Chapter 30: Arrest

"Sleep," Meliah urged gently. She drew Beaux toward the bedroom and opened the door encouragingly. Beaux pulled away brusquely; Meliah looked at him in mute surprise.

"I'm not tired," he said, attempting to avoid eye contact. His green irises flickered from behind his lashes until the light from the dim candles fractured into tiny pieces around his pupils. Meliah lifted an eyebrow and shook her head incredulously.

"You must be," she insisted. Meliah's hands tightened upon his wrist, forcing Beaux to look at her in earnest. "Sleep," she whispered again, the word brushed her lips like feathers. Beaux was tempted to kiss her then, to set aside their worries and commit to their love, and love alone.

But Beaux's eyes locked unto hers until he felt his pupils would be set aflame in their wearied sockets. He was exhausted, yet every muscle in his body was pounding to keep him alert. Meliah's pleas were almost mocking with their calmness and sincerity. Beaux was suddenly seized by the shrill desire to shred her confidence, simply to prove he could resist.

"I know you need more rest than anyone else," Meliah said firmly, "You have not had a wink since we've left my home."

"And whose fault would that be? Since I was being held captive by your bloodlust!" Beaux snapped. He knew he was committing a dreadful, regretful error, yet his actions seemed to supersede his conscience. "You drank every dreary night until I could feel my arteries contracting at the mere sight of the sunset! You drained every ounce of me – my resolve, my dignity! Not just with your hunger but your perverse tendency to think naught of others but yourself!"

Meliah's tranquil smile dissipated and was replaced with an expression of horror. "Oh Beaux!" she cried. Beaux's heart imploded as her thick tears clung the pink rims of her ebony eyes. Meliah choked in disappointment and woe.

"No," Beaux's voice was feeble. He could have kicked himself. "No, that's not what I meant. By bloodlust I meant…"

"I'm sure! I've had enough! What is the truth Beaux? Be honest. You tell me you love me. You tell me you have not changed, that you will continue to love me even when I am possessed by this – this bloodlust as you call it! And I've never once blamed you! Even when we both knew what turned me into this! YOU! YOU DID THIS! Because of your selfish desires to have me! You're no more self-abnegating than I am!" Meliah was screaming now in rage and deceit. She gasped and hiccupped uncontrollably until she was forced to cling to the walls for support.

Dejectedly, Beaux looked to the floor. The patterns in the tiles seem to spell his defeat. "I have nothing to say. I deserve this. You're absolutely, indisputably correct," Beaux sighed. He traced the lines between each tile with the tip of his shoe. "Expect for the part about this supposed loss of affection. I'm still and forever will be yours."

Yet when Beaux raised his head (hopefully to see a sympathetic face), he realized that Meliah was no longer there.

Beaux felt his breath stop short as his lungs pumped furiously to keep himself steady. "Meliah?" he called quietly. He would have dared to call again had it not been for the small voice at the back of his head, telling him quite ardently that it was futile.

There had been no footsteps to indicate her flight or a noise to betray the presence of an unexpected intruder. Beaux was at loss for words. What on earth was going on?

His feet were carrying him up the stairs and down again. He turned to check the second floor once more when he heard Meliah's muffled cry coming from outside. Beaux rushed toward the door, but before he could thrust himself into the frosty night, he found Cecilia at his feet, clutching desperately, childishly to his legs and begging him to stop.

"Stop Beaux! Don't go!" Cecilia cried. She pressed her face against his calves and wept, but her grip did not slacken. She trembled.

"What is the meaning of this?" Beaux bellowed.

"You can't! You mustn't!" she insisted.

Beaux tried to pull his legs from her grasp, yet she appeared to have rooted herself to the floorboards. Without hurting his cousin, Beaux could not leave free.

Instead, he bent down, pleading. "Cecilia," Beaux murmured softly, "You must let me go. Meliah may be in peril. We can't have that, can we?"

Cecilia's eyes met his and Beaux saw fear and desperation. She shook her head repetitively, "Listen Beaux. Listen! You need to trust me. You can't go! Stay here! She'll be back."

Yet despite her stiff façade, she did not seem convinced by her own words. She gulped and began breathing faster, harder.

"You are scheming something. I heard you. You and Lord Eas are planning to do something terrible to Meliah. Let me go, Cecilia."

Cecilia's copper eyes burned crimson. "If you wish to go, you will have to kill me first!"

Beaux gaped. He could not believe what he was hearing: Cecilia giving him this ultimatum. What was going on?

"Cecilia!" Beaux snapped. "I will not ask you again! Let me go! Or for heaven's sake, tell me what is happening!"

"I can't. You'll see."

"CECILIA! This is ridiculous! Goddamnit! What do you expect me to do?"

"Please, Beaux, no questions. Not now."

Cecilia's gaze melted as thick drops of tears began making a clear trail down her pallid cheeks.

"Oh my God," Beaux hissed. "You've done it! You've bargained with the Goddamn Satan on earth. You sacrificed, you would dare, you-you… You let him take her?"

Beaux felt his knees buckling as though his mass had multiplied to an unsupportable figure.

"Beaux we don't have another choice!"

"Shut up!" Beaux shouted. He looked at her broken expression and sighed furiously. "I don't know you anymore. And apparently, you don't know me either!"

Then with a shove, he untangled himself from her arms and left.

He raced through the courtyard. He could nearly sense her. In fact, the air was permeated by the scent of her adrenaline and the thumping of his heart.

How long had he been arguing with Cecilia?

There was a fresh pair of tracks, grey in the white snow. Beaux expected to see the footsteps smear with traces of Meliah's protest, but the prints were distinct, precise, and - his lungs contracted at the thought- voluntary.

He found that the tracks led him to the back of the Great Hall. And his heart broke when he saw Lord Eas, gently coaxing Meliah's thick blood from two large, deep, scarlet punctures on her white throat, crouched over Meliah's body. She was leaned uncomfortably against the side of the building and Beaux nearly stumbled upon seeing the torn flesh of Meliah's neck, the veins pulsating furiously and yet feebly as well.

Lord Eas stopped drinking abruptly when he heard Beaux's approach. He looked at Beaux with a grave expression, no sign of amusement or content, as though the very act of consuming human blood was a chore. Nevertheless, Lord Eas licked his lips and stood up. Meliah gasped at the break of contact and opened her eyes lethargically.

"Are you finished?" she asked softly. Her voice was no more than a whisper.

"Yes," Lord Eas replied tersely.

Meliah sighed contently and fainted. Beaux rushed over toward her and began pleading with her unconscious body, begging her to wake.

"What have you done?!" Beaux shouted at Lord Eas. He lunged forward without thinking twice and forced Lord Eas to fall backwards unto the snow-covered ground. Beaux was beyond anger or fury, he wanted to destroy and kill – utterly.

Lord Eas did not appear to have the strength to repel Beaux. His eyes were fighting to stay open and before him, Beaux was nothing more than a blur. Beaux struck Lord Eas face and the sound was that of crunching bone. But before Beaux could attack at his victim's unprotected throat, he felt a strong hand pry him from Lord Eas.

At first, Beaux was bewildered and speechless. He whirled around to run head first into Vincent, whose brilliant eyes seem to burn from under his lashes.

Behind Vincent, he saw Louis and Cecilia, equally shocked by Beaux's disheveled, hatred-consumed appearance. Louis, however, was the first of the two to recover. He went to Meliah and pulled her on his back, disappearing past the Great Hall. Cecilia walked timidly to Lord Eas, who despite what had been inflicted on his face, looked merely unconscious. She took his pulse and then proceeded to alert the medics.

Vincent looked at Beaux quietly before beginning. "Control," he murmured, "is crucial."

Beaux glared. "And to what?" he spat, sarcastically, "Do I owe this pleasure?"

"A human, once bitten, is not capable to being bitten once more without dire consequences. You understand, son, that though before, Meliah may have been a vampire's delectable treat, she is like poison now. Be grateful that Lord Eas would dare intake such blood," Vincent spoke quickly.

"I supposed Lord Eas doesn't have any personal reasons for doing so?" Beaux retorted. He now realized why Lord Eas had been so vulnerable, and deep within the pit of his stomach, he could feel his intestines writhing with guilt.

"Of course," Vincent replied in that same monotone manner, "Cecilia has promised to marry him in return for his 'little' favor. Lord Eas has been in pursuit of your cousin since she was but your age. And I'm sure, the Mansart estate that she now processes would not be a horrible incentive to any aspiring nobleman."

"You mean to say," Beaux breathed.

"-that Cecilia, Louis, Meliah, and myself have risked our necks giving you what you want. Grow up son! You are so wrapped up in your selfish desires you have endangered everyone!"

Beaux could no longer speak. What more was there to say? He had been wrong. He had judged and calculated and speculated until everything had become a distorted mess. Others were paying the price for his recklessness.

But Beaux's reverie was cut short, for a high whistle cut through the air like a spear. And in the distance, Beaux could see the figures of five or ten vampires in dark, grey-blue uniforms with gold trimmings racing toward them.

"See what you've done?" Vincent hissed. He turned to face the group, which stopped a yard or two away. One particularly tall vampire separated himself from the pack and stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Vincent.

"You must surrender the boy," the vampire demanded. His white skin gleamed against his white-blonde hair. It took Beaux several moments to understand that the "boy" he referred to was none other than himself. Vincent smiled coyly in return.

"And for what reason do you intend to charge him?" Vincent asked innocently.

"Assault of Lord Eas and creation of a demi-vampire," the vampire guard replied without hesitation. He looked at Vincent and perhaps sensed resistance for he added quickly, "I have been ordered to use force if he will not come quietly."

Vincent's smile faded. "Well then," he whispered. "You heard the man, Beaux, why don't you follow him?"

"What?" Beaux spluttered in surprise. Vincent merely inclined his head courteously in the direction of the guards and stepped aside, allowing the head vampire to grab Beaux by the arm. Beaux felt another vampire move behind him and slip a manacle on his left wrist.

"And where are we going?" Beaux asked casually, to disguise his unease.

"Prison, of course," someone answered him from behind.

"Prison?" Beaux asked in disbelief. No one seemed amused by his cluelessness.