Secret Worlds (205 page)

Dresden, December 1697

Distractions abounded for Amaia at the court of King Augustus in Dresden. Plenty of art and beautiful people. Dresden Castle lived up to its reputation of housing one of the most extravagant courts in the world. Plenty of distractions, but none that could draw her mind away from a Greek nunnery, a place the exact opposite of where she stood. All around her were men and women, drinking, laughing, dancing, covered in jewels, silks, and furs, and Amaia longed for a woman in a simple habit who, if history proved true, would be dead by the end of the night.

Amaia told herself the distraction served a purpose, that she was choosing to stay away, but it wasn’t true. Zenas insisted Amaia be in Dresden. They had left Warsaw not long after she returned from seeing Michelle. When King John III Sobieski died, the Polish court in Warsaw dissolved, and the power moved to Dresden with the crowning of King Augustus II. They had only remained in Warsaw as long as they did to see the birth of a son to one of Lawrence’s pairings. The boy’s energy was markedly stronger than his parents, a firm success. After his birth, they awaited an invitation from Augustus to court, having heard that the new king had exhibited an interest in Amaia.

King John had been a great man, easy for Amaia to like. She didn’t yet know her feelings toward Augustus. While he boasted his own strength, Amaia didn’t yet know if he possessed the power to rule effectively. However, she appreciated his love for the arts. It would certainly make her time in his court more pleasurable.

Currently, she was trying to remain interested in a performance of
The Provoked Wife
at the castle. It was an interesting play, just not nearly as interesting as Amaia’s murdered betrothed coming back as a nun who would die this very night. No fault of the playwright, of course.

Laughter pulled Amaia into the moment. The king leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Do you not find the play funny, Adela?”

She revealed her widest smile and let a little giggle escape. “Of course, Your Majesty. It’s very witty.”

The king matched her smile. “Good. I want to make sure we are entertaining you.”

It was important to Augustus for his court to be seen as the most lavish in the world. That was why he had gone to the expense of importing
The Provoked Wife
from England, where it had debuted less than a year ago.

Amaia strove to keep more of her attention on the play, at least enough to laugh and clap at the appropriate times. Her thoughts had no reason to be anywhere else. Even if she left straightaway, there was no possibility of her reaching Michelle before she died. Still, Amaia wouldn’t be able to relax until Michelle’s energy ceased.

The second act drew to a close. Amidst the applause, it happened. Michelle’s energy twisted painfully. Amaia felt a terrible wrenching and then nothing. It was done. Amaia joined in the applause and settled back in her seat to enjoy the third act.

***

Two days passed before Amaia could get away. For some reason, she felt compelled to visit Michelle’s grave. Perhaps it was to mourn the life she didn’t witness, the loss of an opportunity. She dressed in a simple, black dress. It seemed appropriate.

She made the daylong journey with ease. Her body would carry her to Greece at an inhuman speed, perfect balance and senses ensuring she made it safely. Because of one decision, her body would persist throughout time, while the body of her one-time betrothed broke down and disintegrated over and over again. What was the purpose of traveling so far to see a grave? She knew Michelle or Michael would return. That was indisputable at this point. There was no use questioning her motives. She’d made her decision. This would be her last trip for a while.

Amaia made short work of the cliff, effortlessly adjusting to the slickness of the snow-covered rock. At the top, it appeared all the nuns were gathered in the chapel. She crept over to one of the windows and peeked inside. Nuns and monks filled every available space. One by one, they stepped up to the coffin, paying their respects. Between mourners, Amaia caught a glimpse of Michelle lying peacefully, a cross clasped in her hands. Her body was present, but her energy, her essence, was absent.

There was hardly a dry eye. Amaia found it easy to believe that Michelle would have many mourners. She had grown up in the monastery. Given what Amaia had witnessed of her disposition, it took no effort to imagine her touching the lives of those around her. Amaia wondered who would mourn her when she eventually succumbed to the strength of someone who wanted her dead. Her death was more likely to come at Zenas’s order than anything else. It was only a matter of time before she crossed him. She held no real loyalty to her clan leader, and she was obsessed with her reincarnating human lover. Besides, it would take a death sentence by a clan leader to provoke the strength needed to kill her.

Lawrence would surely miss her, as would Meg. Liam would at least feign grief. Amaia smirked. Actually, she secretly thought Liam did like her just a little bit. Other than those three, no one would even mind that Amaia was gone. Zenas would catalogue the news along with all his other knowledge and move on to whatever was next. Amaia barely even knew anyone else in his clan.

Inside the chapel, the mourners broke into song. Some of the monks lifted the coffin, and a procession formed. Amaia hid behind one of the other buildings to wait until the graveside service was over. Her position granted her a remarkable view of the sunset. Snow-capped mountains appeared blue in the distance. The rays of the sun illuminated the clouds with hues of orange, red, and pink and sparkled in the snow. As the sun descended, the orange that rested on the backs of the blue mountains morphed into a deeper pink and purple. Perched on top of this cliff, separated from the rest of the world, Amaia understood for the first time why Michelle believed in God. It was easy in this simple, beautiful setting. Amaia wished for just a moment that she could believe too, believe that there was someone larger than herself who cared for her. If there was a god, though, he certainly wouldn’t be concerned with her. If God existed, he had clearly cursed her. Amaia had no use for such a being.

Amaia waited until none of the sun’s light remained and all the nuns were in their sleeping chambers before moving. Standing before the freshly turned grave, Amaia didn’t quite know what to do. She felt she should say something, but what?

“I’ll see you soon.” It was the only truth Amaia knew in that moment. She lingered for a moment then fled. The clock was ticking on the months of peace she had left.

Outside Angora, August 1718, 20 years, 8 months later

It was time. After years of watching him, he was finally old enough. Amaia felt nerves in her stomach, the flutter of butterfly wings that she thought should have been impossible for a vampire to feel. It made her giggle. Like everything else, it was a more intense sensation in her immortal form.

Up ahead, she heard the bleating of goats. Growing up on the outskirts of Angora in Anatolia, Michael had upheld the family business. His long stints away from home tending the flock made observing him easier. He was three months shy of twenty, more than four years before he died.

Thoughts of how it might be this time so consumed her that she almost forgot to slow to a human pace. Michael sat on a rock with his back to her, surveying the flock. She relished the sight of him. She had watched him his entire life, but always from a distance. Today, she would have the satisfaction of hearing his voice directed at her, of his eyes meeting hers. Today was the day that would change everything. She didn’t bother with stealth. She wanted him to see her.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Amaia halted as Michael faced her. “I know you’ve been watching. Now that the moment is here, I don’t know what to do.”

The nerves in her stomach tightened, nearly doubling her over, and her eyes widened. His olive skin glistened with sweat under the summer sun. Black hair fell in light curls around his ears. His beard had thickened since she last saw him, but other than that, he appeared the same as he had the last time she’d visited. His body was relaxed, but his eyes held a mix of anticipation and resignation. And recognition. It couldn’t be her imagination. His eyes held knowledge. But that was impossible. Amaia gathered her wits and adopted a casual and somewhat confused pose, furrowing her brow as she peered at him. “I’m sorry, do you know me?”

Michael smirked, but it held no mirth. “Don’t play with me, Jocelyn. Lying never did become you.”

Her heart stopped. Jocelyn. She hadn’t heard that name in almost a century. Not since the night Lawrence had transformed her.

“I’ve sensed you. I don’t know how to describe it.” Michael leapt off the boulder. “I’ve thought I caught glimpses of you watching me, but I could have imagined them. I’m beginning to think I didn’t, though. You’ve been in my dreams my entire life. The only thing is, they’re memories more than dreams. I wonder, do you find yourself having the same type of dreams?”

There were no words. No words in Amaia’s mind and none on her lips. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Dear Allah, you look exactly the same.” Michael reached out and stroked her cheek. In her shock, Amaia didn’t remember to warm her skin. She couldn’t even bring herself to break her deathly stillness. “So cold. There’s nothing to fear, Jocelyn.” His hand traveled to grasp her arm. “I had thought you’d be happy. You clearly know me. Or is it that you don’t like this body?” Michael let go of her arm and looked down at himself. “I don’t know why I keep changing, but you always stay the same.”

This was dangerous. How had this happened? How had a vague familiarity morphed into knowledge in the span of a lifetime? She needed to do something, say something, anything. Nothing came. In all of her imaginings, she had never once supposed this could happen.

“My parents named me Bayram, but you may call me Michael.”

He even knew his name. What else did he know?

“Say something. Please.”

His pleading tone moved Amaia. She searched his eyes, hoping to find answers. They stared back at her as always. “I…I can’t. I don’t know. Just…goodbye.” She saw his face fall, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when her entire world had just shifted.

Michael reached out and grabbed her wrist. A familiar thrill went through her, only it wasn’t familiar from her immortal life. It was an echo of a touch she had felt almost a century before.

“Jocelyn, please, don’t leave. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Amaia couldn’t bear to look at his face. She averted her gaze, hoping to strengthen her resolve. “I have to go.”

“Fine. I understand. Just, please, promise me you’ll come back. I need to see you again. I won’t let you go until you promise you’ll return.”

All it would take was a thought for her wrist to break free of his grip. If he didn’t open his hand willingly, the fingers would simply bend until they broke. Though the physical strength was present, the will was not. “I promise.” She didn’t trust her voice with more. Michael nodded and released her.

She looked him over, burning his form into her memory, and then turned and ran. It should have been a struggle to maintain a human pace, but it wasn’t. She didn’t want to run. She didn’t want to stay. She wanted to collapse and cry. It was no use. Tears would never come. Instead, she ran. Slowly. She didn’t care how long it took to get home.

Cluj, August 1718

Eventually, her legs picked up speed. At some point, she was no longer running from Michael, but toward Meg. Now more than ever, she needed her best friend. When she neared home, she extended her energy, searching for Meg’s and Liam’s, knowing if she found one, she would find the other. Locating them didn’t take long. They were in the forest outside of town. In the little time they had been in Cluj, they had learned the locals were terrified of the woods and stayed away as much as possible, making it a favorite haunt for Meg and Liam. The frenzied pitch of their energies in the midst of sex grated against Amaia.

She waited a ways away with her back turned. She didn’t want to encroach on their moment, but she needed Meg more than Liam did. As soon as they were done, she approached. Meg lay atop of Liam, gently kissing his chest as they descended from their high.

“Meg?” Amaia’s voice was hollow, possibly a first in her life as a vampire.

“Shit.” Liam stumbled to his feet, pulling his trousers on as he went. “What the fuck are you doing, Amaia?”

“Calm down, Liam. It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to—”

“Liam, stop.” Meg smacked him on the arm. “She needs me.”

“So? It can’t—” The words died on his lips at Meg’s threatening stare.

Amaia broke the silence. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I waited until you were done. I just really need to talk to you, Meg.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere.”

“All right. Liam, I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t bother leaving. I’ll go. Let me know if you need me.” Liam kissed Meg on the forehead. Amaia found the tenderness difficult to watch.

“Of course.” Meg waited until Liam was out of earshot and she had fully dressed before turning to Amaia. “It’s him isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Meg came close, placing both her hands on Amaia’s arms. Their weight steadied her. “Tell me.”

This was going to be the hardest part. How did she tell her best friend that she had essentially been lying to her for two decades? Her hands fidgeted in front of her, a physical outlet for her angst. “I contacted him in his last life.”

“Are you crazy, Amaia?” Meg dropped her hold on Amaia, and her eyes were severe as she searched Amaia’s face. Amaia didn’t know what she hoped to find.

Amaia spread her arms in front of her, pleading for understanding. “It didn’t seem crazy at the time. It seemed like the sanest thing I’d done in a while.”

“While I thought you were fine, finally letting him go, you were actually seeing him?”