Not the chapter we were hoping for, but the chapter we need. My apologies.

Chapter 14: repent

The golden years of Mazandaran saw prosperity amongst all its people, from the servants to provided food to the inhabitants of the palace. Such wealth was evident in the carefully laid pavestones, in the intricate detailing of doors and shutters. in the gold-plated lampposts that gave the streets a bright glow even though it was night. When its citizens could live for hundreds of years, a city had the time to achieve anything money could buy or time could help perfect.

Erik took notice of these details whenever he deigned to leave his residence, which though a modest two-bedroom was nicely hidden behind a ridge from prying eyes. The ability to perfect a craft was the only thing he envied about the vampyre among whom he now lived. Imagine what kind of music he could write when given that kind of time, sequestered away in the quiet shadows of the night.

Erik walked the path from his dwelling to that of the Khans', his feet not needing the bright glow of the lamps to remember where to step. It was no coincidence that he had been given a place to live quite close to that of the Daroga and his family. Not all that infrequently did Erik remind the Daroga that he had been demoted to Erik's babysitter since that night they had met in Moscow's underbelly. Daroga's main task now was to keep him out of trouble, a daunting venture if ever there was one.

Any humans he met on the path gave him a wide berth, their skittish glances not bothering him much. He had a reputation, after all, one that he had hard-earned. Angel of Doom was not a nickname that came naturally. Right now, the streets were mostly busied by vampyre returning home before dawn. Even though he was human, he did not spare them any attention. No one would dare bother the Khanum's pet.

He turned the corner and stopped upon the stoop of the Daroga's home, rapping sharp knuckles upon the door in his customary fashion.

"Come in," chimed a woman's voice.

The door was unlocked – no one troubled themselves here. Erik entered and removed his hat, taking care to keep his wig and mask in place. "Good morning, madame."

Rookheeya stood by the sink, wiping a dish with a towel. Erik knew she was wary and distrustful of him, as well she should be, but she had always treated him courteously. "Good morning. If you are looking for my husband, he had not yet returned for the day."

Erik frowned, recalling the brightening line of the sun on the horizon. "This close to dawn? He is usually more careful."

"Yes, he is. You are welcome to wait for him if you like."

"Thank you. I did bring something for Reza." He pulled a small wooden carving from his jacket pocket. It was shaped like a bear addressed in a suit, and if the user could figure out how to twist the hat from the bear's head, one could fetch the sweet within. The three-year-old boy had showed an early affinity for such puzzles, and Erik enjoyed discovering what he could and could not solve.

Rookheeya finished drying the plate and placed it back inside the cabinet. "He is sleeping."

"Ah."

"Why don't you wait for Nadir in his study?"

Erik took the hint. She had accepted his role in their family but that did not mean she wanted to make small talk with him. He nodded and slipped away into the small room off the kitchen. The Daroga was a man disallowed many secrets, and the books in his study were mostly the sort that Erik would expect to find in the library of any government official. A few dusty books on the top row were first editions and worthy of reading.

Erik skimmed the titles, then gazed at the framed sketch of Rookheeya's dead first husband and Reza's biological father. A vampyre such as Nadir Khan could only sire through the transfer of blood, and as far as Erik knew, he had not allowed yet to do so. It was not uncommon for vampyre and human to live together – the need for blood often helped anchor such relationships. He shuddered at the thought. The Daroga should count himself lucky that Erik tolerated his company enough to overlook the blood-sucking.

The front door banged open, then slammed closed. Erik peered out of the study to see the Daroga standing there. He tore off his hat, revealing sun-reddened cheeks above his salt and pepper beard.

Erik tsked. "You cut it close."

The Daroga growled at him, baring sharp fangs, a threat that was more bark than bite. "Goddammit, Erik. I went to find you at your house first! You told me you would be there."

A stressed out Daroga was no fun. "I grew bored waiting for you, and I like when all the undead go to sleep anyway. Were you trying to set yourself on fire?"

Nadir looked at the backs of his hands. Rookheeya gasped and rushed over, but he shrugged off her concern. The blisters there were already healing. He shook his head and pulled a folded piece of parchment from his inside coat pocket.

"I have the manifest for tomorrow night."

Erik tried not to show too much interest. He lifted his eyebrows beneath his mask. "You said you would not be able to get it."

"I had a few favors to redeem." His demeanor had softened from his earlier frustration. Now he simply looked old and tired; despite his eternal youth, he always looked old and tired nowadays. He cupped his wife's cheek, gentler now, and met her worried eyes. "Not this year," he told her softly.

Her relief was evident. Most humans under the shadow of the Khanum in Mazandaran wished to be invited into the rank of vampyre, but Rookheeya had a son to raise and a blood-letting relationship with Nadir that she loved. She had no wish to become a vampyre.

A parallel she shared with Erik.

Daroga's eyes turned hard when they slid back to Erik. Suddenly, Erik very much needed to get away from the pity he saw there. This house was too small for so many bodies. The lamplight inside was too bright, and he needed to get outside, see the widening line of the horizon shifting from night to dawn.

The silence forced him to hear the rush of his own heartbeat thumping loud and fast in his ears. And he hated that the vampyre standing in front of him could hear it too.

"No."

The Daroga took a step toward him. "Erik-"

"No!" He bolted forward, but the vampyre side-stepped and blocked his path to the front door. Damn him and his inhuman speed and the way he flaunted it now.

"Erik-"

"You promised me," he hissed, knowing his eyes had grown wide and wild behind his mask. He was aware of Rookheeya slipping away, but he spared her no more thought. "She promised me! It was part of our agreement of my staying here that she would never force me to do the one thing I hate above all else!" Gods, was that his voice, so shrill, so filled with panic?

The Daroga held out his hands, approached him like he might a predator, but he was the predator, was he not? The blood-sucker. The eternally undead frozen in time. "Erik," he said again, voice so soft. "I thought this would happen. She was growing far too fond of you. But that is why I got hold of the manifest early. The ceremony won't begin until tomorrow night. Only humans will be able to follow you now, and you can hide yourself, can't you? You can be far away by nightfall."

Run? It was an option that had not first occurred to him. His mind spun out the possibility, searched every avenue for escape. Yes, he could do it. He might be ugly, but at least he was a living man, and he had every intention of staying that way. Being human came with the privilege of dying and finally being free of this cursed face.

He looked toward the Reza's room. "They would need to come with me."

Daroga's shoulders drooped. "Yes."

"I am not going anywhere." Rookheeya stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Behind her, Erik could see a small boy asleep in his bed. "I know what they will do to you, my love. I could not bear the thought of leaving you behind."

Erik took in the family of three. He remembered when Nadir had married the widowed human woman, accepting both her and her young child into his household. In doing so, Nadir had saved her from either a life of poverty or a life as someone's blood slave, and on the surface, appearances showed that she made a lovely source of nourishment for the high-ranking vampyre. Erik knew the truth. Nadir had fallen in love with the woman, and her son, the moment he had laid eyes upon the pair of them.

If he left, it was obvious who would be blamed.

Erik turned away. "They will be able to find me at my house. I will not run."

The Daroga called after him, but his pleas were ignored.

At nightfall, they came for him. The Queen's personal guard took hold of each of his arms, their vampiric strength far exceeding his own. The Daroga did not touch him, but he stood nearby, the firm set of his mouth the only sign of his distress.

Erik was led to the palace and shoved to his knees in the middle of the court. The Khanum watched from her jewel-encrusted throne, her black eyes sparkling with glee. He had been here many times before but always as the one delivering her amusement. This time, he was her entertainment.

He had known when he agreed to be her personal magician that this was a dangerous agreement, that her interest in him rather deeper than a court jester. Her demands of him had gradually became darker and more twisted until he had found himself inventing methods of execution. The Daroga had warned him that her tastes leaned toward the violent. Erik had been too sure of his arrangement with the Queen to realize that this time, the trap had been placed around him.

She leered down at him. She was a thousand years old, and her body had shriveled to some resemblance of what must have been her former beauty. "Angel of Doom on his knees at last," she cooed. "I look forward to enjoying the taste of you."

Now he did thrash against the vampyre holding him by the shoulders. He had never been bitten, and the thought of her foul fangs in his skin made his stomach lurch. She clicked her tongue at his futile struggles.

"Strip him."

They tore off his mask and wig, revealing his true face to the court for the first time. Gasps and screams met his ears, and he stared them down, human and vampyre alike. He saw the Daroga standing in the crowd and focused upon those kinder eyes, and in his mind, he turned around and around all the ways he would eventually make her pay.

His clothes were ripped from him, leaving him only in his thin linen pants. He knew what they saw – the concave stomach, the prominent ribs, the hollow of his missing nose. He was all their fears come to life, and now she was going to turn him.

He would be a monster forever.

They brought out the platform they used to convert reluctant humans. He fought them, a mere act of pride, but they soon had him immobilized. She came to his side, her fangs dripping with saliva.

"What fun we shall have," she said, stroking his cheekbone.

The rest passed in a blur of pain and blood. He remembered the prick of her fangs in his neck, the pain of her drawing every drop of blood from his veins. He remembered feeling himself slipping away and wishing for death and seeing the moment he was pulled back from the brink with inky black blood between his lips, the taste as foul as rotten meat. He remembered feeling as though he were set aflame, his body torn apart. Again and again, he was forced to drink from the Mistress's stinking, dead flesh.

And then he remembered being set free and seeing the human woman released in front of him. He would never be able to forget her round eyes, her screams, as his fangs descended for the first time. He fell on her, now a thing more animal than human, and he drank until the fear left her lifeless eyes.

He drifted in and out of consciousness after that. Laughter echoed in his ears, and he felt so dreadfully cold. When he woke, he lashed out against the hands that held him down until he was finally able to filter the Daroga's soft voice from the confusion in his mind. He was lying in his own bed, his mask back upon his face, but everything was different now.

Later, he would listen as Daroga prepped his home for his new nighttime existence. He would pay attention to those early lessons in how to feed without killing, how to touch without hurting, and how to dampen his own rage so that he did not tear the whole goddamn world apart for what had been done to him.

But that first moment as his vision cleared and he saw with vampiric eyes his new reality, he pressed a hand to his chest and felt… nothing.

And so the decades had passed, his body frozen in time, his heart ceasing to beat from the moment that bitch took his humanity from him. He had thought he would never feel that muscle's steady pump again.

And he had not… until her.

Somehow, she had awakened his dead heart. The force of the organ was weak as it struggled to sluice empty veins, but it was there. He heard the sluggish thump and felt his pulse with his fingertips. Within hours, the pain began, the tearing within his chest that would only be healed with the blood of his bonded.

For he had bonded with Christine.

Over these weeks, Christine had found her sleep patterns changing. She no longer rose with the sun and slept when it did. She had stayed up late into the night so many times that her rhythm had adjusted to suit, and so much the better with her night-owl of a husband.

Due to her late night with Erik, she did not wake until the afternoon. Her stomach immediately growled its protest for it had been too long since she had last eaten anything. She went to the kitchens to find both her morning and luncheon meals left for her on the small table there. She missed Meg and her daytime companionship horribly.

She spent the rest of the early evening in the gardens, enjoying the last bits of sunshine on the rather warm autumn day. As the shadows lengthened, she felt a combination of emotions that caused her heart to race. Nervousness mixed with excitement within her. She was eager to see her husband again, to show him that she could be trusted and see if he would again like to hear her sing. It had been so long since she had shared that part of herself, and it was a connection between them that she would see strengthened.

"Good evening, madame."

Nadir Khan stood at the gate, mirroring the first time she had met him. She tucked her novel inside her basket and stood from the bench, smiling.

"Good evening, Monsieur Khan… Nadir," she amended when he clicked his tongue at her. "You are early tonight."

"Actually, I came as soon as I could manage." The gentlemanly expression of greeting on his face slipped. "Have you yet seen Erik?"

"No, I haven't. Why? Is something wrong?"

"I do hope not." He shrugged. "I have become quite the worrier in my old age, I'm afraid. Do you mind if I come inside?"

"Not at all."

They made their way across the courtyard. Nadir's pace was quick, and Christine had to take long strides to keep up with him. As they entered, Darius stood waiting. His frown mirrored the one now upon Nadir's face.

"Good evening, Christine," he said to her, reaching to help her out of her cloak and taking her gloves. "Master, I am so relieved you are here."

Nadir hung up his own hat, nodding. "You noticed too?"

"Some time ago." He hung his head. "I was too afraid to go without you. I thought he might be too territorial in his own lair."

"You were right to wait for me, young one. Stay here with Christine."

"I am going too," she protested, following him as he headed toward Erik's chambers.

The two men exchanged a glance. There was so much between them and so much about this situation that she clearly did not understand.

"Please," Darius said. "Stay at the top of the stairs?"

She nodded. Whatever to get them to let her go.

They reached the rotunda of spiral stairs, and Christine was obedient, climbing around the column of stone and peering over Darius's shoulder. Nadir knocked upon Erik's door, and he did not have to wait long before the locks spun free and the door blew open, ushering along with it Erik's dark peal of laughter.

Darius held out an arm to block her – no, to protect her, she realized with a shudder. But why would he need to protect her from her own husband?

The burning in his chest had grown worse through the last hours of the day. His heart pounded slowly with a furious call to claim what was his, to put an end to this agony by sinking his teeth into his beloved's flesh and finally meld her blood with his own wasted body. He had paced the hours away, torn between triumph and pain.

Erik was aware of the Daroga's approach. He banged his fist upon the side of his piano, but not in anger. No, if he should only last throughout the following night, he should at least like to say goodbye.

"Ah, Daroga! I knew you would come."

Nadir held out his hands, bearded face full of misplaced concern. "You have bonded."

"Yes!"

"Have you told Christine?"

He snorted. "Why would I? She does not have to have any part in this. She does not have to know."

The Daroga's voice stayed easy, calming. "She is your wife."

"And a fine one she has made! She has played her role quite well, lured me in with her pretty face and kind words and soft touch. It is no wonder that I fell in love with her!"

He clamped his lips together. How easily the words had slipped out. He must be further gone than he had realized… So much the better that it should end quickly.

"At least you are finally admitting it, my friend," Nadir said. "You know very well what will come next. The heartbeat will turn into pain, and the pain will turn into madness. An unfinished bond will twist your mind as much as it will twist your body."

Erik shook his head. "I am already in pain. I am already mad. Lock me within these rooms and leave me be."

"You have to tell her, or you will die."

Erik threw back his head and let out a bitter laugh. "I am already dead! This is a blessing, Daroga. Don't you understand? For so long I have wanted all of this to end, and now all I have to do is nothing."

"You wish to die?" said the shocked voice of his wife.

Christine came down the stairs upon shaky feet, clutching at the stone wall to keep herself upright. Her sky-blue eyes were swimming with tears. Darius followed her, his hands poised as though he would snatch her back at any moment.

Erik forced his attention back to Daroga, who stood between them. "You knew she was there!" he accused.

"She has the right to know," Nadir said. "I am sorry, my brother, but enough of this foolishness."

Erik bared his teeth, his long-fingered hands gnarling like claws at his sides. They had allowed this human to enter his domain while he was in such a state, had allowed her to hear everything that had been said. A foolish, hopeful part of him had thought he could sit by and let the pieces fall into place; Christine had held his fate in her hands since the first night they had met face to face in the street. Now, staring into her wide eyes, seeing her trembling form and the rapid pulse in her neck, his vampiric nature surged forward.

The Daroga still stood between him and Christine. Nadir had served in the court of the Mistress for over a hundred years before Erik had even arrived in Mazandaran. He had climbed his way through the ranks using both physical and mental skill. He was a force that Erik had only been able to best once he himself had become a vampyre. With his wife long dead, he was an unattached blood-sucker, and therefore, the second most dangerous presence in the room.

A bonded vampyre who had not sealed his bond was far more dangerous.

Erik felt his fangs descend further, thick and sharp in his mouth. "Stand back from her lest I rip out your throat with my teeth."

Christine gasped at his words, but Nadir did as he commanded immediately. In a blink, he had stepped away from the staircase, further into the bedroom but away from Christine.

His wife, his human wife, shuddered, her hands balled at her sides, but she did not shrink back as Erik strode to her upon long legs. He reached out a hand, well-aware of the pale, skeletal nature of the fingers, of how his fangs protruded from behind his thin lips, of how her stare took in every detail of his ghastly appearance.

"Come," he said.

She put her hand in his.

The back of Erik's chambers was a yawning maw of darkness. She felt when her black boots hit dusty stone, but soon, they were drowned in shadow. Erik walked swiftly, his grip upon her hand firm. She glanced behind them and found they were not being followed and only felt relief. For a while, all she could hear were their hurried footsteps and her own short, breathless pants loud in her ears.

Christine tripped once, twice, then tugged upon his hand.

"Please," she whispered in the dark. "I can't see."

He moved to the side, and she had to squint against the sudden blaze of an oil lantern. He did not speak to her, instead turning back to face the direction they were headed, his hold upon her hand unceasing, his other hand holding the lantern aloft. She got the impression that he could see quite well in the darkness, that he did not need the light, and her mind spun with so many unanswered questions.

Eventually, the rooms through which they passed narrowed into something like a tunnel. The stone became broken and more uneven and eventually swapped with jagged rock or packed earth. Christine had to more carefully pick where to step, Erik's own tread quick and sure. Their path led mostly at a downward angle, and the air grew chill and moist.

The tunnel ended at a small metal grate. Erik paused, and she heard the creak of metal upon metal before he nudged open the grate with his foot. He held it open with one arm and pulled her through.

"Where are we?" she asked. She could hear the rush of water. The path was no longer dirt but now made of white concrete.

"The sewers. We will not have to travel here long." He shut the grate behind them and pulled her along again. He walked with the security of someone who had traveled this path many times before, and Christine gulped in nervous lungfuls of air.

The tunnels of the sewer had domed roofs made of brick. A thick stream cut between them and the other side of the tunnel, and Christine kept her eyes ahead of them, not focusing too much on those murky depths that faded away into the darkness beyond the lantern. It was cold down here, and Christine wished she had not removed her cloak and gloves earlier. The heavy fabric would have been welcome across her shaking shoulders.

Erik's hand was pale around her own, his skin dry and cool, a stark contrast with her own warm palm sweaty with uneasiness He had so quickly shifted from wanting to stay away from her to whisking her away from Nadir and Darius… almost as if he was protecting her from them.

But who was correct in that situation? From whom did she truly need protection?

With quick, certain strides, he guided them down one tunnel and then the next, around a bend, until Christine lost track. Then Erik drew up short, sweeping the lantern across the brick of the curved wall.

"Hold this," he told her, handing her the lantern, not letting go of her hand even for a moment. He felt along the brick with his other hand, pressing fingertips into the grooves until he found what he sought. Christine heard a soft click and a hiss and the brick appeared to separate. Erik gave a hard push and part of the wall swung inward, revealing a narrow passageway made entirely of packed earth.

Christine held up the lantern she carried, but the glow of the flame only stretched so far into that black hall. She took a step backward, sucking in a breath when Erik tightened his grip upon her hand.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying not to let her voice quaver.

His eyes mirrored the golden glow of the lamp. "To an old home of mine beneath the opera house."

She caught her reflection in the smooth glass of the lantern, her face pale with shock. He took a step toward the hidden passage, but she dug in her heels.

"W-Who are you, Erik?" she whispered.

He turned back around. His eyes swept over her face, searching for something unknown. "What does it matter anymore?"

Her lips parted to respond, but she decided to hold silent. His response had not seemed meant for her. She wet her lips, swallowed through the dryness in her throat. That night she had first met him in the streets seemed an eternity away. Words tumbled in her mind, shifting and rearranging, until she finally put them in the order that sent so many details clicking into place.

"What… what are you?"

His shadow cast by the lantern flickered. Edges blurred, snapped back into place, and then stretched until melded with the rest of the darkness around them. His fingers around her hand spasmed.

"I am vampyre," he said at last.

She clutched onto that foreign word, tasted it with her tongue, found the truth finally hanging between them in the distance echoes of their voices.

And when he tugged upon her hand again, she went.

NOW can we get on with the exciting bits? Yes, yes.