A/N: At last … one of the chapters you guys have been waiting for… shorter than some, but a pivotal one as promised - enjoy! : )
XXXIII
.
After yet another restless night of little slumber, Christine dressed for the new day, often glancing toward the unlocked door that had never once opened…
Erik was keeping true to his word not to cross her threshold a second time and Christine realized that should she wish for his nearness she would need to make the first move. With all that they had been and all they had become to one another, it should not be so difficult.
Yet each time she finally felt that she might cross the threshold of absolute trust and take that crucial step toward him, he would speak of abysmal things she cringed to hear or something would happen to remind her of his dark truth, and she would inadvertently refrain. Uncertain if the cause was the slayer within, repelled by the act, or the dread of such an occurrence, due to all she had seen. The horrid recollection of the carriage driver's throat ripped out was only one of many ghastly images that remained with her, a reminder of that which Erik was capable even if he had not been directly responsible for that man's death. And she wondered, as she so often did of late, just how many he had killed.
She beheld her dismal reflection in the glass. Her face looked drawn and weary. Smudges rested beneath her eyes, which looked back at her, haunted and dark, bearing dreadful secrets she dared never tell...
This could not continue, nor did she wish it to.
Not once did he ask for her blood or use force to possess it, when clearly he had more strength and could easily overtake her. And she was determined to surpass her fears of the frightful monster he'd become to reach out to the complicated and exciting man she had experienced him to be. To try to find and tenaciously hold on to any amount of normality she could claim in this fractured life that had been thrust upon them.
Their pleasure of music would be a perfect start, each of them possessing a great love for the art and an inherent gift for the expression of its notes. Surely, as it had already begun to do, music would serve to bring them closer.
Surprised Mihaela did not come to wake her when she had been so prompt with the overture every other day, Christine went downstairs.
The girl was nowhere; neither for that matter was Erik – not in any of the rooms he favored. Upon entering the kitchen, Christine noticed breakfast had not commenced – an oddity for Mihaela. Nor was there fresh water in the bucket on the counter, which was changed out each dawn of a new day.
A more thorough inspection of the castle proved that not a single soul inhabited the vicinity. Apparently Christine had been left alone in this great fortress. Perhaps the staff had not yet returned from the village, still waiting for the roads to become passable…
Curious, she moved to the nearest tall, narrow window, which looked out over the east and the area that encompassed the stable and icy forest beyond.
The world was composed of crystalline white, though the snow did not reach as high as she assumed it should for the raging blizzard through which they had traveled, only coming a short way up the stable doors. And she noticed the furrow someone made to reach it, a path like a channel, with the snow a little higher on each side.
As she looked out over the great expanse of near-distant woodland, a smidgen of black made an appearance from within its shaded bower and into the midst of all the brightness. She intently focused on that speck, soon realizing it was a horse sluggishly making its way through the snow toward the stable…
A riderless horse.
Alarm followed closely on the heels of shock to realize what she presumed the identity of the creature and to whom it belonged. Christine wasted no time in donning her cloak and scarf, unable to locate her gloves, and hastened back down the stairs to exit the castle walls.
No sunlight shone from above, the skies a silvery steel grey. The snow came to her knees and would have been impossible to maintain a steady pace if not for the path previously laid by another. She walked in those steps, grateful that no more than a few inches of fresh snow had fallen to cover the thin furrow made.
The trodden path took her to the stable then led away again, into the forest. Before moving in that direction she kicked the snow away from the edge of the door and struggled to open it, blinking into the well of darkness.
"Erik? Are you in here?" she called out hopefully.
"He's not here, my lady," Archer's voice came from somewhere within. "He left in the night but hasn't returned. Nor have the others."
A shard of icy fear stabbed her heart to hear the grim words she expected.
"I think he might be in trouble. His stallion is out here wandering alone – will you collect the horse while I look for the Count?"
"I -I cannot." The boy's voice came small and wary, and in that instant she remembered and felt she understood the cause.
"It's alright, Archer, I know what you are." She did not waste time dancing around vague references and foolish pretense when Erik's very life could be in danger. "There is no sun in the sky to harm you."
"Makes no difference," he said after a moment, clearly ill at ease to speak with her about such matters. "Any daylight be a danger to me…"
Again, Christine wondered why the same could not be said for her husband.
"The sun could break free of the clouds any time," the lad went on defensively. "It happened before. It happened this morn – I saw it through slits in the wall."
The skies were utterly gray, not even a hint of flimsy cloud hiding a recalcitrant sun beneath them. But the boy was clearly adamant and would not budge, and Christine did not dare linger, to try to coax him or even order him from the building, considering it a lost cause. Erik could be in real trouble. The same urgency, the same inner sense that directed her to find Lucy in the maze told her she must hurry to find him.
In anxious frustration she looked out over the land, to where she'd seen the black stallion. Cesar had come nearer the building, set on his course, and she felt certain the horse would be alright.
Leaving the stable door open for the animal's approach, Christine hurried away through a slightly wider channel of snow that took her deeper into the forest.
The cold bit through her wool stockings and into her flesh, the laced boots she wore doing little to keep the icy particles from slipping into them. But terror at what she might find kept her moving as swiftly as possible through the trek previously laid. Perhaps she should have had Archer saddle Mist, though she did not feel confident enough in her unexceptional skills to ride her horse unaccompanied, having no wish to find herself thrown into a tall snowdrift.
She walked for some time, her limbs so chilled that she could barely feel their existence. Resolutely she trudged along, keeping her bare hands held beneath her armpits for what little warmth she could glean from her ice-cold body, now and then calling out his name...silently praying to the Almighty that she would find him in time...dearly hoping that her worry was all for naught and she would come upon him, unharmed, his beast having spooked and taken off at some point after he dismounted. Or perhaps he would quite suddenly move into her path, characteristically silent, and give her a start. He would chide her for walking in the forest alone and becoming lost, once again, and she would huff a contrary little laugh and confidently state that she knew exactly where she was going...
Her slight smile faded. Something was terribly wrong; she could feel it deep in the core of her soul.
A dusting of snow began to fall, quickly transforming into a heavier powder, and Christine shuddered to realize that her tracks would soon be covered. She could indeed become lost in this icy wilderness of trees and snow - could very well freeze to death. Yet the frightening realization did not cause her to surrender in retreat, only making her grim in her determination that she must push forward.
This time, without him to find her, the tables now turned – for though she strongly wished it, she did not think he would suddenly appear. And she did not consider herself much of a savior and less and less of one as the minutes elapsed without success of finding where he could be…
And then she heard it.
Christine halted suddenly on the path. There! Beyond the copse of trees to her right came what sounded like an animal's low cry but might have been a moan, barely discernible, and she noticed the shallow ditch she walked veered in that direction ahead.
Christine…
Stunned to hear her name whispered into her mind, she hurried onward, taking the bend along the channel of snow that looped around a patch of tall trees – and stopped dead in her tracks at the horrific sight before her.
In the distance, piles of gray ash littered the disturbed clearing of pristine white, and at its center, close to three of those piles, a cloaked figure lay prone. But it was the thick stake of wood protruding from his chest that shaped true terror inside her soul, the snow beneath his back weeping a dark, horrific red.
"Erik," she exclaimed softly, the talons of the terrible revelation shredding through her heart which felt likewise impaled.
He gave no response to her desperate plea, not one twitch, not one uttering of word or sound.
Motionless.
Lifeless.
Dead…
In horror, she slowly shook her head. NO!
She inhaled sharply.
No – he could not be gone! Were his kind not supposed to live forever?
Yet the grisly picture laid out before her eyes mocked all fervent hope.
"Erik!" she cried out in despair as the shock evaporated enough that the need to act brought her swiftly to his side. She dropped to the ground on shaky knees beside him.
Beyond the leather mask, his eyes were closed, and fretfully she brushed the thin crust of snow from his still face. Her own eyes filled with tears that burned their way down cold cheeks.
"Please, please – no, no, no, no, no…" The mantra continued to slip from her trembling lips, gaining intensity, as Christine desperately pressed her palms against his blood-soaked chest. "Please, God, please! No, no, no - ERIK! Please don't be dead! Don't leave me!"
She abruptly moved her attention from his masked face and stared with a revulsion that made her want to retch at the wood jutting from his chest – a thick limb buried deep. Her vision impaired from the stream of tears that never ceased to fall, she angrily wrapped both hands around the loathsome branch. Exerting the same mystifying strength she once used to bury a dagger into a tree, Christine pulled the ghastly column of wood from his body and threw it far from her with a little snarling whimper.
In the next instant, the impossible occurred: His eyes flew open and he sucked in a ragged inhalation of breath.
"Erik?" she breathed in astonished disbelief, a glimmer of joy turning up the edges of her lips in the beginnings of a smile. "You're alive?!"
He blinked a few times then slowly shifted his eyes to her face.
"Christine…"
His voice was weaker than she'd ever heard it, but never did it sound more beautiful.
"You're alive," she repeated the wondrous truth, moving her hands to tenderly cup his jaw. "But how? There was a piece of wood - a branch - buried inside your heart!"
"Wood…not silver…only paralyzes," he said with difficulty.
Her eyes briefly slid shut in gratitude of that grim detail.
"But how did this happen?" She hesitated then asked, "Was it Raoul? Did he do this to you?"
"No." He scowled, and she sensed his reaction was not solely from the incredible amount of pain he must be feeling. "I need…"
When his words trailed off and his eyes slid shut, she moved her face closer to his. "What, Mon Ange? What is it you need? Tell me."
"Gregor… Bring him to me."
In dismay she shook her head. "They have not yet returned from the village."
His eyes shot open, golden orbs now rimmed with a fierce bright red that made her own eyes widen with shock to see the change. His breath came in a soft, slow exhale.
"Erik?" she prodded, a new wave of worry besetting her.
"Return…to the castle. Wait for him there. Send him to me."
She stared at him in disbelief. Did he truly expect her to leave him lying there in the snow, helpless and gravely wounded? To abandon him to the possibility of whatever danger might still exist?
Oh, but why was he still so weak?! Why did he not heal as he had done before – what she now realized must have happened in past days. She had watched him return her torn hand to normal, had seen his pale waist devoid of any wound that the blood on his shirt earlier depicted. Days ago, when she followed him to his bath in worry and waited for his appearance -
Then he had healed quickly.
But now the terrible hole in his chest did not appear to be closing, his blood still seeping slowly and maliciously to the ground, and she shook her head in confused dismay to see him so injured. So wretchedly weak and vulnerable…
"I am not leaving you, Erik, don't ask it of me," she said, determined, though her heart pounded in a flurry of fear. "Tell me how I can help you. Tell me what to do."
His eyes again closed, and it seemed an eternity before he answered.
"You know."
He did not again look at her, and at the shock of those two soft words finally uttered, she did know.
With one last miserable glance to his blood-soaked waistcoat and the gaping wound, Christine understood what must be done to keep him alive and with her –
And that was all that mattered.
She would be hanged if she would lose him again!
As a child, the loss had devastated her; as his wife, it would destroy her. Her world, absent of Erik, wasn't a place in which she wished to dwell – and she realized this with a force that blew away all cobwebs of doubt and dread that had invaded her heart and clouded her mind since she had learned his ominous secret.
Hurriedly she scanned the area, spotting what she needed nearby. Breaking the small stick to make a sharp edge, she dug it along her palm, wincing in pain and letting out a nervous but thankful breath to see red trickle down to the cuff of her sleeve. Nothing like her lost dagger would have accomplished but acceptable. Without hesitation, she brought her split skin to his lips.
His eyes still closed, he recoiled slightly, as if in surprise, and then she felt his tongue trace the tear she'd made. The sting fled and she realized with a sinking heart that once again he healed what she had cut.
"Erik!" she said in soft protest.
"I need more than this."
A shiver of apprehension to realize what he meant and what that would entail warred with her earnest desire to help him.
He had promised to love her, never to harm her, vowed that he would not turn her, and every day since they'd met – in her childhood, in her womanhood – he proved those words true. Even at his worst, he remained faithful to his word. He may have become a monster to the world, but he was truly and always had been her angel…
Christine swallowed hard for courage, tamping down a sudden burst of nervousness and any inherent slayer tendency to recoil. The words came easier than she would have imagined.
"Take what you need."
An anxious heartbeat, then –
"Christine…" His voice was low in its uncertainty, and as his changeable eyes flickered open she could see that more red had infiltrated the gold. "You are sure? I can wait…for Gregor…"
She doubted that. The snow had not ceased to fall. The frozen air chilled her to the core; she could barely feel her limbs, and she knew that neither of them could remain in their present state much longer. He may not be vulnerable to the biting cold but was clearly growing weaker with each moment that elapsed at the horrific loss of blood, which ran more freely since she had removed the stake of a branch from his chest. Soon, very soon, he would bleed out and truly die…
She pushed her wrist against his mouth forcefully. "Take it!"
Still he hesitated, and she furrowed her brow in dismayed confusion when he pushed her arm away a fraction though still held to her sleeve.
"Close your eyes."
At his words, more somber and firmer than before, she wished to ask why but refrained.
Obediently, her eyes fell shut, her heart hammering against her ribs with what was about to occur, what she had been greatly averse to encounter but now, for his sake, for his life, chose to allow...
"Stop me if it becomes too much."
She felt his leather gloves grasp her by the elbow and the hand to hold her arm steady, though his own grip trembled as his command had done. And then - two pricks like needle points elevated into sharp stabs of pain Christine gave a small cry of anguish to endure.
The swift rush of blood that flowed from her wrist into his mouth stunned her. Deeply he suckled, like a starving babe at its mother's breast, perhaps a bizarre comparison for her dazed mind to make in light of the circumstances – she, his wife, and he nothing close to a child. Yet the parallel seemed apt, for both gave life. And though he took from hers, the most incredible sensation coursed through Christine's veins. A strange buoyancy lightened her awareness, a mild euphoria she was stunned to experience that chased away the dark snippets of fear that had lingered...
As if from a distance, she heard him drink of her very essence, each hungered swallow, and soon found it difficult to form lucid thought. Her fingers tingled and lightly curled around his hand holding hers in a futile effort to remain steady. Gradually she swayed toward him, her bones seeming to melt, and vaguely wondered if he sucked life from their marrow as well. Unable to hold herself up to sit her head found its way to rest against his chest, a peculiar warm haze overtaking her so that she began to feel separate from this realm of existence, all former concerns a dim memory that evaporated as her consciousness began to follow…
Barely aware when his fangs abruptly withdrew from her wrist, she felt him shift her limp body. In the next instant he surged to his feet while lifting her in his strong arms and bringing her closely held against him…
Powerful once more.
"Erik," she dazedly managed to frame his name as a grateful whisper on her lips.
"Christine," he crooned in a gentle melody, his cool lips touching the lobe of her ear. "Iubirea mea, Ingerul meu...pentru totdeauna ești a mea."
Too weary to lift her weighted eyelids, she felt a strong rush of air swirl around them, blowing her hair into her face. Almost immediately this was exchanged for the feather-softness of a mattress beneath her prone form. As if floating from a distance, she sensed her cold and damp clothing being removed. A warm fur coverlet spread over her chilled and stinging flesh, encasing her in soft warmth up to her neck. A warm wet cloth moved against her face where she had lain against him.
"Rest," he quietly ordered, and Christine felt his lips brush her brow before she obediently slid into the deepest of slumber.
xXx
Once more, the Count stood and watched his young bride sleep – torn by all of what had occurred, stunned by her actions, astounded by her sacrifice…
He had not been as cautious as on former hunts, Christine as ever on his mind, expressly their conflict so recently endured, and a slim part of his beleaguered soul had fleetingly anticipated death and to end this curse – before the beast roared to the surface and fought mightily to thwart his dire agenda. But there had been too many of them, better fighters than those of nights previous. Overtaken and impaled, his saving grace – if he could call it that – had been the dawn.
The rosy orb of the sun had topped the horizon, brief but effective, as those newly-turned instantly combusted and burned down to twelve piles of foul ash. Their end effectual, if not how he planned…
Erik had lain there helpless, unable to move for the crude stake inside his heart, aware that despite the ring he wore, prolonged exposure to daylight coupled with the incessant loss of blood would soon mark his conclusion as well…and in what he believed his final moments, he desperately wished for the impossible – a second chance at a different life, a life of mortality with Christine.
With his dying thoughts saturated in the memory of her beauty, her touch, her voice, he had reached out for her one last time, if only within his mind…
And suddenly, unbelievably, she was there and had come to him.
Even more astounding, she had given of herself without hesitation, and he had taken all that he required of her precious blood to recover and more than he should have done, for her sake.
She had returned to him his strength by giving all of her own. No one had ever sacrificed so much for his sake, ever sacrificed for him at all.
"Christine….why?" he whispered with unsteady emotion to her unconscious form.
He failed to understand, when she had been distant toward him all week, fearful and wary of that which she demanded of him moments ago. And oh, how sweet her taste!
Now, as she lay there, still and fragile, he sank to the edge of the mattress and ran his curled index finger against her silken cheek, paler than he had ever seen it, no rosiness to flush the skin.
She would recover, in time. That he did not doubt. Bed rest and the proper sustenance would aid the process, he would see to all of it…
But her willing sacrifice confused and baffled, even humbled him.
So slender of frame, so gentle of heart, so delicate of feature – and yet she had such strength and courage, moreso than any woman he had known throughout the entirety of the centuries he inhabited. Different than all of her kind, gloriously unique, and certainly unlike any other slayer in existence. How many times had he thought those things of her?
Her remarkable actions today only magnified his assessment, a hundred times over, and tenderly he spoke the words in English that he earlier whispered to her in Romanian:
"Christine, my love, my Angel… forever you are mine."
As he stood to his feet to go, her dark eyes wearily flickered open. And though it was impossible, his lifeless heart seemed to lunge a few beats as he looked into their questioning depths.
xXx
A/N: Another hurdle overcome as they work their way past all fear and the ever-present dangers and closer toward one another. I think you will definitely like the next chapter… *smiles sweetly ... But more of another story first – haven't decided which one – it will be a surprise. Ha! (To me too- lol. Maybe I'll roll an eight-sided die... ;-))