Death Awaits
She must be turned.
The words ricocheted through Matilda’s head like words echoing down a long, empty corridor. Her tongue moistened her lips when her beloved finally spoke.
“Will they not reconsider?” he asked desperately. Duke Gustafson shook his head solemnly.
“No, my King. They will not. Turn her or face a mutiny.”
“She does not wish—”
“What we wish and what will be are not the same,” Duke Gustafson said firmly. Matilda gripped Luka’s fingers tightly and squeezed, stealing his attention from his mounting rage. “We know this is a difficult situation, but you are a wise king. You always knew this could be an outcome.”
Duke Gustafson turned to Matilda and asked, “How much longer are you with child?”
She gulped and absentmindedly caressed her belly.
“Perhaps a month,” she whispered.
His pale pink lips set into a firm line.
“I see. You were willing to die once to stand by your king—be willing to die twice for Night Falls.”
The room fell silent for what felt like an eternity when Matilda finally asked, “How will I be turned?”
“Matilda, you can’t—”
She raised a hand to silence her lover and asked again. “How will I be turned?”
“I will be happy to answer your question,” Duke Mirren volunteered.
“Thank you,” she replied through blinding tears. The last few days were catching up to her, and she was barely holding it together.
The heavy chair scraping beside her caught her attention.
“My apologies,” Luka offered. “But my beloved is stressed by the recent coup, the passing of her cherished lady-in-waiting, and now this. Is it possible to reconvene after ample rest and supper later this evening?”
The dukes glanced at each other before nodding.
“We will oblige,” Duke Gustafson confirmed.
“Very well. I will have a servant show you all to your quarters. Please make yourself at home—ask, and you shall receive,” he said, gently pulling Matilda out of her seat.
The dukes rose and bowed to the departing couple. Ezra followed them, awaiting orders.
“How may I be of servitude?” he offered gently. Luka glanced at Matilda and noticed how her rich skin seemed sallow and listless. “Have a pitcher of blood and a platter of raw meat delivered to our suite.”
“Very well, my King. Anything else?”
“Have the servants draw Matilda a bath.”
“Already done.”
Luka smiled appreciatively before whisking Matilda off to their quarters. He undressed her and assisted her into the warm tub when they arrived. A contented hum escaped her as she sank into the sweet-scented water, the top of her stomach breaching the surface.
“A month,” he finally commented when he couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“A month,” she murmured as she stared at her rippling belly. She winced as their child stretched, but she would take pain and immortality for her child to live. “Do not dawdle, my King. What is the process?”
Luka soaked a cloth and started with her exposed stomach.
“I wouldn’t be capable of turning you until you give birth.”
“Why? Would it not make sense to turn me when I was with child? Would the child be born a full-blooded vampire? ”
He cleared his throat, fighting the urge not to tell her the gory details.
“In theory, the child would remain a hybrid. However, turning you while with child is not possible because I must kill you.”
The astonishment on his beloved’s face was nearly unbearable. His sorrowful heart squeezed in his chest when tears crested her lids.
“You must kill me?”
“Aye,” he whispered, thumbing away a tear.
“How?”
“Painlessly.” Luka braced himself as he continued explaining the arduous process. “You will drink from me. I’ll-you’ll sleep. Immediately, you will be taken to a fresh grave that will be sacredly prepared.”
“How is the grave prepared?”
“I will soak it in my blood—the more blood, the sooner you shall return. You will be buried, and the rest is up to you.”
“A fortnight?”
“That is up to you, my dear.”
“And… what if I don’t return?”
“Do not speak of it,” he said, hushing her as he continued bathing her.
She didn’t speak again until she was dried, dressed, and tucked under luxurious furs.
“Does the child hunger?” he asked, preemptively pouring a chalice of blood for her consumption.
He didn’t wait for an answer and eased the ornate cup to her soft lips.
She drank slowly at first, letting the savory blood flood her tongue, blanketing it in crimson delight.
Her fingers grazed the bottom of the cup and tilted it upward as she greedily swallowed more.
“Magnificent,” he commented, easing the cup away once she finished. “Are you satisfied, my queen?”
“I am,” she sleepily murmured as the days of sorrows caught up to her.
“Rest, my beloved,” he urged, tucking her curls behind her ear. He kissed her blood-tinged lips and groaned when she nipped at him.
“You are like a mischievous kitten,” he gently chastised, licking away the blood.
“You must forgive me, as I will forgive you for killing me.”
“I will only turn you with your consent.”
“And you have it,” she said, reaching to cup his face. “You never explained what would happen if I did not return.”
“I recall hushing you because I do not wish to think of the suffering and pain. I do not wish to consider how I couldn’t follow you in death because I would have to carry on for our child. She will be my only will to live.”
“She?” Matilda replied with a smirk. “Are you conceding on the sex?”
“The child will be as you say,” he agreed.
Matilda eased into the pillows. “I pray to the gods that she will be a menace and keep you so busy and troubled that you will not fret over my departure. You simply won’t have time.”
He shot her a crooked smile. “I will throw a feast the first time she shoots an arrow into my back.”
Matilda graced him with a lopsided grin of her own. “What a momentous celebration. See yourself out, my King. I will rest through supper unless my presence is required.”
“As you wish. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Begone, bloodsucker.”
He left their bedchambers and arrived at his study, where Ezra waited patiently.
“My King,” he said, offering a bow that Luka waved off before collapsing in his chair. He rubbed the heel of his palms into his eyes and suppressed a cry. “I’m assuming Matilda is willing to be turned.”
“Aye,” Luka confirmed, leaning back against the chair and eyeing a portrait he had commissioned of his deadly beloved.
“I need to make preparations,” his advisor reminded him. “How will you take her life?”
Instead of responding, Luka opened a secret compartment in his desk and retrieved a small burlap sack. He tossed it across the table.
Ezra opened the bag and observed the contents. He nodded.
“I agree. The black-capped mushrooms will humanely put her to rest.”
“What if she doesn’t come back? Turning a human isn’t an exact science.”
Ezra chuckled and tied the bag with a leather string.
“She shall return more boorish and annoying than ever.”
That placed a smile on Luka’s face.
“The gods willing.”