Crimson Night Part 28

She wasn't sure how she felt about it. On the one hand, she wasn't particularly conscience-stricken. But if she was discarding her values, why had she balked when Simon asked her to kill Louise?

Too, she wasn't sure she wanted to kill the next time she fed. But she couldn't tell herself tonight was simply a mistake; she'd taken far too much savage pleasure from the act of killing her host.

Am I going to become a killer again? Meghann wondered. She recoiled from that thought as she would from a physical blow. I don't want to be evil, Meghann thought desperately. I don't want Alcuin to be right, I don't want to wake up some night and find I have no heart.

Her hands flew to her stomach, caressing the hard mound. Will I teach my children to kill? Raise them to regard mortals as nothing more than food? No, I'd never do that.

Simon entered the room silently, admiring the way the dark wood of the tub enhanced Meghann's pale skin and flame-red hair. With the heat from the water turning her cheeks a becoming shade of pink, she'd be absolutely beautiful except for the crease between her eyes that marred her features.

"What troubles you, little one?"

Meghann's eyes flew open. "Louise is dead?" she asked. "What about that man?"

"Vinny has removed him for burial in the desert. As for Louise, she must have driven home in record time. Perhaps, in her what is your phrase for the hidden mind? subconscious she harbored a death wish." Simon took her hand.

"Sweetheart, why do you frown? What bothers you about killing mortals?"

Meghann held his eyes. "I'm worried that feeling as you do killing like you do would make me an unfit mother."

Simon eyed her for a few minutes and then posed a question. "Do you consider police unfit parents? Many of them kill regularly."

"That's self-defense," she pointed out.

"And you must drink blood to survive," Simon shot back. "Our children will crave that same sustenance. Will you raise them to believe they're evil, that their need for blood is something shameful?"

"Of course not! But couldn't we teach them to leave their prey alive?"

"You can feed that way if that is your desire," Simon told her, careful to keep any impatience or derision out of his voice. Having Alcuin's tedious doctrine pour out of his consort's mouth was trying but it would be a fatal error to push Meghann. He was not going to repeat the mistakes of the past this time he'd allow Meghann all the time she needed to develop her power, to understand mortals were no more than a source of food and occasionally amus.e.m.e.nt for vampires. "I will say one thing more and then the subject is closed. Tonight I saw you shine in a way you have not for decades. I would strongly urge you to put your foolish morals to the side, and revel in what you are a predator without equal. May I join you, water nymph?"

Maggie!

Meghann went rigid and a sudden sense of wonder filled her pale face and unnaturally wide eyes.

Simon stared down at her, his mouth stretched into a grim, narrow line, but before he could speak Meghann said, "You felt it too?"

He took another look at her eyes, at the sweet, innocent joy radiating back at him, and asked, "Felt what?"

"They moved," Meghann told him, awe tingeing her voice.

"What?"

"The babies!" she shouted gleefully. "They moved inside me I felt it!" She grabbed his hand, placing it on the center of her soaking wet abdomen.

Simon waited a few minutes, and then felt it the smallest rippling across her flesh. His hand felt electrified by the brief contact with the new life inside Meghann.

Meghann leaned back in the tub, a dreamy smile still on her face as she wrapped her hands protectively around the children in her womb. "Why did you look like that before like something bit you?"

"I thought you were in pain," Simon said and Meghann accepted the explanation.

"Charles and Lee," she gasped, an even more dazzling smile lighting her features. "I have to call them they'll be so thrilled when I tell them the babies moved!"

Maggie!

Meghann simply looked up at him, awaiting his response. Simon gazed hard into her wide, guileless green eyes. No, she could not deceive him like that Meghann had not heard the low, despairing call.

"Simon?"

"Of course, little one," he said and smiled broadly. "Use the phone in my study. While you share this wonderful news with your friends, I'll attend to business and tell Del Straker he can have Louise's tapes as soon as I have the deed to his beach property."

Meghann rolled her eyes and pulled on a cinnamon silk bathrobe. "Have you ever used videotapes proving statutory rape to s.n.a.t.c.h an estate before?"

Simon laughed and ruffled her hair. He could not banter too long that wretched voice might grow strong enough to reach Meghann if she remained nearby much longer. "I'll meet you downstairs, sweetheart."

A half hour later, Simon entered the study and found Meghann comfortably curled up on the large Chesterfield sofa while her dog sat at her feet, gnawing a rawhide bone with fierce concentration. "Charles told me this was on I couldn't resist watching for a little while,"

Meghann explained and cut her eyes to the large-screen television.

Simon settled down next to her. "What are you watching, little one?"

"Horror of Dracula," she said, slapping him on the wrist when he rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a sn.o.b. How can you not like Christopher Lee?"

Simon observed the tall, black-caped figure with great, piercing dark eyes and conceded, "He does have a certain presence."

"Business settled?" Meghann asked absently, seeming captivated by a film Simon was certain she'd seen hundreds of times.

"Everything's taken care of," he replied, though he'd been startled for one of the few times in his immortal life when he heard Jimmy Delacroix call for the woman who, with her potions and "talking cure," was defying all precedent and bringing a vampire back from the insanity of transformation.

Or trying to, Simon amended. He was deeply grateful that his children chose such an opportune moment to announce their presence otherwise Meghann might have heard that small voice calling to her.

Was she ever in love with the boy? Probably not. But Meghann was very much in love with the idea of independence, being her own mistress and answering to no one. That was the one thing Jimmy Delacroix could give her that would make her turn to him; he would never be able to subjugate her as Simon did.

So that left Simon with one alternative reach into the boy's slowly healing mind and brutally crush the small spark of lucidity within him. Since he could not kill the boy until Meghann gave birth, he would simply monitor him carefully and undo Meghann's work should the need arise.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Hmmn?"

"You just looked so so pensive."

"Merely puzzled, little one." Simon gestured to the television screen. "This is based on Master Stoker's novel, is it not?"

"Slightly," Meghann admitted, her twitching lips indicating that she was trying not to giggle.

"So that means Castle Dracula is located in Transylvania?"

"Uh-huh," she said, eyes dancing at his mock confusion.

"But, little one, yon vampire has a British accent not the Romanian one he should. Perhaps Dracula's parents sent him to Oxford in his formative years?"

"Fussbudget," Meghann said and stuck her tongue out.

"Wretched child, I must reprimand you for such disrespectful behavior toward your master." Simon reached out and pulled Meghann beneath him, delighting in the way she melted beneath him.

"Reprimand me again," Meghann murmured when he sat up.

"Watch your movie," Simon replied and pulled her into his lap, thinking it would be most enjoyable to tease her until the end of the film.

"How do you suppose that whole thing started?" Meghann asked at a shot of the vampire rising from his coffin, ready to commence his nighttime activities.

"It is not that difficult to comprehend," Simon said. "I think in reality vampires only wound up in coffins if their masters were careless with their transformation and let mortals see their changing body you were quite ill the day before I completed your transformation. A hundred years before, without a stethoscope to detect your heartbeat, your family wouldn't have any way to tell you were still alive. So if I didn't reach you in time, into the coffin with you."

Meghann shuddered. "You mean that first night I could have woken up in a coffin?"

"In your time, it's more likely you'd have risen in a funeral parlor, being all made up for your viewing."

Simon took a dramatic pause. "But I awoke my first night as a vampire in a coffin."

"You were in a coffin?" Meghann gasped. "How? Why?"

"You know I stole my transformation blood," Simon said. "Two weeks I hovered between life and death feverish, growing weaker with each day while Doctor Dee and Doctor Ahmed did all they could to help me."

"And then one day they thought you were dead!" Meghann cried.

"Not quite. Shall I tell you why I woke up in a coffin how only a few short months after that shocking experience, I had my first battle with Alcuin?"

Meghann nodded, the vampire movie before her all but forgotten as she gave Simon her complete attention.

Simon started his story, smiling at Meghann's wide-eyed, eager stare all traces of the hate and contempt he'd seen in her since Alcuin first contacted her vanished. She was once again the sweet, lively sprite he'd fallen in love with, and no insane vampire was going to take her from him. Simon knew Meghann's impatient nature well, knew she was frustrated by what appeared to be a lack of progress. Hopefully, she'd agree to kill him before she became aware he was recovering. Without Jimmy Delacroix to cling to, Meghann would be content to remain with her master.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Yorkshire, England

June 3, 1592

The unholy agony coursed through his body and wouldn't give him a moment's respite. It was like a thousand hot pincers stabbing him at once, making Simon finally plead with the G.o.d he'd turned his back on so long ago to please stop the pain Simon's eyes snapped open and he gazed at the darkness surrounding him.

Never had he seen such pitch-blackness where was he? Why were his hands folded over his chest? He moved his hands out of the posture that made him deeply anxious for a reason he couldn't name and immediately brushed a hard surface directly above him.

Wood, Simon decided after he grazed his knuckles over the strange barrier.

The wood (fresh-cut pine, he realized after breathing deeply) penned him in on all sides. If he moved his feet, he kicked the enclosure, and his hands no matter where he moved his hands, they made contact with the pine.

Perhaps he was in a cabinet? Yes, if he was thinking clearly again (Simon shuddered when he remembered the raving savage he'd been reduced to after drinking the monster's blood), then he'd obviously survived transformation. That would mean his flesh was no longer safe from the sun during the day so his friends must have hidden him away.

"John?" he called out. "Khalid?" Deep silence greeted him neither the astrologist nor the Moor physician answered his repeated calls. He'd have to find his own way out of the hiding place. If he was awake, Simon must a.s.sume it was night Nicholas had only stirred during the day when they a.s.saulted him. Simon raised his hand again, frowning when he saw jewels glittering in the darkness. Who would put rings on an invalid? He had no need of adornment on his sick bed. For that matter, why did silk and lace brush his face while he attacked the wood above him? Through his bafflement came one encouraging thought if he could make out such details in this oppressive darkness, transformation must have made his eyes as sharp as a cat's.

Simon drew his foot as far back as he could and delivered a savage kick to the barrier at his feet. It shattered but instead of the air he fully expected to feel, a strange, cool substance with an earthy scent poured into his hiding spot.

Simon bent his knee, scratching his leg along the pine surface, until his hand grasped his calf. He grasped a handful of the slick, crumbling substance and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply soil! Soil lurked outside the pine box Pine box and dirt earth and wood a wood box surrounded by dirt . . .

"No!" A horrified scream escaped his lips as the enormity of his situation hit him. Dear G.o.d he hadn't been hidden, he'd been buried alive! The pine enclosure was no cabinet but a coffin!

Frantically, Simon clawed at the wood, feeling it splinter and crack under his panicked attack. One slat came free and Simon viciously tore it away, screaming when an avalanche of dirt poured onto his face.

"Get away!" Simon shouted irrationally at the soil and felt bemused shock when the dirt slid from him.

Of course, he thought. In his fright, he'd forgotten Nicholas's power his power now. Simon shut his eyes, and forced himself to think calmly. Perhaps he didn't have to claw his way out of the grave maybe he could move the dirt that threatened to suffocate him with his mind. He'd heard of such things.

Simon opened his eyes and glared at the packed soil. He imagined it flying off him, and in the next moment the dirt exploded upward, allowing Simon a glimpse of the waning moon far above him.

Without the weight of the soil over the coffin, Simon was able to batter away the lid and stand up in the grave. Easily, he jumped and cleared the gaping hole, staring down in horror at the destroyed coffin. Why had his friends allowed this to happen? They'd seen Nicholas they knew no matter how he looked, he wasn't dead.

John Dee and Dr. Ahmed hadn't done this, Simon decided swiftly. He cast his mind over the past few days and realized his ears had sharpened much as his eyesight was now keener. Even in his delirium, he'd heard the servants gathering in the hallway, whispering in awed, hushed voices about their master's strange condition. Might they have thrown him in that cheap box?

It made sense. Certainly it explained why he hadn't lain in state though that could also be explained by the unusually hot summer. Earl or no, if Simon had been dead, it would have been necessary to dispose of his remains quickly.

Obviously the servants (those ignorant wretches that were so d.a.m.ned loyal to the memory of his father and brother) overpowered Simon's two protectors and buried him hastily.

Simon fell to his knees, feeling a resurgence of the pain he thought was gone for good. No, he thought, focusing on the sensation. This wasn't pain at all. It was more like a deep hunger a a Need, Simon realized. What was this strange yearning that made his body tremble and set his teeth on edge?

A soft whimper shattered his concentration and Simon spun around, seeing a young woman with filthy, gnarled hair, dressed in a coa.r.s.e woolen gown.

"Dead," the girl cried and pointed a shaking finger at him. With one strangled cry, she spun on her heel and attempted to run away.

Easily, Simon caught up with her, taking a running tackle and pinning the peasant beneath him.

"Why do you come to such a lonely spot by yourself?" he demanded and then his eyes widened in shock when he heard an answer though the girl's lips never moved a bit of the dirt from the warlock's grave would give me such power "Witch!" Simon accused, finding the need in him soothed by the girl's bulging eyes and heaving chest. Her fear was good; it restored him, as did the lovely thumping vein in her neck. What drew him to that bluish line on her pale skin?

What was that delightful sound something like a river flowing throughout her body? And the smell a delicious aroma of copper and iron The girl screamed and Simon winced at the sudden sharp pain in his lower lip. Puzzled, he watched two bright droplets of blood fall on the girl's dress and realized he'd cut himself somehow.

Of course! Simon ran his tongue over his lower lip and felt the new teeth cutting into his flesh. He'd developed fangs like Nicholas fangs that had emerged when he'd leaned closer to the girl. Now he knew what he'd heard it was blood flowing through the girl's body. A voice deeper than instinct whispered that her blood would heal him, give him power he'd never before imagined.

Simon gave his victim a smile that made her eyes roll back until only the whites showed. He was grateful for her terror; it made it so much easier to hold her still as he sank his new teeth into the soft, pliant skin of her neck.

Simon discovered heaven when her rich, healthy blood poured into his mouth and down his throat. Nothing not lovemaking, not gold, not even the power the spirits gave him could compare to the bliss he felt as he drank. Something that had tasted foul while he was human was now more delectable than the finest wine; not even the best whiskey could provide the warmth that filled his body.