Seta's Fall Page 3

  “You will kill me.”

  “If it is what you wish. There is no doubt you have heard horrible tales of our kind, and I will not lie and say there are no evil ones among us. Christian and I are of a different breed. We do not kill for reasons of greed, nor do we inflict this life on others easily.”

  “We do not want you to die,” Christian spoke. “We do not want you torn from your son. We will help you in any way you need. It must be your choice.”

  “Do you accept this life?” Eron asked. “You will not be able to care for your son in his early years and I am truly sorry for your loss. You will be reunited with him in time. You do have something to live for.”

  Did she? Seta recalled her mother’s last words to her as she’d left their small home. “My mother told me I was not welcome back. Roberto did not want me. I have no home.”

  “You have a home with us,” Christian advised her. “I can imagine how it must hurt to have been cast out by your family, however it is a blessing. You could not go to them anyway. As a vampire you must live in shadow.”

  “What life do I have if I can not hold my own son?”

  “A life in which you wait on the day you can.”

  “He will not know me.” She curled her hands into fists, aching to wrap her fingers around the countess’s throat. “He will know that wretched thief as his mother.”

  “Have faith,” Christian urged. “This is all for a reason.”

  “What reason?!” She yelled. “What did I do to deserve this? He told me she was dying, that he never loved her. Was my sin so great it cost me my only child and my ability to have another? Am I not dead inside? Have you not taken from me my ability to conceive?”

  Eron looked down, avoiding eye contact. “You will not be able to conceive another child. I am sorry for this pain I have caused. I do promise you have not lost your son. I beg your patience and your forgiveness.”

  He raised his head, looking at her with true regret. Her anger simmering under the weight of emotion in his eyes, Seta turned away and walked the few steps to the cot. Sitting down, she sighed.

  She’d been warned. Her mother had warned her from the beginning, her grandmother had warned her, no one had encouraged the relationship except for the hag from her dreams. “You said The Dream Teller sent you to save me?”

  “Yes.”

  “This was her plan all along.”

  “She saw what was to happen and sent me to save you from the death she had seen.”

  But she could have stopped it from even beginning. Seta seethed in silence. These men seemed to think favorably of the hag. She did not and did not need them standing in her way for she had a plan of her own for the old troublemaker.

  Her stomach rumbled and she placed her hand over it reflexively. “I am hungry. You said I have to feed to complete my … new existence?”

  “Yes. My blood started the change in you. To complete it, you must drink the blood of another.”

  “Why?”

  “You can not live on your sire’s blood alone.”

  Seta narrowed her eyes, studying the man before her. The thought of drinking blood didn’t faze her. She contributed that to whatever change her body was going through. However, the thought of having someone lord over her ignited a spark.

  “You think you will control me.”

  Eron’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon. Did I say something to that effect?”

  “You are my sire. You think of yourself as my creator. What exactly is it that I owe you for this grand gift of life you have given me?”

  “You do not owe me anything.”

  “That is correct.” She stood. “It will serve you well to remember that. I will not bow to you. You may have saved a life, but you did not save the foolish girl who blindly followed and believed in the lies spewed forth from men of power. That fool did not survive the fall.”

  “Who survived?” he asked as he and his friend stood stiffer, on guard. “Who did I awake from that fall?”

  Seta squared her shoulders, tipped her head back proudly as if she wore the finest silk gown instead of the torn, ragged servant’s dress still covering her.

  “A woman who bows to no man, mortal or immortal.”

  THREE

  The cool night air blew against Seta’s skin, soothing the fire simmering beneath her flesh. She no longer knew if her temperature were a direct result of the change her body had to go through to complete the transition to vampire or if the heat came from her rage. Whatever it was, it burned steadily.

  “How much farther must we travel?” she asked, more out of concern for her son than any fatigue. She didn’t feel the slightest bit tired despite the fact they’d walked for two hours straight, but she would not go much farther away from her son.

  “The village is just up ahead,” Eron answered.

  He and Christian each flanked one of her sides, as if they feared her escape. They were wise to fear it as she didn’t completely trust them, but she wasn’t ready to face the world on her own just yet, not without fully understanding what had happened to her. She’d heard of vampires, as had everyone, but she’d never had proof they were real. She knew very little about them, other than their need for blood. She did know they could be killed and she could not die, not until her son was grown and she had made sure of his safety.

  “We would have saved time had we rode.”

  “Horses, and animals in general, are not always welcoming of our kind,” Eron explained. “They sense the predator in us and they react to it.”

  “We frighten them?”

  He nodded. “Yes. A horse can be tamed by a vampire, however, it takes a great deal of time. Fortunately we have a lot of that.”

  “Yet you have no horses.”

  “The cabin we brought you to was abandoned. We would prefer no one to know we have taken shelter in it. It is easier to remain hidden without horses outside, alerting others to our presence. We have paid to have our horses kept at a stable in town until we depart.”

  “You hide wherever you go?”

  “It is essential to remain alive.”

  “You said you paid to have your horses kept. How do you earn money to pay?”

  He smiled. “Our charms.”

  Before she could ask him to clarify, they reached a cliff overlooking a small village. The silvery blue moonlight shone upon the village, highlighting the small clusters of cottages dotting the circular layout. Its luminance highlighted the fact that nearly every window was dark, not a surprise given the late hour.

  Seta imagined the inhabitants sleeping inside the darkened homes, cuddling with the ones they loved, completely unaware of the fact three monsters watched them from above.

  It hit her fast and hard. She was one of the monsters.

  She stepped backward, dizzy with nausea.

  “Seta?” Christian reached out for her.

  Seta batted his hand away. “Do not touch me! What have you done? What am I to do? You brought me here to kill someone?”

  “We brought you here to feed,” Eron said, grabbing her arm to hold her in place. He deftly grabbed the other arm when she swung at him. “Whether you kill or not is your choice. It is the same choice which decides whether you survive this night or die right here in this village.”

  His meaning sank in as her stomach growled with growing hunger.

  “You said earlier you would kill me if I rejected this life. If I do not kill someone tonight, I die.”

  “We never said you had to kill anyone. We have a pact, Seta. We never take more blood than we need to survive, unless it is to rid an evil.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “We drink from the bottom of the barrel when given a choice,” Christian explained. “Rapists, murderers, men who beat women and children.”

  Seta perked up at this news. “Men like Roberto Garibaldi?”

  “Yes,” Eron answered, his voice tinged with exasperation. “You are not to go near him, Seta. It is too dangerous
. He is guarded heavily.”

  “I do not care,” she growled. “He stole my son.”

  “His son as well, and right now he is the only parent the child has who can protect him during the day. We have discussed this.”

  Filled with renewed rage, Seta shoved Eron away from her and turned, prepared to run all the way back to the cliff she had been thrown from, and to the castle beyond.

  “Stop!”

  Her body jerked to a stop.

  “Turn around and return to me at once.”

  Her body did exactly as Eron commanded, obeying his command while completely ignoring the direct order from her brain.

  “I did not wish to do that,” Eron advised as she stopped before him. “I am your sire and I do have the ability to control you if I press my power to do so. I would prefer you not make me.”

  “I hate you,” she said between clenched teeth as she struggled to hold back the fiery tears burning the backs of her eyes.

  “Not as much as you will, I am afraid.” He sighed, studied her a moment, then turned to point to two small homes near the right edge of the village. “We have studied the village and there do not appear to be any real criminals or unsavory perverters of goodness here. You can not kill, but you can feed. Between those two homes is a man. He is mad, but not a danger. He simply lives in his own world. You can feed from him with no fear of any villagers believing him if he tells them of what has happened.”

  “How do I feed?”

  “Your instinct will take over once you near him. Your instinct is savage after freshly turning. Do not lose control and drink too much.”

  “I know. You will kill me.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Seta took a deep breath, unsure if she even needed oxygen anymore, and started descending the narrow, rocky path leading down into the heart of the village. Her captors stayed behind. The heavy burn of their eyes upon her let her know she was still tightly held in their fists. Her blood boiled with anger at their arrogance. No, Roberto Garibaldi was arrogant. These men exuded confidence and power. True, magical power.

  She hadn’t felt power like that since she’d last seen her maternal grandmother. She’d been left in Spain when her father moved them to Italy. She’d warned them trouble would find them in this country, but her father had not listened. Nor had she when her grandmother started appearing to her in dreams, warning her that her heart would lead her to her own demise. Not even the letter her grandmother had written her from her deathbed had altered her decision to lay with Roberto. She’d never feared for anything or allowed anyone to control her because she could feel a sliver of her grandmother’s power running through her veins. She was unstoppable.

  Now here she was, a predator stalking innocent prey under the cloak of night while her master stood watch. All because she hadn’t listened to the warnings. Her son was gone. She made a choking sound in her throat as tears threatened to escape. She would not allow them. Tears were weakness. She’d been weak when Roberto beat her, unable to draw the power she knew resided in her. She’d summoned it before.

  She would not cry. Sadness was not allowed. Only rage.

  She felt Eron’s watchful eyes burn through her as she reached the village and glided across the open area toward the small cottages he’d directed her to. She growled, recalling how he’d stopped her with only a command, and knowing he could do it again. She was chained to him.

  “At the present moment,” she whispered, unsure if he would hear her. Maybe he could read her mind. She didn’t care. He had the upper hand now, but she had felt her grandmother’s power inside her. He would not control her forever.

  The space between the two cottages was narrow and dark, much of the moonlight obstructed by the roofs. Her eyes seemed stronger than ever, able to pick up things she would normally miss in the dark, like the man sitting on the ground, his back leaning against the wall.

  “I expected you to be taller,” he said as she neared, his voice a hoarse croak.

  Seta froze, her throat dry as she turned, looking. No one had joined them in the alley.

  “You were expecting me?” she asked, turning her gaze upon the man again. She took a moment to study him. He was thin, the kind of thin that comes with regularly meager meals. His clothes were dirty and frayed, his hair slicked back, styled with its own grease. He had a sharp, pointy nose, and a broad chin. A stubborn face with tired eyes that no longer dreamed of seeing more.

  “We all expect the angel of death to knock eventually,” he answered, slowly pulling himself up to a stand. He looked her straight in the eye, tightening his hand around the bottle of liquor held in it, determined to bring his drink with him into the afterlife. “Do what you must. You will find no fight here.”

  The steady staccato of his heartbeat drowned out his words. Seta ran her tongue along her lips, the hunger in her belly growing more ferocious as the man’s blood called out to her. She gazed upon his throat and swore she saw the jugular vein right through his skin. She pictured herself biting into it and as the image filled her mind, she felt pressure in her gums. She touched the tip of one fang with her tongue and instinct took over just as Eron had promised.

  She was on him before the man could blink, one unusually strong arm holding him up as she sank her fangs into his flesh and greedily slurped the sweet, intoxicating nectar from his neck. Images flooded her mind as the liquid feast filled her mouth.

  He’d had a family once, but he could never please his wife. He could never buy her the fine things she wanted or move her into a nicer home. Just how poorly she thought of him became painfully evident when he came home in the middle of the day to find her in their bed with another man. In a rage, he attacked, but he lost. She laughed at his bruised and battered body as she stepped over him, collected their baby, and left with the wealthier man.

  She took everything and he never bothered to earn any of it back.

  He went to work each day, ate dinner, slept, ate breakfast, went to work, and continued following that routine until he could no longer bring himself to work for wealthier men than he. They had taken everything from him. He became the village bum, a sad, lonely man with no hope left in his soul.

  And on this night he was filled with relief. Death had come to take away all his pain.

  Seta broke away from the man, allowing his weakened body to fall to the ground. She licked the droplets of blood left on her lips and fought the urge to take more from the man. “I am not Death. I did not come to take you away from this life.”

  “You must.” The man, now slumped against the wall, reached out for her. “I have lost everything. I lost my child. Save me.”

  Tears welled in Seta’s eyes. “I know your pain. My love stole my child out of my very arms, beat me, and left me to die.”

  “You know this pain. You must find mercy and end it for me. How can you let another suffer as you suffer?”

  The yearning in the man’s voice, the complete desperation in his eyes tugged at her heart. To be betrayed by the one you loved was painful, but to lose a child was the greatest tragedy of all. Death would be a sweet escape from the misery that followed a parent grieving a lost child. How easy it would be to give this man the gift of freedom from emotion. He would no longer feel, no longer know.

  She kneeled before the man, wiped a fresh tear from his cheek. He was so weak after her feeding, yet willing to allow her to take more. She wouldn’t have to fight him. She wouldn’t feel any guilt. He wanted her to drink him dry. Her stomach growled, enticed by the opportunity to be truly filled. His blood had given her power, filled her limbs with strength. It didn’t take away her pain, her knowledge that her child was being held in the arms of another woman who could never love him as much as she. Not even death itself would stop that degree of pain.

  “I am not Death. I was not sent to kill you.” She stood. “He who gave you this life will decide when it ends.”

  She turned away, prepared to return to Eron, when another image slammed into her. S
he saw the man bring the bottle down on top of her head in a fit of rage before using the sharp, broken edge to slice his throat open.

  She spun around, power building in her body, just as the man rose to his feet and raised the bottle. Before she could do anything to defend herself, a strong gust of wind blew past her side, nearly toppling her over, and collided with the man, taking him down to the ground.

  Christian rose, bringing the man up with him, his throat tightly wrapped in his hand.

  “Do not hurt him!”

  “He would not,” Eron said, approaching from behind. “Watch.”

  She did. She watched Christian hold the man against the side of a building in silence. She watched as colors swirled around the man’s body. Amidst the various shades throbbed a dark blue.

  “Be in peace,” Christian spoke softly, and the dark blue twisted, undulating like a turbulent sea until it faded into a softer shade of blue.

  He released the man and he slid to the ground, calm, as if he had not been attacked at all.

  “What did you just do?”

  “I took the sharp edge of his pain,” Christian answered, “so he may function in society and stop wishing for his own death every hour of the day.”

  “How?”

  “We all have gifts.” Christian fixed a button that had popped loose on his long coat and looked at Eron. “Well?”

  “Why did you command Christian to stop?” Eron asked.

  “I thought his intent was to hurt the man.”

  “The man sought to attack you, yet you wished him no harm?”

  “He was not a bad man. He was simply filled with a horrible sadness and it ravished his mind like a cancer. He did not deserve violence due to that.”

  “Wonderful. You have succeeded this night.”

  “My prize is my life? How fortunate.”