!Warning: Mild M (16+)-rated themes: Depiction of murder.
AN: If some-one is reading: what do you think of my story so far? Please give me some feedback :-)
- XIX -
Amelia threw one last glance at Marcus, lying on the rocky ground, passed out, before she turned around and walked up to Viktor, who was still leaning against the cave wall.
"I'm so relieved you are alive! I feared you would not be able to escape!" she expressed her worry.
At first he didn't answer and just stared at the floor. "By mere seconds I almost didn't..." he whispered, then slowly removed his helmet, looking at her.
When she saw his face, Amelia gasped and covered her mouth in shock. The right side of his skull was scorched to the very bone, the tissue and sinew charred and detached, one eye gone blind completely. And even worse, there were no signs of healing yet. So this had been the reason why he had stayed in the shadows until now. He hadn't wanted Marcus to see him like that, wounded and weakened.
"Oh, Viktor!" she breathed, raising her hand to stroke away a loose strand of his hair and examine the burn, but he captured her wrist before she could touch him.
"Don't..." he said curtly, averting his gaze, his remaining eye focussing the ground again.
"But you're not healing, you need treatment!" Amelia insisted.
He let go of her hand, then clenched his teeth in silence, the right molars visible through the seared muscles of his jaw. He clearly disliked being in need of help.
"Please..." Amelia began, thinking about what to do.
She had just refused to donate her blood to Marcus, not because she knew he could heal on his own, but because she despised him. Now, however, she was willing to give her blood to Viktor. Not because his wound didn't heal, but...
"Marcus did not have the right to demand your blood, and neither do I," he said, slightly shaking his head.
Amelia knitted her brows. She got rid of her second gauntlet, then removed her chainmail collar and opened the clasp of the leather shirt beneath it.
"You may drink from me. I'm giving you my blood, of my own free will," she informed him, her voice calm and unwavering, her emerald eyes glowing in the twilight.
He glanced at her again. She was serious about it, and he could see it in her eyes, that determined, fearless expression. Amelia was such a strong woman, not submitting to anyone. She would never have offered her blood to him, had it not been her wish to do so. He inhaled deeply and nodded, then put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down. She slightly bent her neck. The movement caused the blue, slowly pulsating artery to protrude from her fair white skin.
First she felt his cool breath on her throat, then his parched lips touched her flesh. She closed her eyes, when his fangs finally pierced her carotid. The sensation was different from the last time she'd been kissed like that. Now that she was an immortal, she didn't feel any pain anymore. Actually it was rather... delightful.
When the first drops of her blood bedewed his lips, every fiber of his body seemed to react, new strength invigorating his nearly ceased circulation. Although it wasn't as warm as mortal blood, it tasted incredible. Bittersweet, metallic, aromatic, better than he had ever imagined. There was, however, more to it than vitality and flavour.
Suddenly Viktor felt detached from his surroundings. Images, not belonging to him, not belonging to the present world and time, welled up inside his mind, flashed before his inner eye.
That disgusting bastard! How dare he demand that I even come near his bedroom?!
I run down the corridor and he's after me.
"Obey me!" he spits, wheezing as he tries to catch up.
When the staircase lies ahead, I jump to the left and duck behind a column. I hear his heavy footsteps, the stomping growing louder every second. He passes me by, not noticing me in the dark. He can't see me on the steps, nor in the hallway downstairs and stops in bewilderment.
That is when I rise from my hiding place, towering behind him. I put all of my strength in one movement and push him forward. He stumbles, loses his footing, and falls, tumbling down the staircase, squealing like the pig he is. Loud rumbling accompanies his cries until at the bottom of the stairs, he finally comes to a halt. The limbs of his huge body distorted, he doesn't move anymore. I smile down at him triumphantly.
He's good-looking and keeps buying me expensive dresses and jewelry. He pays me compliments, calls me beautiful.
But when his men come to the castle, they feast for days, drinking excessively, and he shows me around like a trophy, like I am just one of his valuable collectibles. Those bastards make offensive comments, and he doesn't defend me. No, the swine even agrees with them, encourages them even more! I leave the hall, furious and frustrated.
I do some research in the library, familiarising myself with medicine, herbs and their effects. The following day I spend in the woods, collecting wolfsbane, foxglove, and fly agaric. I chop them and boil them. In the evening, he orders three jars of wine from the kitchen. I insist on serving it to him myself, mixing the decoction of those useful natural products into it. He downs the sweet liquid to the last drop.
That night he is dead to the world, and so he stays in the morning. He will never insult me again.
He doesn't demand anything from me, fortunately leaving me alone in the castle, and goes hunting nearly every day. But how could I take him seriously? He's more than a head shorter than me, ugly like a gargoyle. I cannot take looking at him even for a mere moment, or nausea befalls me.
I exercise myself in shooting. I'm getting better every day. After some weeks, I practice outside the walls. Downhill I can see him and his men returning from the hunt, riding up to the castle. I raise my weapon and aim at his position. Then I release the bowstring. The arrow hits its target, and he falls, the hooves of his men's horses crushing his bones.
I turn around and walk back to the courtyard elatedly.
It's a catastrophe! The peasants butchered, the harvest gone up in flames, and my father trying to force me to marry again. But I will not bow to him. I have obeyed his will three times now, and every husband he chose for me was even worse than the previous one.
We are standing on the battlement, disputing, arguing, fighting. He calls me ungrateful, unworthy, unusable. Enough!
I grab his shoulders and push him over the edge. He tries to get a hold of my dress, but too late. Aghast, he falls into the abyss without making a sound. I can hear only a distant creaking when he hits the treetops below. Again, I triumph.
Viktor let go of Amelia's throat, gasping for breath. When he raised his head, she opened her eyes again. Her own blood stained his now completely restored face, his eyes blazing steel blue. She smiled contently and rested her hands on his chest. She had been able to help him heal.
He seemed to be uncharacteristically speechless for a while, then wiped away the crimson liquid from his lips. The excitement on his features slowly faded.
"I have seen your past, your memories," he said thoughtfully.
She nodded slightly. She, too, had relived them while he had drunk from her. Was this some special consequence of consuming another vampire's blood?
Viktor knitted his brow, his expression now a mixture of compassion for Amelia and disgust for her husbands and father.
"All those hardships you had to go through, that abominable mortal vermin pestering you," he mused, cupping her cheek with his hand. "But you asserted yourself and triumphed over and over again."
He smiled now, his eyes sparkling with pride. "So admirably unyielding," he whispered, then leaned forward and gently kissed her.
Amelia closed her eyes and held her breath, her heart rate quickening slightly, when she tasted her own blood on his lips. She had seen that coming. He was the first man who had ever respected her. From the very moment she had saved his life in the throne room, he had favoured her. In the beginning she had believed he saw her as a daughter, but all those small signs of affection, all those subtle touches had proved her wrong. As he had told her before her transformation, he wanted her to be more than a protégé, to be his equal.
Equality, respect. This was everything she had always longed for. And now she was sure she wanted to be a ruler, an Elder, too.
Amelia slowly exhaled and deepened the kiss, snaking her arms around Viktor's neck.
He pulled her closer into his embrace, entangling his fingers in the strands of her raven hair. Her lips tasted as sweet as her blood. He had known she would return his affections, because he was the only one supporting her. In her ambition for esteem, she had given in to him. Amelia would not only be a perfect ally, but a perfect lover, too.