Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lying in each other’s arms within the mausoleum, we waited for the sun to set.
Strange how I’d developed an aversion to daylight, but what was more alarming was the very idea that I might draw blood as sustenance and indeed find pleasure in it.
It scared me to my core, and I tried to hide my fear of damnation.
Yet at the same time, I fantasized about the fiendish act with a burning desire.
Still wary of staring directly into Sunaria’s eyes, I avoided her gaze. Instead, my fingertips traced the outline of her tattoo.
“It’s the symbol of a master’s ownership,” she said softly.
“You were a slave?”
“Once.”
My fingertip followed the curve of the design.
“I was sold to a Roman as a child.”
She sent me a mind image – a twenty-three-year-old female slave ending the bond with her master.
I glanced at her face and saw her turquoise eyes glistening. “I loved him.”
“But you killed him?”
“I did.”
“How old are you now?”
With delicate fingers, she stroked my face and kissed my cheek and with that very movement, she conveyed that she didn’t want to answer.
She guided my chin up so that she held my gaze. I sensed the last remnants of daylight slipping away, like an internal awareness, a natural connection to the night.
A chill reached my bones. “Help me understand what I’m feeling. Are we being followed?”
She nodded. “They’re easy to evade.”
“Who are they?”
“The elders.”
“Are they like us?”
“Yes.”
“Why are they following you?”
“There are statutes that we must follow.”
“And you broke one of their rules?”
Sunaria stilled and then let out a deep sigh. “I turned you,” she whispered.
I gestured for her to continue.
“Elders rule our kind.” She twisted her delicate fingers around a lock of my hair. “Or try to. They deem who is worthy of being turned.”
“I wasn’t considered worthy?”
“It’s not that simple.”
I met her troubled gaze. “How many of us are there?”
She shook her head. “Impossible to keep track of the numbers. Wayward nightwalkers are turning people all the time.”
“What would the elders do to you?”
She sighed as though bored with my questions.
I hated the idea that we were being hunted. An internal coercion ignited my senses, the promise of what the night might offer. “I need to see my son.”
“And you have unfinished business.” Her gaze left mine. “To have any chance of surviving, you must see it through.”
I acknowledged Sunaria’s command and slid open the tomb lid. I offered my hand to assist her out. When we withdrew, I had a strange feeling that we were being watched and discreetly studied Sunaria to see if she also detected it, but she didn’t react.
Within several minutes, we arrived at the edge of the graveyard where a horse-drawn carriage was parked. The horseman’s face was half-hidden by a low tipped hat.
“He works for you?” I asked as I climbed in after Sunaria.
“Tonight, he does.”
“You feel safe?”
“One thing you’ll learn, Daumia, and this is imperative for your sanity, is that we easily mingle.”
“Does he know we just slept in a mausoleum?”
“Of course not. But he knows he’s paid well.”
The carriage lumbered forward, and we were off.
She folded her arms. “We don’t need to hide in the shadows.”
“Are we being followed right now?” I tried to shake off the eerie feeling.
“The only enemies we have are those who consider themselves superior to us.”
“Well, that pretty much includes everyone in Vigo,” I muttered, not sparing the sarcasm, and stared out of the window. “Am I condemned to hell?”
“You’re condemned to a lifetime of sensuous pleasures and luxuries most never get to enjoy.”
As she reminisced, I sensed she’d tasted pleasures beyond my wildest imagination. Sunaria turned her head slightly to stare at me, and her bright red pout seemingly promised that I would, too.
We rode out of Santiago De Compostela, our carriage rocking along the well-worn pathway.
I wondered if I’d ever return to the city of my birth.
Conflicted, I yearned for Sunaria, yet at the same time I craved my independence.
Her hold on me was due to my fear and she knew it.
With little knowledge of what I’d become, I conveyed gratitude for her continued guidance.
My confidence in making the right decisions was lacking.
I’d arrogantly judged those whom history had deemed satanic: Prince Belshazzar, Julius Cesar, and Judas Iscariot came to mind.
I couldn’t find any difference between them and me and believed that my sins now equaled theirs.
I shook off the melancholy, fascinated with my ability to feel less emotion. Nature’s way of lulling the guilt, I assumed.
My courage to hold Sunaria’s gaze increased and with such an exquisite vision sitting opposite me, I was comforted. Fantasizing about her was a delightful distraction to more terrifying thoughts.
She smiled, having picked up on my musings.
Sensing that she heard my every thought, I tried to control them. She’d haunted me as a boy, a mysterious apparition, appearing and then withdrawing, altering my life’s course. Sunaria had saved me on numerous occasions and, more recently, she’d saved my son.
I reached for her.
Sunaria raised her long leg and pressed her foot against my chest, pushing me back into my seat. Her shoe traced down, lingering between my legs. Nervous of her heel, and yet enjoying the pressure, I bit my lip for fear of groaning. She teased me there, driving me into a frenzy.
She lowered her foot and crossed her legs with an imperious stare. With her head held high, she gazed out of the window.
I let out a frustrated sigh.
Noticing the familiar countryside, I could tell we were getting close. Far off, a deer galloped across a grassy ridge. Estimating its distance, it appeared to be at least four miles away. I marveled at my new ability to see with remarkable sharpness, but it also alarmed me.
I missed Annabelle. Missed my boys. Everything had been stolen from me.
With no time to grieve, I pushed the ache away.
No part of what I saw around me, or experienced now, reminded me of my old life. It had passed so quickly, and at no time had I considered that it would one day become a memory.
The carriage came to a stop.
Sunaria stroked my leg with a comforting gesture. “I’ll follow you.” She paid the driver several coins and we watched the horseman until he was out of sight.
“Daumia, find us somewhere to sleep,” she commanded in that husky tone of hers. “And it better not be a graveyard.”
The thought of having to find shelter and delay our visit made me wary, but we had no choice. I relented, agreeing that it would be better to face Vigo with a clear head.
Sparrows burst into song, announcing the imminent daybreak.
With only minutes before sunrise, I surveyed the well-kept cemetery, trying to ignore Sunaria’s warning. The grand mausoleum was a slight improvement over the one we’d slept in the day before.
I read the inscription of who lay within: Thomas A. Haywood, aged 37.
Sunaria yanked on my sleeve and gave me a disapproving look.
I raised my eyebrows only to quickly lower them again when the idea of being buried alive came to mind. I longed for a soft bed, a luxury I’d once taken for granted. The next time I got to lie on sheets, I promised myself I’d savor every second.
Despite that, as we settled into the mausoleum, I drew comfort from lying with Sunaria with her wrapped once more in my arms. But nightmares came and went, providing a myriad of images during my restless sleep. I was fighting an invisible force, held in some continuously revolving bad dream.
I awoke with a jolt and found myself alone.
Sunaria had left my side without waking me. My breath left me, and I was gripped with fear. I slid open the stone slab and climbed out.
Sunaria had reassured me that she’d placed Jacob with my sister.
What if she’d lied?
Outside, I looked all around, trying to get my bearings. Leaves and twigs rustled as small creatures scurried away and then I heard voices carried on the wind. I followed the sound down a grassy bank. The gravestones were smaller here, many of them sunken and tilted.
Sunaria was in conversation with a young man dressed in a well-cut suit. She flirted with him, stirring my jealousy.
“What do you think?” she asked, glancing over at me.
“About what?” I kicked up dry, yellow leaves.
She gestured to the stranger and he approached me, conveying nervousness intermingled with excitement.
She smiled at him. “Arnold, isn’t he everything I told you he’d be?”
He nodded.
I cringed. “What?”
Sunaria threw her arms around him, and he leaned into her and grinned.
My glare made him let her go.
Sunaria’s tongue traced her upper lip. “Thirsty?”
“I am a little, yes,” Arnold said, glancing from her to me.
“Daumia?” Sunaria smiled at me.
I knew to refuse would displease her, but I hesitated. Despite my recent attack on the soldiers, this was wrong, cruel even. I sensed her growing impatience.
My gaze locked on Arnold, and he seemed to catch the subtle change in me, as I honed in on him, the mark of a hunter.
He bolted.
Sunaria’s hands rested on her hips. “Well?”
She sent a pulse of anger my way.
This hunger was a vicious, ancient thing. A savage internal scream clawing at my sanity, promising death if I denied it what it craved.
I tracked Arnold through the graveyard and into the woods, and with a shove, I had him down on the ground and then flipped him over. Sunaria ran her fingers through my hair and then her pressure increased, as she held me there on top of him.
Arnold struggled beneath me. I felt a familiar rush as his blood flooded my mouth, causing a tingling sensation throughout my body.
All became familiar and knowledge flowed as he drifted.
I rocked him, grateful for both the sustenance and the information.
Tracing his steps through time, he unwittingly introduced me to people he’d known, adventures he’d taken, cities he’d visited, and the books he’d read.
Arnold the architect. Amongst the scattered designs within his mind, we settled upon one of the plans he’d drawn, followed the ink upon the page as it manifested into structure.
I recognized these corridors, bedrooms, and staff rooms, and as we passed through the courtyard, I dug deeper, willing him to go ahead as I lingered, taking my time in Felipe’s senatorial office.
Sunaria’s brilliance was a terrifying force.