of tormenting thoughts. It was easier here in the garden, where tranquility hung in the air like a pleasant perfume. She lost herself in the movement of the fish, the stillness of the trees, the rhythmic hum of a world full of life, soldiering on through the ages in an endless cycle until the day came when she would no longer exist. It would happen eventually. She couldn’t live forever, and she didn’t particularly want to. What was forever anyway, other than an endless parade of waking hours? One day, someone would want to kill her more than she wanted to keep living.