NIGHT SHADOWS

By

S.A. Martin

© copyright January 2006, S.A. Martin

Cover art by Amber Moon, © copyright January 2006

ISBN 1-58608-812-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Tired and footsore, dusty from her long trek along the dirt road, Fianna looked toward the east, where the last of daylight faded from the sky, firing the horizon with a scarlet glow. During the day, she had met a few travelers going in both directions, farmers hauling their produce to market, shepherds herding their flocks, riders cantering along the dirt road, creating clouds of dust. She had left several small villages behind and now trod past the open countryside, the fields rich with corn stalks, lettuce, tomatoes, and strawberries, crops she had feasted on, with no one the wiser.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that it had been hours since she’d last eaten. She approached another farm, its tempting scents of strawberries and peaches too great to resist. She looked cautiously around and saw no one. Stopping by a peach tree, she reached up for a piece of the fruit, reveling in its sweet aroma and anticipating its luscious taste.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A man emerged from behind another tree, his face set in anger.

Too stunned to say a word, she could only stare, but when he picked up a stone to throw at her, she ran along the dusty road, all but dropping her bag.

Much later, as she trudged along, only isolated farm houses evidenced signs of habitation, no inns to offer rest. Thirst plagued her dry throat. Perspiration soaked her dress and ran down her face. Talmora, it was hot! Facing the prospect she might have to sleep in the open this night, she sank down along the roadside, aware she couldn’t go on much longer. Exhaustion dragged her down, every muscle aching. She let out one long sigh and leaned back, her elbows propped on the grass.

Sometimes she wondered if she’d lost her mind, leaving her home in Ros Creda and all that she loved. But she would not marry Angus Kendall, the man her stepfather had chosen for her. First sewing a few of her jewels in the hem of her dress, she had sneaked out of her house in the dead of night, clambering down the ivy that clung to the outside walls, after her stepfather had locked her in her room. She missed her mother so much, and her horse, Tillie, laid up with a sore foreleg. Now she must earn her way in the capital city of Moytura, as a seamstress, if she could find employment. If not, she had a skill only a few friends knew of. She could scry, and she had packed her black mirror, just for that purpose

Since it was summertime, sleeping in the open was not such a bad prospect. But first, a bath. A small lake bordered the southern edge of the nearest farm, clear, fresh water that offered a temptation too tantalizing to resist. A thorough survey of the area convinced her she was alone. She headed down the grassy slope toward the lake, sidestepping rocks, inhaling the sweet fragrance of summer flowers. Leery of any other travelers that might come this way, she hid her canvas bag behind a bush with her belt and dagger beneath it. She unbuttoned her dress, letting it slip to the ground. After retrieving her dress and draping it over the bush, she stepped out of her shoes and kicked them aside. Afraid to take a chance someone might see her, she decided to bathe in her linen shift. Ah, that water looked good. Now--

“Well, what do we have here?”

Shock jolted her, a rapid heartbeat that sent her temples throbbing. A sudden chill raced across her arms and down her legs. She jerked around and faced a middle-aged man--a vagrant by the looks of him--with long greasy hair and dressed in rags. “Stay away from me!” She crossed her arms in front of her and backed away, keeping a wary eye on the tramp. Rape. The word invaded her mind and froze her stomach.

Bloodshot eyes roved her body, a sly leer on his face.

She took another step back, her heart pounding like drums. “You stay away from me!” she repeated. Goose bumps blossomed along her arms, and nausea made her swallow spasmodically. Her dagger! No use to her now; she could never get it quickly enough and knew she couldn’t overpower him.

He chuckled, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Wish I could stay here with you. Me ‘n’ you could have a good time together. But I promised a fella I’d meet him before sundown,” he said, nodding toward the eastern horizon. “We’re planning a little ... um, job, and if I’m late, he’ll git someone else.” His gaze roved the meadow, his eyes catching her dress draped over the bush. “Say, that’s a purty dress ya got there.”

“No!” Goddess, no! Her jewels sewn in the hem! “That’s my dress! No!”

“Oh, yes.” He grinned. “Just might do for my woman.”

“No, Goddess damn you! You leave my dress alone.”

“Just one dress, lady. Ya still got yer shift. A purty girl like you shouldn’t have no trouble finding a man to buy ya more dresses.” He looked around. “And shoes! Yeah, I’ll take them, too.”

“No!” She grabbed at his arm, her fingernails digging into his skin, but she was no match for his solid strength. She wanted to kill the bastard.

He jerked the dress from the bush, sharp branches ripping at the fabric, then grabbed her shoes.

“No, damn it!” She bent over and seized a rock. If she aimed right, she could knock him out. Then she’d have to run and hide, but--

“Oh, no, you don’t!” First dropping the shoes, he twisted her arm behind her back, forcing her to drop the rock. With one hard shove, he knocked her down and ran off. She fell to the ground with a hard thud, breathing heavily.

“No, oh, no.” Slowly, she lifted herself from the ground, knees raised, fingers pressed to her head. She sat unmoving, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. All her jewels, her means of paying her expenses until she obtained a position. And her gold! Cold despair chased every thought from her mind, leaving desolation in its place. How could she have been so stupid, to sew her jewels and gold coins in the hem of her dress? But where else could she have hidden them? At the time, it seemed like a good idea. … Now, she had nothing. No means of supporting herself.

Nothing.

* * * *

Mile markers along the Royal North Road indicated she still had five miles to go before she reached Moytura--her destination. Night would soon arrive; one more night to spend in the open, as she had done since leaving her house. Calluses studded the bottom of her feet, cuts and scratches a constant misery. Unable to dismiss the depression that had gripped her ever since her dress and gold were stolen, she realized she had no choice but to continue on, to reach Moytura as soon as possible. It would not take her stepfather long to discover she’d lied. No doubt, he’d sent someone to find her. Or else Angus Kendall had sent someone--or gone himself. She’d slept in woodsy areas along the way, and now her body ached, every muscle from her neck to her feet, especially her bare feet. Hunger tormented her; she needed something more filling than fruit and vegetables she’d filched along the way. She longed for a juicy steak and a warm slice of bread, a glass of wine and a whole apple pie. Her stomach growled, her mouth stone dry with thirst as she ascended another steep hill, grabbing branches for support.

The first faint stars sparkled in an ink black sky, a full moon silvering the ground. From previous trips to Moytura, she remembered a cave nearby, one and her family had explored with torches because of its deep caverns and fascinating interior. It would be cool, too, a welcome relief from the heat, so she’d spend the night there and reach Moytura tomorrow morning. Once in the capital, how in the name of the Goddess could she support herself? The more she thought about it, the sillier the idea of scrying became. As if she could earn money that way. So, she’d have to find a position as a seamstress, if only she could.

After much searching and retracing her steps, she found the cave about one-half mile to the east. Her feet hurt, her shift and dress soaked with perspiration. She gingerly entered the cool cave, the sound of dripping water most welcome as she looked ahead to utter darkness. A few steps led to the source of the water, and countless times of filling her hand with water slaked her thirst. So glad to find a place to rest and not worry about discovery, she tried to disregard the metallic odor and taste of the water.

Near the entrance where moonlight pooled inside, she raised her dress over her head, then sank down in her linen shift on the cold limestone floor and stretched out on her back. She changed her position time and again, until she achieved what little comfort was possible, lying on her side, her hands tucked under her head. Her eyes closed, and sleep just breached the edge of her consciousness, when a voice jolted her awake.

“Well, now, it seems I have company.”

Chapter Two

No! Fianna jerked upright, hands clenched at her sides. Her heart pounded so hard she felt every beat in her ear drums. Goddess! She had been spared ravishment days ago. She feared she wouldn’t escape again. Jerking to her feet, she started to run but fell over her satchel and landed flat on the limestone. Her hands stung, the breath knocked out of her, her knees throbbing. She had to get up, had to escape!

She twisted around. By the moonlight that pooled into the cave, she saw a tall man rush her way from the dark interior. His eyes were like pinpoints of light, and he moved with the sleek grace of a leopard. He exuded vitality, a raw, sexual power. With dark hair and a sinewy, solid build, he was quite handsome, but no less dangerous. Run, get away! every beat of her heart told her. She’d never get up in time.

Reaching down, he placed his arm around her waist and helped her rise, his hands strong but gentle. “Are you all right?” he asked in a deep voice.

Breathless, she nodded, still unable to talk. “All right,” she said after a few moments of charged silence. She sank back down and blew on her bruised hands and rubbed her knees. Still noting his worried expression, she dropped her hands to her sides. “See, all in one piece.” She spoke flippantly, needing to mask the fear that pulsed through her body. She licked dry lips, but no words came. Shivers raced down her arms and legs. Perspiration slicked her skin. She was no match for this stranger, this man who could overwhelm her, have his way with her.

“If you’re sure....” He stared at her for a few moments. “Well! I must say, this is a pleasant surprise. Up to now, I’ve had this dwelling to myself.” He made a wide gesture. “But surely two can share this primitive abode.” His voice, deep and sensual, washed over her like a perfumed bath, making her forget her fear, forget everything but his presence. If he was going to ravish her, he would have taken her by now. Or so she hoped.

He made a slight bow. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Gaderian Wade of Moytura, taking up temporary residence here. I recently purchased a house in the city and am having it renovated.”

So why didn’t he sleep at an inn?

“Ah, the inns,” he said, as if he could read her mind. “Quite noisy at times. Difficult for a fellow to sleep.” He crouched down beside her, and she wrenched back, wildly looking around for a way to get out of the cave.

“No, don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you. But it puzzles me to see such a pretty young lady residing inside a cave. I hate to see a lady in distress.”

“I--” She bit her lower lip, at a loss to explain her predicament, still wondering if she could trust him, despite his reassuring words.

He sat down and stretched one leg out, his hands at his side. His tunic looked to be of silk, a wide belt circling his waist, the black leather studded with silver. Even in the dark, she saw his shiny leather boots that reached just past his ankles. His eyes covered her, his gaze clear and direct, as though he could see her unclothed. Her face burned at the thought. At the same time, his gaze held a look of sympathy, but surely that was her imagination.

“Madam?”

Pushing herself up straight against the cave wall, she found her voice. “I left my home in Ros Creda several days ago and--”

”Mind telling me why?”

“Sir, that is not your concern.”

He dipped his head. “Very true. But you must admit it’s unusual for a well-bred lady--which you appear to be--sleeping in a cave, after running away from home.”

“I never said I ran away from home,” she countered, stunned by the accuracy of his guess.

“Ah, my mistake. You are merely taking a vacation by yourself, and you met with misfortune along the way.”

“Something like that.” The robbery, her jewels gone! Her stomach lurched at the memory.

He brushed limestone dust from his hands. “I hate to see a lady in such unfortunate circumstances as you appear to be. Gladly would I pay for your food and lodging until you find employment, if that is your plan. Once I fetch gold from my home, I can meet you someplace and lend you the money.”

“You are kind, sir, but I prefer to make it on my own.”

He threw her a sharp look. “How? If you have no money?”

Did he think he was her guardian, asking her these personal questions? “That’s my business.”

He nodded, drawing his legs up. “True enough. And I’d like nothing more than to stay here. But I fear I must leave you now.” Before she knew what he intended, he leaned closer to kiss her, his hand behind her head. In spite of her misgivings about this stranger, she found herself responding as a wave of heat hit her midsection. Was her reaction because of her depression? Or in spite of it? No matter the reason, she didn’t want the kiss to end. The touch of his lips filled her with so many teasing thoughts, of fantasies she had only dreamed about. Tempted to reach up and touch his face, run her fingers through his curly hair, she kept her hands demurely at her side. But he stopped all too soon and pushed himself to his feet. He made another slight bow. “Goodnight, madam. Sleep well. Perhaps we will meet again.”

She hoped they would, and why, she had no idea. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Gaderian,” he corrected. “And I didn’t get your name.”

“Fianna.” No point in telling him her last name, and she immediately regretting telling him her first. No word must reach her father or Angus that she had escaped to Moytura.

“Goodnight, Fianna.”

As he disappeared from view, the question persisted. Would she see him again? She touched her lips where he had kissed her, and another wave of warmth stole over her body, settling in the lower regions. Strange, no one had ever kissed her like that before, an experience she would never forget.

* * * *

Outside the cave, Gaderian walked a few yards down a rocky cliff thick with weeds and overgrown shrubbery to a copse of elms where his horse, Bryce, was tethered, the black stallion munching on the grass. With a skill honed throughout many centuries, he had created a spell around the horse, so that no one could approach it closer than three feet. An invisible shield protected his horse from theft. After loosening the reins, he placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted the stallion, then trotted down the hill, easing his horse to a canter after he reached the Royal North Road. The light of a full moon brightened the trees and the isolated houses along the route, a million stars illuminating the way. Overhead, a cloud drifted in front of the moon, then passed on, leaving the night sky clear. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and ruffled his hair.

Of course, he could make himself invisible and transport himself to the capital, but his horse needed exercise. Besides, the ride into Moytura gave him time to think and plan.

He smiled, recalling the lady he’d so recently left, and wondered if he would, indeed, meet her again but considered it unlikely in a city the size of Moytura. And why did he want to see her again? There could never be anything between a mortal woman and a creature such as he. Not that he regretted his world of the undead, far from it. He’d chosen this path centuries ago, and not once had he regretted his decision. To think of the power, not to mention immortality, why would anyone choose otherwise, if given a choice? Night after night, he gave silent thanks to Moreen, the woman who had transformed him so long ago, at a time of deep despondency, when he had seriously contemplated suicide. Once or twice every year, he and Moreen met again, renewing their friendship, sealing their relationship with a frolic in bed, a romp that left them both satisfied, but nothing more, for each remained free to seek pleasure elsewhere. And he found enjoyment in many places, Gaderian mused with a chuckle.

Passing the cluster of trees and bushes along both sides of the road, the cottages that rested on small plots of land, he slowed to a canter again. The spires of Moytura came into view, the houses becoming finer as he neared the city, these mansions of brick or gray stone and boasting three stories. No small plots of land here, for most of these stately houses were set on several acres. His house, recently purchased, stood farther back from the road.

Tempted to stop and see what progress the workers had made in renovating the place, he decided to continue on, for he had lost precious time in his encounter with the young woman.

Shortly after his transformation centuries ago, he’d bought up plots of land in Avador, with the little money he’d saved as an apothecary in his mortal life, this at a time when land was cheap. Over the years and centuries, the value of the land had increased, enabling him to sell the land at a profit and buy up more acreage. By now, he had amassed a fortune, his gold transferred to a safe in his new house. Yet he would soon have to move again, as he had so many times over the centuries. He couldn’t stay in one place for any length of time, while the mortals grew old and he remained eternally young.

Minutes later, Gaderian reached Moytura and approached the main city stable on the southern edge of the city, the pungent smell of the stable tickling his nostrils from a block away. He left his horse at the stone stable and tossed a copper coin to the sleepy stable boy, after giving instructions for the care and feeding of the stallion. Past the many shops, a walk of several blocks led him to the Snow Leopard. Like most taverns and inns in the city, the tavern stayed open until the late night hours. He pulled at the iron handle on the heavy oaken door and stepped inside, greeted by the yeasty aroma of ale and the smoke of countless pipes. Stained glass windows lined one wall, the colors indistinguishable in the semi-darkness. Oil lamps attached to iron chains hung from the ceiling, casting faint light and shadows on the room. A buzz of conversation and laughter filled the air in the main dining room with more than twenty round tables. Here and there, a patron sat by himself, eating a very late meal, but most customers indulged in talking and drinking, or playing dice.

He stood at the entrance for several moments, his gaze roaming the dark room, cloudy with pipe smoke, until he found the friend he had come to meet. Weaving his way among the tables, he reached the man at the far side of the room. He eased out a chair and sat down.

“Why so late?” Egan asked. Shorter than Gaderian, with blonde hair and blue eyes, he looked young and innocent, his baby face belying his recent occupation as a professional soldier before his transformation. “If you stay here too long, the sunlight will find you. That’s a chance I never take.”

“Nor I.” Gaderian shrugged. “I intend to leave soon. A distraction detained me.” He decided not to relate his encounter with the young lady, for there was scant chance they would ever meet again, a prospect that depressed his spirits, for reasons he feared to examine.

Egan raised his mug to his mouth and drank. “We’re both taking a chance by coming to this tavern. If anyone should suspect what we are....” He raised his eyebrows but said no more, his meaning clear.

“And it’s only because of the dull light in here that no one suspects what we are. If we stayed out in the bright sunlight--Otherworld forbid!--people would know we belong to the undead. And the sunlight would burn us to ashes.” Gaderian gestured to a waitress to indicate that he wanted ale also. “Sorry I have no money with me,” he said to his companion. “How about lending me the money this time, and I’ll pay next time.” After Egan placed the coins on the table, Gaderian continued, “As for your comment--I intend to so something about that danger, no matter how long it takes or the obstacles I must overcome. Other creatures are killing the mortals and making it look as if the vampires are committing the murders. And we know what creatures. Damned bandregas! I’d like to kill them all.” His mouth tightened, a muscle jerking in his jaw.

“A process I don’t understand, how the bandregas can make it look as if the vampires are killing.”

“Easy enough to understand. The bite of a bandrega itself is poison to a mortal. Kills them instantly, like snake venom. Can even sicken the undead, at least for a few days. Then the bandregas drain all the blood from the humans, so that the mortals think we are doing the murders. All these years we’ve built up trust among the mortals--now gone--” He snapped his fingers. “--just like that! Before these murders, we were at least tolerated among the humans. And we never killed any mortals for sustenance, just took only what we needed. At least, I never killed any humans. I hope that is true of the other undead, also.” Anger heated his blood. The bandregas were powerful creatures, cunning, too, who could assume human features and human ways, although they were actually demons with sharp features and claws. Where did they get their power? How were they able to practice black magic? Just as important, how did they make themselves look human? He’d give anything to know.

“Deceitful creatures, the bandregas. Over the years, they’ve led the mortals to believe they gradually disappeared, going to other countries.” He shook his head. “But they are still among us, like a poisonous weed. Like poison.”

Egan blew out a long breath ... “And what about the price on our heads, rewards for turning us in?” Even in the dim light, his face showed red with fury.

Gaderian clenched his hands on the table. “Those who are captured are killed with a stake through their heart.”

Egan paused. “But are we absolutely sure it’s not the vampires who are killing the humans?”

Before replying, Gaderian waited while the waitress set a mug of ale on the table. She scooped up the coins and dropped them in her apron pocket. He lifted the mug to his mouth, reveling in the cool liquid that soothed his dry throat. “This was before your time as a vampire, but several centuries ago, the Guild of the Undead ruled that we would prey only on criminals and take no more blood than we needed. At the same time, we pledged to the mortals that we would protect them against the bandregas.”

Absently, he traced an indentation on the wooden table, initials carved by a long ago patron. “You have no idea the distress those bandregas caused the humans--stealing their young and ravishing the women. So for the longest time, we have protected the humans against these evil creatures by killing them, chasing the bandregas away.” He lifted his hands. “Now look what’s happened. The bandregas far outnumber us. Now they are killing the humans, and the humans blame the murders on us. Worse still, the humans think the bandregas disappeared long ago. The mortals don’t know that these creatures still exist, here among us. And don’t forget, these creatures can apply the glamour, making them look like mortals, instead of the beasts that they are.” He had to defeat the bandregas, had to! He had failed in his endeavors too many times in the past, and always the feeling had dwelt within him that he must do something worthwhile in his life.

Egan drained his mug. “What do you intend to do about this situation, or do you intend to do nothing?”

Gaderian leaned closer and spoke with resolution. “Oh, I intend to do something, believe me. I aim to gain control of the Guild of the Undead. Our present leader is feckless, can’t do a Goddess-damned thing to rid us of this menace. Don’t think I haven’t heard complaints from other of our kind. And I intend to defeat the bandregas,” he said, slashing his hand through the air. “Get rid of them once and for all.”

* * * *

As daylight changed from gray to blue and touched the hills and valleys with a golden glow, Gaderian rushed back to his cave. The young woman lay where he’d left her, fast asleep, turned on her side, her hand under her right cheek. Fianna, such a pretty name. Silently, he stared at her for a long time as wishes and desires taunted him, yearnings for a mortal woman he thought he’d discarded centuries ago. The low cut of her shift revealed full breasts, the nipples pressing against the fabric. He studied the curve of her hips, her long legs drawn up close to her body, her slim ankles and feet. Passion stirred inside him, a yearning to take her in his arms and make love to her ‘til they both lay panting and breathless. Countless desires pulsed through him, like a thousand beating hearts. After several moments, he sighed and walked on, telling himself once more that there could never be anything between them.

He gingerly eased his way back into the cool cavern, pressing his hand against the limestone as water dripped from overhead. His keen nighttime vision enabled him to detect the sharp dips and drops in the cave’s interior. Minutes later, he reached the place he claimed as his own and settled down on the hard, rocky ground. He changed his position again and again as sharp stones gouged into his back. He closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him, for too many thoughts nudged his mind. Shifting his position one more time, he looked forward to the night he could reclaim his own residence and sleep in the cellar, where no sunlight would find him.

He surrendered to his insomnia and let his mind drift back to a time, centuries ago, when his life had changed forever, when life as he knew it had transmuted to the life he enjoyed now, an immortality with no fear of death. His thoughts wandered, his reflections centered on the woman he had once loved. He could remember it all so clearly, as if it had happened only yesterday. …

Allowed a few moments alone with Maeve, Gaderian stood with her in the shadow of a massive oak tree. Here in her family’s spacious garden, he tried to take her hand, but she drew back, turning her head away from him. Oaks, elms, and willows surrounded them, the scent of night-blooming jasmine drifting on a light breeze. A few yards away, her family’s mansion dominated the land, a splendid home with tall pillars and wide windows, set on a well-manicured lawn, graced with flowering bushes.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed up at him. “Best we not even touch each other. There can never be anything between us, so the sooner we accept that fact, the better.”

“But why?” His heart was breaking.

“We knew from the beginning there could be no future for us. These stolen moments between us--that my father only recently discovered since one of the villagers told on us--that’s all they can be, Gaderian. Stolen moments. My father wants me to marry someone else.”

Fury raged inside him. He clenched his hands at his side, his fingernails gouging his skin. “Culann McCabe!”

She nodded. “Just so.”

“For his money!” Goddess, he wanted to kill McCabe!

She twisted her hands together. “If only it were different. If only....” She stared at the ground.

He waved his hand. “You don’t need to say it. If only I were wealthy, instead of an apothecary.” He wanted to shake her. “Don’t you have a mind of your own? Listen, Maeve! We can run away together, to Galdina or Elegia, any place far from our village, where no one knows us. We can marry, start a new life together. Tonight! I will meet you tonight outside your window, after your family has fallen asleep--”

”No.” She spoke brokenly. “No matter what, I love and respect my parents. It would hurt them too much if I left them.”

“And me? Don’t you think you are hurting me? My darling, you are tearing me apart. Please, let’s--”

”Maeve!” Her father’s voice carried from the front porch of their mansion. “You’ve spent enough time with the apothecary. You must come in now. Tell the laborer goodbye and that is the end of it.”

“Goodbye, dear Gaderian,” she whispered, and ran from him.

He wanted to call her back, beg, and do anything to have her as his own. He cursed his poverty, the job that had once given him such pride. Now grief settled over him like a heavy weight, a sorrow that would accompany him throughout life. Stifling his tears, he turned away to trudge home, back to his lonely cottage. He wished he could die, end his life this very minute. He made a vow. Never again would he give his heart to any woman

“Gaderian!”

He spun around, his gaze searching the trees.

“Gaderian!” A woman stepped out from behind an oak, a strong rose scent clinging to her. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with blonde hair so light it shone like silver, and the most luscious body he’d ever beheld, molded inside a black satin gown with a deep décolletage.

After several tries, he managed to speak. “How do you know my name? And who are you?”

She smiled, her dimples showing. “My name is Moreen. And how do I know yours? I followed you here, although of course, you didn’t see me.”

“Spying on me! You had no right.” Sorrow over Maeve clashed with present confusion. “But why?”

“Umm.” She tilted her head, as if thinking. “Maybe I get lonely at times.”

“Lonely? A beautiful woman like you? But I still don’t understand. Why did you come here, at this particular place? I’ve never seen you before.”

“But I’ve seen you. Let’s just say that nighttime is my time, and I go wherever I want, wherever my inclination leads me.” She smiled winsomely. “And my inclination led me to you.”

He stepped back, resolved to head home. “Well, find someone else, then, because I don’t need your company.” He wanted only to go home and try to sleep, try to forget Maeve, though he feared her memory would haunt him for the rest of his life. Tears clotted his throat, and he wondered how he could ever put her from his mind. Misery enclosed him, a long, painful torment that stretched for years ahead, until he died. He wanted to die now.

Lightly, she touched his arm. “Gaderian, I can show you a whole new life, a life that has no end.”

He snickered. “And I can show you a fortune in gold.” He chuckled, a sound he feared might soon degenerate into a sob. “So you are promising me immortality.”

“Why, yes, that is exactly what I offer you.” She stared into his eyes, and he couldn’t have looked away if all the gold in the kingdom was strewn at his feet. Her own eyes captivated him, as if he had no will of his own. She leaned closer and licked his neck, her rose scent washing over him, strong and sweet. He felt a sharp bite, but still he couldn’t move, could only surrender to the sweet lassitude that consumed him. Their bodies touching, she eased him to the ground with her, hidden by overhanging branches of oaks and willows. Pausing for a moment, she looked into his eyes, giving him a chance to draw back, to end his transmutation. But oh! he didn’t want to stop this wonderful experience, this beautiful throbbing that pulsed through his body. Rapture flowed through him, a bliss too great to forego, an ecstasy beyond imagination. Everything around him looked so beautiful, as if it were daylight. The stars shone a thousand times brighter, and even the breeze sounded like music in his ears. The scent of night-blooming jasmine became the most exquisite perfume, blending with the fragrance of grass and trees, and over everything, her aroma of roses.

Before sunlight touched the land, before they headed for Moreen’s residence in a vault deep underground, he knew his life had changed forever. Despite a lingering sorrow over Maeve, he gloried in his new immortality. His grief eventually disappeared, replaced by a resolve to live his new life to the fullest. Not once had he looked back

Chapter Three

“She’s not there, sir.”

After admitting the servant into his study, Kelvin Connor exchanged a look with Angus Kendall, the latter having come to discuss business. Connor drummed his fingers on his oaken desk, fighting to control his temper. “Not at her brother’s? Did you ask him if he knew where she went?”

“Yes, sir. He has no idea.” The servant paused. “I checked other places in Sligo, sir, inns and such. No one there knows her or anything of her.”

Connor nodded in dismissal. “Very well. That’s all for now. I may call on you later.”

The servant left, and Connor exchanged another look with Angus Kendall. A wide multi-paned window admitted refracted light into the large room, where book-filled shelves lined each wall, books Connor freely acknowledged he’d bought to impress visitors. A sheepskin rug stretched the length of the floor, dyed purple to match the draperies at the window.

In another chair close by the desk, Kendall sipped his wine and set the glass down. “In all frankness, you should have foreseen that Fianna could easily escape by descending the ivy along the wall.” Tall and thin, he had the look of a bookish scholar, instead of a ruthless mine owner.

“How?” Connor asked, trying to stifle his irritation with the other man. “I never realized it would hold a grown person’s weight. But that’s beside the point now.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “My stepdaughter is gone and we don’t know where.”

Kendall took another sip of wine, his bland expression preventing discernment of his thoughts. “To the capital.” He brushed a drop of wine from his linen tunic and gave Kelvin Connor a look of certainty.

“Moytura?” Connor shook his head. “Miles from here. Almost a nineday away. I can’t believe she would go that far.”

Angus lifted his hands. “Then where? Easy to get lost in a city that size. Sounds logical to me.”

Connor pounded his fist on the desk. “All along, I’ve underestimated her. Should have realized she’s not like her mother.” He snorted. “My submissive wife.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll have to send more servants out, do anything to get her back. And when I do....” Although the threat remained unspoken, his meaning was clear.

“Not when you find her, but when I do.”

Connor jerked his head up. “What?”

“Listen.” Kendall spoke, a crafty look on his face. “I know several men who are quite skilled in finding missing persons, or shall we say, people who have fled for one reason or another. I’ll put them on her trail, and I’ll wager you one of them will find her within a nineday. I’ll send each one in a different direction--north, south, east, and west. One of them is bound to find her.”

He drained his wine glass. “And then what?”

“Whichever one finds her will report to me and I’ll bring her back.” An egotistical expression captured Kendall’s face. “Throughout the years, I’ve established a system of communicating by use of carrier pigeons. Very effective, I must say. As soon as I hear from one of my men, I’ll be on my way to bring her back.”

“Why not have your man bring her back?” Goddess, was this man born with that smug look on his face?

Kendall smiled slyly. “Because I want the pleasure of capturing her myself.”

Kelvin Connor remained quiet for a few moments, sifting ideas through his mind. He hated to accept defeat, hated even more for someone to succeed where he had failed. “Very well. That’s as good a plan as any.”

“Good,” Kendall said, nodding. “I’ll set the men on the job as soon as I return home.”

Connor remained silent for a moment, frustrated in more ways than one by his stepdaughter’s disappearance, thinking of her tempting breasts, her slim hips, that sensual walk of hers, all these qualities that taunted him with a myriad of desires.

Angus Kendall glanced at the hourglass on Connor’s desk. “Best I leave soon. But I wanted to tell you of a recent discovery, something I’d intended to say before your servant arrived.” He leaned forward, speaking in low tones. “Wait ‘til you hear about the new mineral my workers found at one of my mines.”

“The sunstone? You mentioned that a few days ago.”

“Yes, but let me tell you something new, something we just discovered.” He paused, as if for effect. “The stone can make a person invisible when he bleeds.”

Kelvin Connor sat upright. “Impossible!” He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know this?”

Angus Kendall smiled. “We found this remarkable quality quite by accident. One of my workers was in my office, fingering a stone chip, which cut him. Then he became invisible, surprising everyone, including me.”

“Then how does he become visible again?”

“When he stops bleeding. But do you understand what this means for us?” His voice rose with enthusiasm. “For years--centuries!--the bandregas have sought dominance over the vampires, who can make themselves invisible. What the bandregas wouldn’t give to own this stone! Think of the fortune we can make, you and I! And you know, I have friends and influence among those creatures. They hate the vampires and the vampires hate them. A constant struggle between the two forces. If a vampire bites a bandrega, of course he will bleed. Even the bandregas are not impervious to bleeding. But as soon as the blood begins to flow, they will become invisible and--”

”Gradually?”

“Immediately!” Kendall snapped his fingers. “Just like that! So--”

”Wait a minute. If the vampire still has the bandrega in his clutches--”

”Even so, easy to escape when you are nothing but a cloud. Try holding on to something intangible. Now what I was saying--if you could fashion a ring or pendant of sunstone, the bandregas can easily escape the vampires by touching the stone as soon as they are bitten.” He smiled his crafty smile again. “You and I will make a fortune. Don’t you see the beauty of it?”

“What if a bandrega receives a mortal knife wound?” Connor asked. “Will he still disappear?”

Kendall shrugged. “Who knows? Something tells me he won’t disappear, because his magical abilities will die with him.”

Connor frowned. “But mining the sunstone and getting the gem to me is a long process.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But fortunately, we have enough of the stone mined already to start with, perhaps enough to make one-hundred or so rings. Our gem cutter has already begun work on them. The stone needn’t be large. A quarter of a carat will do.”

“Then get these stones to me as soon as possible.” Connor rubbed his hands together. “I’ll begin work right away.”

Kendall nodded. “The bandregas will pay us handsomely for these jewels. And we will have them in our control. Ah, you see how much we can accomplish with this stone?” He rose to his feet. “And now, it’s time for me to leave. I’ll have a servant deliver the stones to you. I’ll send another servant after your stepdaughter.” He paused, as if just thinking of something. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Your share of the bandregas’ money is dependent upon our finding Fianna. No Fianna, no money.”

“What!” Fierce anger burned a path from his head to his stomach. He wanted to kill the Goddess-damned prick.

“You heard me. It’s your fault Fianna escaped in the first place.” With those last words, he walked out the door.

Still reeling with fury, he returned to his desk and sank into his chair. He clenched and unclenched his hands, his head pounding. Fianna would be found, he tried to assure himself but failed miserably. He sprang to his feet and paced the floor.

His mind drifted back to a time years ago, when he’d first become a jewelry craftsman in the village of Uisnech, far to the north. Such pride he’d taken in his profession, such beautiful pieces he’d created! Then one day, he found that the gems he’d bought were not real stones at all, but ones artificially created, not worth a fraction of what he’d paid for them, but so cleverly made they easily passed for the real stone. He recalled the day, as if it were yesterday. One of his customers had come to him, furious and threatening to sue. The woman had taken the ring he’d made to a gemstone expert, who told her the stone was not a real emerald, but a fake.

Shortly after, he’d gone to see the same expert. Quench crackling, is what the man had told him. “Fools many jewelers,” he’d gone on to explain. “Synthetic stones may be heated and then plunged into cold water. Makes cracks in them, so that they look more natural.” The expert sighed. “Counterfeiting gems, happens all the time.”

Word spreads quickly in a small village, and within days, all his customers had sued him, for all the stones he’d bought had been from the same dealer, one who had made fake stones. Bankrupt and disgraced, he had to leave Uisnech like a thief in the middle of the night, coming here to Ros Creda, hoping no one here would know of his past. From then on, he’d vowed no one would take advantage of him, but that he would make his money however he could. He’d married since then, his present wife needing a man after her husband’s death. Since then, too, he’d established a partnership with Angus Kendall and built up a prosperous business here in Ros Creda

And now, would his newfound wealth all be for nothing? Much good this gemstone would do him if Fianna were not found. For if that ungrateful girl remained missing, there would be no marriage between her and Angus Kendall. And, as Kendall had made plain, no marriage, no partnership. He clenched his hands and kicked a wastebasket, spilling its contents. Fianna must be found.

He looked up to see his wife, Fianna’s mother, standing in the doorway. “Yes, what?”

Evelina came in the room and took the chair Angus had vacated. “You know what. My daughter! Where can she be? What has happened to her?” She twisted her hands in her lap, and tears brimmed her eyes.

“That’s what Kendall and I have been talking about. My servant hasn’t been able to find her. Angus intends to send his servants--spies--to different cities.” He smirked. “He thinks she’s in Moytura--”

”That far away?” Her face held a look of doubt, but hope, too, as though he’d assured her that Moytura was where they would find Fianna.

“That’s what I told him.” He smacked his hand on the desk, making Evelina jump. “Ungrateful girl, after all I’ve--we’ve--done for her. This is how she repays us.”

Evelina bowed her head. “Understandable, really, if she doesn’t want to marry Angus.” She took a deep breath. “We misjudged her, didn’t realize how much she disliked Angus Kendall.”

He looked at her as if she’d grown another head. “A wealthy man like that? Powerful, too. She must be out of her mind.” He stared out the window. But where was she?

* * * *

Slowly, Fianna came awake, then sat up with a start. Where was she? Ah, yes, inside the cave; the sharp protuberances beneath her back left no doubt of that. She yawned and stretched as memories flooded her mind, of the tall-dark-haired man who had surprised her last night. She turned and stared toward the inner recesses of the cave, but only darkness greeted her. Had the man returned, and was he sleeping now? Strange that a man would choose to make a cave his home, even temporarily. She thought hard, trying to recall his name. Ah, yes, Gaderian Wade. Well, it was highly unlikely she’d ever see him again, so no point in remembering his name.

She pushed herself to her feet and stretched again, twisting from side to side, relieving sore muscles. Time she was on her way to Moytura, there to seek employment. She reached into her satchel and rummaged around for her gray cotton frock, inhaling the sweet scent of lilacs that wafted from the leather bag. She fingered the cake of soap, and a rush of memories filled her mind, of her happy childhood with her mother and real father, her brother, all the good times they’d shared. Sighing deeply, she dropped the cake back among her clothes and slipped the dress over her shift. She gathered her things together and wended her way down the rocky slope to a nearby stream, blinking her eyes in the early morning light. By the stream, she knelt on the rocky ground to rinse her face and hands, cupping the water in her hands to drink. A golden glow touched trees and bushes, the sunlight a welcome warmth after the coolness of the cave. After she completed her morning ablutions, she plodded farther down the rocky hill, past an outcrop of honeysuckle bushes, to the road that led to Moytura.

Far to the north loomed the Orn Mountains, their lofty peaks reaching past the clouds. East of the mountains stretched the vast Gorm Forest, a hilly region thick with oaks, pines, and hemlocks, a once mysterious region. The torathors lived there, giants once feared in Avador but now protected by royal decree. These same creatures had helped Queen Keriam defeat the evil assassin and usurper, King Midac, years ago in one apocalyptic battle.

Miles later, as the ground leveled, she saw the spires of the capital in the distance, the terra cotta roofs of the mansions gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of the capital thrilled her as always, and despite her despondency since leaving home, a feeling of optimism raised her spirits, as though nothing was impossible, as if she held the city in the palm of her hands. Farmers’ carts and riders passed her along the way, the road becoming more crowded the closer she got to the city. Dust filled the air, thick and choking, as more riders cantered past, these with a look of importance, prompting her to wonder if they were soldiers or palace officials. She coughed and brushed the dust from the folds of her dress. Trees and bushes lined the road; cottages squatted on small plots of land, and occasional large farms dominated acres of land. The houses became finer as she neared the city, many of these residences having three floors and iron fences, not to mention spacious manicured lawns.

In spite of her excitement, her calloused feet ached as she shifted her canvas bag from one hand to another. Hunger and thirst tormented her, but how could she pay for food or drink?

So many sights, sounds, and smells greeted her as she entered the city, although the cobblestones burned her bare feet. Scads of people clogged the streets, men, women, and children wandering from store to store or hurrying along, a look of purpose on their faces. Vendors hawked their wares, and the smell of roasting meats wafted through the air, borne on a light easterly breeze. City sentries in their dark gray uniforms stood guard at certain busy thoroughfares or rode their horses among the busy throngs. Beggars, too, roamed the streets, pleading for handouts, and she regretted she had no money to give them. She feared she might soon be a beggar herself if she couldn’t obtain a position. She passed the shoemakers’ street, reminding her--as if she needed a reminder--that she must buy a pair of shoes, whenever she had money. Bakeries tempted her with their sweet aromas, intensifying her hunger. Here and there vendors sold cider or lemonade, making her mouth water.

Moytura, like just about every city and town of Avador, had a community tack board, where people seeking jobs or employers who needed positions filled nailed their advertisements. Other notices of interest were tacked here, too, for example, of a fair soon to be held on the outskirts of the city. Many people gathered around the board, each one searching for positions or tacking their own messages, prompting her to continually move aside. Men and women jostled each other to see the signs, and smaller women had to stand on tiptoe as they craned their necks, everyone anxious to obtain a job.

First with optimistic purpose, then with a sinking heart, Fianna studied these messages and found none that advertised for a seamstress. Cooks and scullery maids, yes, but no seamstresses. She read the announcements from all sides, from top to bottom, fretting that she didn’t have her own sign to nail to the structure. She pondered her predicament, so exhausted and famished, she was tempted to accept defeat, swallow her pride and head back to Ros Creda. But no, she could never deliver herself to her stepfather’s wrath or Angus Kendall’s false affection. Never again would she endure her stepfather’s leering glances and sexual advances. .

With a heavy sigh, she stepped back, when another sign nearby claimed her attention. “Vampires!” the sign read. “A danger to the kingdom!” She perused the announcement, noting an award of two golds offered to anyone who could bring a vampire to the attention of the authorities. In spite of her depression, she smiled, for it seemed an easy way to make money, if one knew any of the undead. Did vampires really exist? she wondered, for surely such creatures were only a figment of imagination. But if they did not exist, why would the government advertise a reward for their capture? She shook her head to clear it, too famished and exhausted to think lucidly.

Seeking diversion, she recalled again the tall, dark man who had surprised her in the cave last night. Best not to think about him, far better to concentrate on her own situation.

After a walk of several blocks, past clothing stores and jewelry shops, she reached a street, appropriately named Tavern Street, lined with inns and taverns, most of which appeared to be respectable establishments. Mostly men trod this street, but Fianna saw an occasional woman, barmaids, she supposed, on errands for their employers. Across from her a hanging sign proclaimed The Snow Leopard, a stone structure with a wide oaken door and multi-paned colored glass windows. She smiled with faint humor. You always wanted to work as a barmaid, didn’t you? A sudden decision filled her with renewed purpose. If she failed to find employment serving drinks, she would seek a position as a scryer, for people always liked having their fortunes told. And what better place to try this means of fortune telling than in a tavern, with the many people who surely must frequent the place during busy hours? If she couldn’t get a job here, she had no choice but to try other places, but for now, she could barely think past her hunger and fatigue.

Fianna took a deep breath and trudged across the street to the tavern, thankful it was mid-morning now, the place not likely to be crowded at this time. She tugged at the heavy oaken door and stepped into semi-darkness, needing time for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. As she had expected, only a few customers patronized the tavern at this hour, only light chatter to be heard. She noted the deer heads that dotted the walls, the twenty or so round tables that completed the main dining room. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling, not lit yet, and apparently not until darkness fell. The aroma of fresh bread floated her way, her stomach growling in response.

She stood for several minutes, looking around in indecision, when a man in a black tunic approached, two empty beer mugs in his right hand. Tall and thin, his brown hair sprinkled with gray, he gave the impression of quiet confidence. She assumed he was the owner.

“Madam?” he asked. In dismay, she saw his gaze drift down to her bare feet.

She offered him her most winsome smile, too well aware it would gain her nothing to wear her troubles on her sleeve. “Sir, I’m seeking employment, perhaps as a barmaid.”

Setting the mugs on an empty table, he shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t help you there. We have all the barmaids we need.”

Now was her chance. What would he say? Only one way to find out. “Sir, it occurs to me you might benefit by offering your customers a little extra service, besides food and drink. You see, I can tell a person’s fortune by looking into a dark glass. Even my friends--”

”And I’m king of Avador,” he said with a smirk. “Madam, my customers are satisfied as it is. We serve excellent food and drink. This is a respectable establishment, not a place that cheats its patrons with dubious diversions.”

Hurt anger heated her cheeks, but she sought serenity. “Nothing dubious about my skill, sir. If you give me a chance, I can prove it to you.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the few customers were staring at her and the owner, although she and the tavern keeper spoke in low tones. “I can look into my mirror and tell your future.” She shifted from one aching foot to another, hoping her stomach didn’t rumble to reveal her hunger.

He pulled out a chair for her. “Very well. I’ll humor you, since we’re not busy now. Sit down and tell me I’ll win a million gold pieces.”

Fianna hesitated. “Sir, is there another room we can use? I need absolute quiet in order to scry.”

For a moment, she feared he’d refuse, his face revealing doubt and impatience. He jerked his head. “Follow me.” He led her from the main dining room, down a long hall to a room on her left. He opened the door and ushered her inside a small room with a wide window, where sunshine poured in. Dust motes floated through the air, although the room appeared well-tended. A large oaken table dominated the room, with chairs flanking each side. A ledger and papers cluttered the table, definite distractions, but she decided not to complain, fearing she would try his patience too far.

Again, he pulled out a chair for her. “Now, tell my fortune.”

She resolved to do her best, despite the distractions. Settled in her chair, she drew the black mirror from her bag and placed it on the table. As she leaned over the mirror, her long locks fell forward, veiling her face. She closed her eyes for a few moments, breathing deeply to seek inner peace and a trance like state, a process that did not come immediately. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she suppressed her emotions and concentrated on her skill. Opening her eyes, she stared into the mirror for a long time, then waved her hand across the black surface and waited. Within her peripheral vision, she saw the owner change his position, a look of displeasure on his face. She waited a while longer.

“Ah.” Power built within her, slow but certain. Images began to appear, at first vague, just out of reach. “I see a woman, perhaps forty years of age, with dark hair tinged with gray.”

“My wife!” he exclaimed, then snorted. “But anyone who knows me could have told you what my wife looks like. Indeed, she serves here at busy times, such as market days.”

Still in a semi-trance, she raised her eyes to his. “Sir, I am new to the city. I haven’t spoken to anyone who would know your wife.”

“So you say.” Still, the smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of interest.

She stared into the mirror again. “I see her giving birth. I see--”

”What! Say that again!” He sat forward, a steady gaze on her.

“She is giving birth.” Fianna continued staring into the mirror. “She holds a baby boy in her arms.”

“Oh!” The tavern owner leaned back in his chair, breathing a long sigh. “All these years we’ve been married. All these years! And we have tried to have a child, alas, with no success. No one else knows this. I have told all who know us that we are happy as we are, just the two of us.” His eyes brimmed, and he brushed his hand across them. “A boy, you say?”

“Yes, sir. No mistake.”

Lips pursed, he narrowed his eyes. “But you could be making all this up.” His expression hardened. “If you are....”

“Sir, I don’t lie.” After all this time, all this effort, what if he didn’t believe her? Did he think she was a charlatan, raising false hopes inside him?

He folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me my wife’s name.”

Fianna gazed downward again. “G--Gitta.”

“Ah, yes!” His eyes lit up. “My wife, Gitta.” Silent for a few moments, he looked her way. “For now, I will take you at your word. But if in nine moonphases--”

”Less than that, sir. She is already two moonphases into her pregnancy. I sense she wants to tell you--very much--but she also wants to make sure. Doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

She bit her lip. “And sir, if I may be so bold, I suggest you act surprised when she does impart this exciting news to you.” Fianna stretched her neck from side to side, coming out of her trance.

He waved his hand. “Yes, of course.” He beamed. “You have me convinced of your ability. The position is yours. I will put a sign out in front that we have a scryer who can tell the future. And your name?”

Why hadn’t she considered that question before? She thought quickly. “Angharad Cullain.” She had a friend with that name.

He raised his eyebrows, as if doubting her word. “Where are you staying?”

She swallowed. “Sir, as yet, I haven’t found a place to stay. Haven’t had a chance.”

“I have an extra room across the hall.” He nodded in that direction. “Been using it for storage but can clear most of it out. The room is yours for free, food, too. No one else lives at this tavern, so you will be alone at night. Of course we lock the doors.” He raised his eyebrows. “Will it bother you to be alone at night?”

“No, sir.” She had her dagger for protection.

“Very well. I’ll give you a key to the outside door to the tavern. Be sure to lock the door at night, after all the other workers have gone home. Remind me later to give you a key to your room, too.” He leaned forward on the table. “Now, to discuss business. You can charge each customer two coppers and share half with me.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I have sharp eyes. I will keep track of each customer. If there is any cheating--”

”No, sir! I would never cheat.”

“If there is any cheating, you are out of a job and a place to live. Do I make myself plain?”

“Yes, and thank you.”

As he stood, she rose to her feet, too, fighting a wave of dizziness wrought by hunger. Thankful his head was turned aside, she struggled with her giddiness. How soon will I get something to eat? she agonized. Soon, she hoped.

“To cement our deal.” He placed his right hand on her right shoulder, and she did likewise in the Avadoran manner of greeting. “I don’t believe I introduced myself. My name is Cedric,” he said, dropping his hand.

“I’m so pleased to know you, sir, uh, Cedric.” She shifted from one foot to another as hunger pangs shot through her stomach. She forced a smile. “If it is all right with you, I can start work tonight.”

“Yes, of course. Only wait ‘til I have the serving girls clear the supplies--extra mugs and such--from the room. They know where to put them. I have a pallet and blankets you can use for sleeping. Later, if our arrangement works out, I’ll provide you with a dresser and a few extras for your room.” He led her from the room back to the main dining area.

Inwardly, she breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank you again. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”

“See that you don’t. But I’ll wager you’re hungry, aren’t you?” He gestured toward a table. “Sit down and I’ll have a serving girl bring you beef stew and bread fresh from the oven. And cider.” Scratches and dents marred this table and every other one in the room, yet the tavern was clean, the mugs sparkling, the wooden floor swept clear of dirt. With the passage of time, the stained glass windows shone brighter now with jewel-like tones of red, green, and blue. Some of the earlier customers had left, but more had taken their place, and loud chatter filled the air.

“Thank you!” After Cedric walked away, she sank into the chair, tempted to lay her head down in exhaustion. For now, things had gone better than she had a right to expect. Yet she knew that either her stepfather or Angus Kendall would send someone after her. Indeed, most likely one of them already had. She agonized over how much longer her luck would hold.

Chapter Four

Gaderian left his horse at the main city stable and strode to the Snow Leopard, his boots clicking on the cobblestones. He looked up at the late evening sky, where thousands of stars and planets glittered, and a balmy breeze caressed his face. Past the warehouses and shops he walked, his mind on the young woman he’d met only a few nights ago, a lady whose image had taunted him ever since. Strange that he couldn’t drive her from his mind, this woman he wanted to see again and again. He recalled her name, Fianna, a pretty name for a pretty woman. All the lovely things about her returned to haunt him--her lilac scent, as much a part of her as every breath she took, her green eyes and long chestnut hair. He hadn’t felt this way about a mortal woman for centuries. No point in dwelling on her now, for there could be no future between a mortal woman and one of the undead.

Within a few minutes he reached Tavern Street and the Snow Leopard, then pulled at the handle on the oaken door. Noise and laughter greeted him, all the tables occupied, the tavern crowded as it was every night, and filled with the yeasty aroma of ale, the smell of roasting meats. He squinted through the pipe smoke as his gaze covered every table, until he located the person he’d come to meet, then wended his way toward a far corner.

There, Gaderian eased out a chair and sat down, indicating to a nearby waitress that he wanted a mug of ale. “Have money this time,” he said to Egan. “And money to reimburse you for the last time.” He slapped four coins on the table and slid two in Egan’s direction. He glanced over at the table next to theirs, where several men played a game of dice and cards.

Egan reached over to scoop up the coins. “House almost done?”

“Thankfully, yes. Getting a little tiresome, living in a cave.” After the waitress set a mug down for him and slipped the coins into her pocket, he raised the brew to his lips, grateful to ease his thirst on this hot, dry night.

“What about your servants?” Egan asked. “How do you know they won’t turn you in?”

Gaderian spoke with firmness. “None of the servants I’ll hire will betray my secret, because I will pay them well for their loyalty. If they suspect I am not mortal--and I assume they will harbor that suspicion--they will surely know they’ll gain nothing by informing on me. My servants will earn far better wages by working for me than any reward the government offers for telling on me. I will treat them with kindness and respect, but I will make it clear that I expect fidelity from them.”

“Makes sense.” Egan leaned closer, speaking in low tones. “Don’t look now, but Stilo just sat down on the other side of the room. He’s got his eyes on you.”

Gaderian slid his fingers up and down his moisture-covered mug. “He’s never liked me, ever since we first met. Could never figure out why.”

“Don’t you know? You attract all the women. In short, he’s jealous.”

“Not my fault if all the women like me.” He spoke in jest, but Stilo’s enmity bothered him. He knew the man to be mean and vindictive, one who might well take his dislike out on someone close to him, Gaderian. And it’s good he had no lovers now, for he wouldn’t want any harm to come to someone he cared for. He had enough problems to handle, with the bandregas stirring up trouble, creating a division between the undead and the mortals of Avador.

Unobtrusively, Gaderian leaned back and glimpsed Stilo, the blond vampire now turned away from him, lighting his pipe. Of medium height and husky build, the man wore a frown, prompting Gaderian to wonder what worried the man. Aside from Stilo’s enmity, something else about him bothered Gaderian, an indefinable quality he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Egan said. “Have you heard about the addition here at the tavern?”

Gaderian drank from his mug and set it down. “Addition?” He looked from side to side.

Egan nodded toward the hallway that led off from the main room. “Fortune teller. She can scry, supposedly.”

“Scry?”

“Look into a mirror and tell your fortune.” He grinned.

Gaderian grinned, too. “Magic and mirrors.” A charlatan, one only too happy to separate a man from his money. Up until now, he’d considered the tavern owner a responsible person.

“Who knows? Perhaps there’s something to it.” Egan leaned across the table. “Why don’t you try it? See if she can tell your fortune.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need my fortune told. I already see trouble ahead if we don’t do something about the bandregas.” He shrugged. “But what can we do? I need time to think about it, time to devise a plan.” Thoughts rampaged through his mind, a means of defeating these creatures, driving them from Avador, or better yet, killing every last one of them. He tapped his fingers on the table, his mind shifting from one plan to another.

Egan’s voice wrenched him back to the moment. “For now, why don’t you visit this fortune teller--I don’t know her name--see what the future holds for you.”

“I suppose she’ll tell me I’ll inherit a gold mine and marry the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.” He smirked.

Egan smiled. “From what I’ve heard, she may be the most beautiful woman in Avador.”

Gaderian eased back and drained his mug, then set it on the table with a clunk. “I’ve got better ways to spend money. I should leave soon, need to feed.” Hunger taunted him, a craving deep in his gut. Too many nights had passed since--

“You’re afraid.” Egan scrutinized him.

He jerked his head up. “What?”

“Afraid to have your fortune told.”

“Not I.” Gaderian thought for a moment. Maybe he should visit the fortune teller, not that he believed in scrying, but he welcomed any diversion from his problems. Besides, a pretty woman was an added lure, even if she was mortal. Aware that fortune telling was a cunning deception if there ever was one, she would never guess his true essence; never perceive he was one of the undead.

A satisfied look framed Egan’s face. “Ah, I can see you’re considering.” He nodded toward the hallway. “The scryer.”

Gaderian scraped his chair back. “I never could resist a challenge. Besides, what do I have to lose, besides a little money?”

* * * *

Fianna watched her customer leave, a contented smile on his face. As she’d requested, he left the door open to indicate she remained free to accept other customers. She counted the copper coins in the wooden box on the desk, their clinking sound a potent reminder of how much money she’d earned this night, even considering that she must share the coins with Cedric. And the arrangement was only fair, since he granted her free room and meals. She yawned and glanced at the hourglass on the table, noting the late hour as fatigue enervated her. Shortly after she’d started work her, Cedric had removed his papers to another room, and the table remained clear, with only her mirror on it. On this third evening in her new position, she was heartened by the response she’d garnered and the money she had earned, convinced she could perform this skill well, telling only the truth, and for the most part, satisfying her patrons. Just this morning, she’d gone to the shoemaker to be fitted for a pair of shoes, which the man had told her would be ready in a couple of days. She was tired of going barefoot, tired of looking like a vagrant. She hoped to buy a new dress within the next couple ninedays, even if it was plain and serviceable. Tonight she wore a dress from home, a wine-colored linen with a black-trimmed collar and black tassels around her waist. Gold hoop earrings she’d brought from home dangled from her ears, swinging with her every movement.

Unbidden and unwanted, her thoughts wrenched to Angus Kendall. What if he caught up with her? That fear continually loomed in her head, and she agonized that she might have to move to another town. Would she be safe anywhere else? But surely Angus or her stepfather--if either pursued her at all--would send a servant after her. Here in Moytura, she could lose herself among its thousands of people. No one would find her, she assured herself. And now that she had independence--she hoped--she yearned for stability, a place to set down her roots, eventually marry and have children. Or remain unwed, if she met no one she cared enough for to share her life.

Through the open door, she heard the talk and laughter from the dining room, knowing the noise would continue for much of the night, thankful she was a sound sleeper. And speaking of sleeping, Cedric had told her what hours she was to work, during the late afternoon and most of the evening. He didn’t expect her to work too late at night, so if no more people came, she’d leave here and seek her pallet.

“Good evening.” A tall, dark-haired man entered the room, wearing a black tunic of fine linen with gold braid at the shoulders, a gold chain belt encircling his waist and ankle-high black boots. The man from the cave! She blinked; her heart raced. They exchanged startled glances and quickly, she searched her mind for his name. Gaderian Wade! And his voice! Deep and rich as raisin-filled honey cakes, and his gaze as compelling as a hawk diving for its prey. He had a commanding mien about him, as if he could take charge of any situation, and no one would get the best of him.

“Ah, it’s you!” He smiled as he closed the door behind him. “The lady who shared my cave. This is indeed a pleasant surprise.”

“I thought I’d never see you--” she stopped, her face warming. She looked down and fiddled with the tasseled belt of her dress.

He grinned. “You thought you’d never see me again? Ah, so you’ve been thinking about me.”

She shook her head, too vigorously, she feared. “No, it’s not that. But what are the chances we would see each other again?” She bit her bottom lip, clenching her hands in her lap.

He pulled out the chair and sat across from her. “Fate, perhaps?” He gestured toward her mirror. “Speaking of which?” He dropped two copper coins in the wooden box and crossed his long legs. “I wish I could stay longer, but there are things I must tend to.”

“Of course.” Seeking a trancelike state, she stared into the mirror for a long time, her every thought on him, his proximity hindering concentration. She caught his scent, a faint trace of cloves, conscious of his dark eyes on her, his every movement. Why did he affect her this way, as if she were a schoolgirl who’d never been alone with a man? Why did his mere presence make her heart pound, and all her senses become wondrously alive?

Images in the mirror swirled in front of her, visions at first vague, gradually crystallizing into a pattern, one she had trouble interpreting. She saw crimson rivers of blood, flowing on and on, as if from a wound. She shook her head to clear it, too well aware of his gaze on her. Surely, something was wrong here, a false picture. She waved her hand across the mirror and stared at the black surface again.

Gaderian sat forward, a trace of a smile on his face. “What do you see? Am I going to find a million gold pieces hidden somewhere in Avador?”

“I … I …” Fianna swallowed, seeking the right words. Her heart raced, faster, faster. “I see blood … blood flowing, rivers of blood.” She glanced up at him, saw a guilty look cross his face. “I’ve never had such a reading before.” She shook her head. “What does it mean? Have you had a deep wound in the recent past?”

“No,” he snapped. He changed his position, both feet on the floor.

Puzzlement ate at her confidence and she frowned. “I surely don’t understand what I’m seeing.”

“Well, I don’t, either.” His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing, but she sensed he was lying, intuited he was holding something back. He shoved his chair back and stood. “I knew you were a charlatan,” he said with a look of disgust.

“Sir, no!” What if he complained to Cedric? She’d lose her job. “I assure you I am quite skilled in scrying. This … this image is something I can’t explain.”

“Nor can I. Good evening, madam.” He spun around and strode from the room, leaving her hurt and bewildered. A vague suspicion teased her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. No, he could not be a vampire. She recalled the notice on the community tack board, the sign that offered a reward for information leading to the capture of a vampire. Gaderian Wade. Was he one of the undead? No, not a handsome man such as he. The very thought brought a smile to her face.

Increasingly puzzled, she sat in brooding silence, then glanced at the hourglass again to see that her day was over. Tired and discouraged for the first time since she’d begun work here, she gathered up the coin box and scrying mirror, then left the room. She crossed the hallway and trudged down a couple doors to her own room. The box in her hands, she sank onto her pallet, her mind reviewing all she’d seen in her mirror and Gaderian’s every word and expression. After a long time, she rose and shoved the mirror and box under her pallet, intending to give Cedric his share tomorrow.

Too agitated to sleep, she decided to go for a walk to clear her mind, to seek serenity elsewhere. First changing into a clean dress of dark blue cotton, she left the room, locking the door behind her and pocketing the key. She would head for the meadow that bordered the Nantosuelta River, there to sit and meditate for a while, to renew her confidence. She could not let the recent experience with Gaderian Wade discourage her, for it would only impede her scrying ability in the future.

Out in the main smoky dining room, her eyes watered as she wove her way among the many tables, returning the greetings from all the men and a few women. The men’s flirtations lifted her spirits and helped her forget, if only in a small way, tonight’s upsetting experience. Many of them made suggestive comments, words she’d learned to ignore in the short time she’d begun to work here. But for the most part, the men were polite and respectful, this being a decent establishment. At the entrance, she pushed the heavy door open, then stepped out into the fresh night air, taking deep, calming breaths. She looked upwards, never tired of seeing the glittering stars and half moon that decorated the night sky. The planets Partholon and Nemed shone as bright as stars. Here and there, vagrants and tavern customers wandered the streets, and she questioned her decision to walk the streets alone. This was a big city, full of strangers, not her hometown of Ros Creda. She stood in silent quandary for a few moments as she looked up and down the street.

“Madam.”

She jerked and glanced around. He emerged from the canopy of a spreading oak tree and approached her, his steps fast but deliberate. Gaderian Wade, again! Every sense reacted, an inexplicable joy, mingling with fear of the unknown. He stood before her, a slight smile on his face, as tall and imposing as ever. As handsome as ever.

“It’s not safe for a woman to walk these streets at night by herself.”

She still smarted from his earlier insults. “So I suppose I’m safe with you?” And was she? Her knees shook, whether from fear or an emotion she dared not identify, she wasn’t sure. She let her hands hang loosely at her side, determined to present a facade of calmness, to never let him see the tantalizing effect he had on her, one that tempted her to go wherever he might lead her, to do whatever he wanted, no matter how outrageous. She breathed in his scent, that enchanting trace of cloves, and couldn’t keep her eyes from staring into his. As if breaking free of a spell, she pulled her gaze from him but still felt his mesmerizing effect on her. She mentally scolded herself for her juvenile foolishness.

After what seemed an eternity, he made a slight bow. “Madam, I assure you that you are safe with me.” He paused. “It occurred to me that I was a little too brusque with you a while ago. I should not have questioned your fortune telling skill. But we will not deal with that now … perhaps some other time.”

Her intuition told her he was hiding something, but what? She feared to even consider the suspicion that lurked at the back of her mind, the possibility that he might be one of the undead. Everyone knew vampires were old and decrepit, with sharp fangs and bony hands. They reeked of rotting animals and death.

His voice jolted her from her thoughts. “When I asked the tavern keeper about your hours, he told me you would soon be finished with your readings.” He smiled; a slow smile that spread across his face and reached his eyes. “And so I’ve been waiting here for you, hoping you might want to escape the confines of the tavern.” He gestured toward the street. “Shall we walk together for a while? That was your intention, wasn’t it to go for a walk?” he asked with a questioning look.

“I thought I’d head for the meadow by the river.” Still unsure if she could trust him, she decided to take a chance. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have ravished her when they shared the cave.

“Never by yourself, but with me, you’re safe.” He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and she felt the strength in his arm, the pull and play of his muscles. A rush of warmth enveloped her body, a feeling she’d never experienced before.

They walked in silence for a while, her bare feet padding on the cobblestones, the stones cooler now. A light breeze caressed her body and lifted her hair from her shoulders. After leaving Tavern Street, they turned west and headed for Aventina Way, one of the main avenues where the library, Talmora’s Temple, and hospital dominated the area, a street that led to the meadow and the river.

He glanced down at her feet. “Madam, I--”

”Fianna, remember?”

“Yes, of course.” He glanced down at her feet. “Are you sure you want to walk without shoes? I wouldn’t want you to hurt your feet. These streets may have broken glass on them.”

“I’ll be careful. I’m used to going barefoot. Did it all the time at home. Anyway, I should have a pair of shoes within a couple days. When I left home, I wore a pair of shoes but they …” She wondered how much she should tell him about her misadventure along the way.

He slid her a glance. “Yes?”

Her earlier trouble came back to torment her, as if it had happened only yesterday. “Some tramp stole my shoes and my dress! My jewels were sewn in the hem!” Aware of her rising voice, she lowered it. “And gold coins! After that, I had no money, nothing.” On the verge of tears, she stopped talking and stared in the window of a sword shop.

“But you don’t want to tell me why you left home.” He said it as a statement, not a question, but something deep inside her made her want to confide in him, to believe in him. “And where is your home?”

She took a deep breath and spoke with resolution. “I’m from Ros Creda. My stepfather wanted me to marry a man I didn’t love, didn’t even respect.” She told him the whole story then, about her stepfather locking her in her room, her escape down the ivy-covered wall, her misbegotten trek to the capital. “I must confess I lied to the tavern keeper, made up a name,” she concluded her tale. “You already know my real name. I fear my father or Angus will come after me, or send someone after me. Either way, I’ll have to keep my identity a secret.” She prayed he would, too. “In the tavern, I am known as Angharad Cullain, so you must use that name when addressing me there.” What if she had to move again, go to another city or village? The fear remained a continual torment.

Throughout her tale, he’d said not a word, but now looked her way again. “Then perhaps it wasn’t wise to seek employment as a scryer. Bound to attract attention.”

“That wasn’t my original intention.” As others strolled past them, she held up a hand to indicate she’d explain momentarily. They passed the library and the hospital, the temple across the avenue, the streets quiet now, their footsteps the only ones in this part of Moytura. They reached the meadow, the grass dry beneath her bare feet. She sank down under a magnificent oak and arranged her long skirt around her ankles. He dropped down next to her, spreading one leg out, the other brought up close to his chest.

“I didn’t seek employment as a scryer,” she explained. “I wanted to find a position as a seamstress. But I saw no advertisements for such a job at the community tack board.” She agonized anew if she should be telling him so much, but there was something about him that inspired confidence, a quality that made her want to reveal all her secrets. It was gratifying to have someone to talk to, a man who appeared to have no ulterior motive in listening to her tale. She studied his face for a moment, a face of sharp angles and lines, and a shapely, sensual mouth. She recalled his kiss in the cave, and her body heated as a longing spread through her to have him kiss her again, hold her tight against his chest.

His fingers were long and tapered, his eyes quite the darkest she’d ever seen. His obsidian eyes stared into hers, as if searching, probing, and a warm lassitude claimed her, prompting a desire to lean against him, feel his arms around her. She wanted to dismiss the inclination, too well aware she hardly knew this man, her earlier doubts about him returning. Could she trust him? What if, by some act of fate, he met Angus? Surely her would-be fiancé would offer a reward for her.

Fianna turned away from him and stared across the meadow, toward the rippling, glistening waters of the Nantosuelta in the distance. Insects buzzed around them, and she brushed them away. Here and there tiny fairies slumbered in tree branches, their silvery wings spread out at their sides.

Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t forget her dilemma. How much longer did she have here in Moytura before Angus caught up with her ... if he caught up with her? She prayed to the Goddess Talmora that her luck would hold, that she could continue living and working here in the capital, a futile wish, she feared, as soon as it entered her brain. No doubt she’d have to leave the capital soon and search for employment in another city, but she didn’t want to leave, now that she’d found employment on such favorable terms.

And now that you’ve found Gaderian, her heart whispered. She dispelled the thought as soon as it entered her head, for the last thing she needed now was an entanglement; she’d learned long ago not to lean on others.

His deep voice enticed her back to the present. “Gladly would I grant you sanctuary at my house. No obligations on your part,” he said with a slight smile. “The renovations are nearing completion, and I expect to move in soon.”

“I thank you, sir--”

”Gaderian.”

“Thank you for the offer, Gaderian, but I want to get by on my own.” She knew better than to depend on others, for too many times other people had disappointed her. “The innkeeper has been more than generous. I’ll be fine,” she said, aware she was trying to assure herself as much as convincing him.

He nodded. “Very well, but please remember the offer stands.”

And what if she did move in with him? Her every sense told her he’d be a difficult man to refuse, a temptation she couldn’t handle. Best to stay away from him. If only she could.

Chapter Five

After Gaderian returned Fianna to the Snow Leopard, he continued along the near-empty streets, unable to evict her from his mind, all those endearing qualities he could never forget. He smiled, reflecting his good fortune that he had found a quick feed before Fianna had emerged from the tavern, else he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to escort her to the Nantosuelta River. In a moment of all-encompassing pleasure, he recalled everything about her: the provocative lilac scent that clung to her hair and clothes, her every gesture, her expressive face and smile, but especially her low, sultry voice that aroused him like a lover’s kiss. Despite every internal warning that told him he must avoid the lure of a mortal woman, he wanted to see her again and again. No use denying--even to himself--he wanted to make love to her, to feel her heart beat next to his, to hear her love sighs in his ears, feel her fingers on his skin. But more than that, he was attracted to her spunk, her bright personality in the face of all the obstacles that challenged her, to her ability to rise above these hindrances and make the most of her situation.

But what if she guessed what he was? When she had scried for him, she’d spoken of rivers of blood and asked him if he’d had a recent wound. He should have lied to her, told her, that yes, he had received a severe wound that had caused much bleeding. Her very essence, her loveliness had interfered with his thinking, causing him to miss the chance to mislead her.

As he headed for the main city stable at the southern entrance to the city, he tried to think of other matters, to drive Fianna from his thoughts. The bandregas remained an ever-present and deadly danger, a threat he must defeat. But how? Possibly he would talk to Queen Keriam, he considered on a wild flight of imagination. Could he convince the queen that it was the bandregas and not the vampires who posed a danger to the country? For sure, Orrick, the current leader of the undead, was feckless, unable to mount a challenge to these fiends. The dilemma cried out for leadership, but Orrick had done nothing about the threat, as if he didn’t care. And maybe he doesn’t, Gaderian agonized.

For once in his life, Gaderian yearned for fortitude, to prove himself a leader. In his mortal years, centuries ago, he had considered himself a failure, one who could never attain his goals. As if it were yesterday, he recalled how he’d longed to practice medicine, to heal others. He swallowed, the pain still fresh in his mind and heart. His father had refused him permission to study medicine, telling him he needed help in his apothecary shop.

“You are my only son,” his father had said, “and for years, I have waited for you to grow to manhood, to help me here in the shop and carry on after I leave for the Otherworld. Best that you don’t attempt to rise above your station, for I fear you will suffer nothing but disappointment if you do. My father was an apothecary and his father before him. You will gain enough useful medicinal information working with me.” His father nodded. “And at sixteen, ‘tis time you assisted me in my work. Forget about studying medicine.”

Returned to the present, Gaderian absently glanced in the window of a jewelry shop as his mind switched back to Fianna, she of the lustrous auburn hair and green eyes. He spied an emerald pendant in the window, an adornment that would surely enhance Fianna’s beauty. If only she cared for him, too, he would buy the gem for her. Foolish thought. As if he would wed a mortal! Or she would marry a vampire!

What if her father came after her, or if the man she was to marry pursued her to Moytura? What would happen to her then? No need to ask. She’d be dragged back to Ros Creda, forced to marry a man she didn’t love, nay, didn’t even respect. Gritting his teeth, he determined he would not permit that to happen. Even had he cared nothing for her--and he did, no use denying his attraction--he would hate to see an innocent lady dragged back home and forced to marry a man she loathed.

He stopped walking, his mind in turmoil. He would not permit any harm to come to her. In the short time since he’d met her in the cave, she had worked her way into his heart. He must protect her, even if nothing ever came of his fascination for her. And nothing would come of this sweet temptation, for he and Fianna could never have a future together.

* * * *

“Madam.”

Outside the Snow Leopard, Fianna glanced around, her heart jumping, but she quickly realized the voice didn’t belong to Gaderian, although the greeting was the same. Fierce disappointment tightened her throat, and she chided herself for the foolish attraction she felt for the man she’d first met inside the cave, a man of whom she knew so little.

A blonde man approached from the dark shadows, one she recognized as a frequent patron of the Snow Leopard. She had just finished for the night and was looking forward to sitting on a nearby bench. Alone.

He inclined his head. “Permit me to introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Stilo, and no doubt you’ve seen me in the tavern.” He paused. “May I walk with you? Did you have a particular destination in mind?” He spoke with a deep, gravelly voice. Slightly taller than she, he had a brawny build, his linen tunic stretched across his broad chest.

Desperate thoughts raced through her head. By now, she knew she could trust Gaderian, but she knew nothing of this man, one she recognized only by his appearance at the tavern.

“Sir--”

”Stilo is my name, madam. And I know yours as Angharad Cullain, from hearing the other patrons sing your praises. You’re quite a skilled fortune teller, I understand.”

“Scryer,” she corrected. “And just because you told me your name doesn’t mean I know you.” She tried not to wrinkle her nose at his heavy musk fragrance. And let him think her name was really Angharad, for she must never reveal her real name to this stranger.

Stilo smiled. “If you could spend a little time with me, we could become better acquainted.” He held up a hand. “I promise you I mean you no harm. A man gets lonely at times. It’s pleasant to have someone to talk to, a pretty woman like you.”

Your compliments will get you nowhere, she wanted to say. A strong warning vibrated in her head, quickening her heartbeat. How did she know she could trust him? Yet he’d given her no reason not to. She sought a compromise: she certainly would not allow him to walk with her to the river, a distance of several blocks. Only vagrants wandered the streets at this hour of the night, hardly dependable rescuers should this man pose a threat. She was a fast runner; she could escape the tramps, should any of them come after her. But she might not be able to evade this stranger’s proximity.

Fianna nodded toward a bench several yards away that rested under the canopy of a stately oak. “Let’s sit there for a while, not long, mind you, for I should go to bed soon.”

“Of course.”

They headed for the wooden bench, Fianna’s new leather shoes squeaking with each step. Her new shoes would take some getting used to, she thought on a note of uncomfortable endurance. A warm breeze ruffled the oak leaves and carried the sweet-spicy scent of night-blooming jasmine. Stilo walked with a swagger, shoulders thrown back, a brisk step in his high boots.

After she sank onto the bench, he followed, a look of mild curiosity on his face. “You are new to Moytura, are you not? Your accent sounds a bit different. From one of the southern provinces?”

“Yes.” Aware she trod on risky ground, she refused to divulge any more information.

“You’re living with your parents?” He flicked a lock of hair from his forehead, and she noticed his blunt hands, his stubby fingers.

Resentment stirred inside her. “Sir, if you’ve seen me at the tavern--which you have--you know I live alone.”

He shrugged. “Only desiring to become better acquainted with you, an endeavor that surely requires no explanation.”

“But I don’t know a thing about you except your name, and only your first name, at that.”

“Easily corrected. My last name is Mongan.” He slid a bit closer, a movement that sent her easing away from him.

“So, Stilo Mongan, where are you from?”

“Lived in Moytura all my life.” He grinned. “And I must say I’m happy to be here now, to have met you. Ah, I see by the expression on your face that you doubt my good intentions. If I may, let me tell you a little about myself. I’m an architect, live in an apartment by myself. My parents are dead, and an older brother lives on the outskirts of the city.” He gave her a quick smile.

As he spoke, she thought she saw a feral gleam to his eyes and sharp ears. Images drifted in and out of her eyesight, but just as quickly, his face reverted to what it had been. She wondered if fatigue was distorting her vision, or was it her imagination? She shook her head to clear it and told herself she should get more sleep.

Time flew past as casual conversation followed, and her doubts about him gradually dissipated, replaced by a renewed confidence, and an appreciation of his appreciation. For the first time that evening, she felt a lift to her despondent spirits, the hope that things would work out for her. She now had two male friends, and had already gained the confidence and friendship of the tavern waitresses; she didn’t feel so alone anymore. Besides that, she knew she could make it on her own, because so far she had earned enough coppers to total three silver pieces. Up to now, no pursuers from Ros Creda had found her, if indeed, her father or Angus had sent anyone to search for her.

His voice intruded on her reverie. “There is a fair one nineday from today on the meadow by the Nantosuelta. Permit me the honor of escorting you there. There will be jugglers and other acts, music and dancing, even after dark.” He threw her an appealing look. “Would you care to accompany me? In the evening? I fear I will be busy during the day.”

Her mind worked. She still didn’t know if she could trust him, nor would she give him her real name. Let him think of her as Angharad, for that was how she was known at the Snow Leopard.

“I’ll meet you there,” she suggested, still unsure if he was reliable. “There’s a sprawling oak tree on the east side of the river. See you there at sundown. If for some reason, you don’t see me, I’ll be at the fair grounds.” She knew from past experience with fairs at Ros Creda that everyone left at the same time at the end of the fair, so there would be plenty heading back this way. She would be safe.

A look of disappointment--or anger?--crossed his face, quickly suppressed. “Very good. I look forward to our encounter.”

She rose from the bench, brushing off the back of her dress. “But now, it’s late and I must return. Busy day tomorrow.”

He stood, too. “Allow me to walk you back,” he said, offering his arm. Yet even now, Gaderian haunted her thoughts, and she wondered why she should care.

* * * *

Stilo watched Fianna step inside the tavern, her hips slightly swaying with each step, her firm buttocks an allurement that heightened his passion. A glow of satisfaction enclosed him, the certainty that he could entice her away from Gaderian. Oh, yes, he’d seen the woman walk off with Gaderian, seen the soulful looks they’d exchanged. But this was one time Gaderian would not win, for Stilo had a plan to capture the woman so that Gaderian would never see her again. Goddess, how he hated that vampire, one who could lure any woman into his bed. A spurt of jealous anger erupted inside him, a pounding in his head.

And he had a secret, one that none of the vampires even suspected. He was part bandrega, for his mother had been a vampire, his father a bandrega--a demon. The bandregas knew of his duality and accepted him, for they realized how he hated the vampires, but the vampires themselves remained ignorant. Clever how he fooled the undead, for he never went near them unless he was at his full power. He lived in both worlds, but his allegiance was to the bandregas, for his vampire mother had been cold and cruel, ignoring her son. He recalled times as a child when he’d wanted her to spend time with him, read him a bedtime story or play a game with him. But no, she always left early in the evening to feed and mingle with the other vampires, returning early in the morning, then to go to bed and sleep all day long. Against every inclination, Stilo had more easily adjusted to his mother’s hours, so that he, too, slept during the day and stayed awake at night. But his mother had never had time for him, and even on the rare occasions when she paid him any attention, it was to find fault or chastise him. She was cruel and caustic in her criticism, forever belittling him. And his father had done nothing to counteract her spite. Goddess damn them both.

He’d learned to tolerate dim light but could not endure the glare of a bright sun. And so, from childhood to adulthood, he’d adjusted to both the bandrega way of life and that of the vampire, but despite his vampire half, he still had not gained immortality. Like the other bandregas, he would live a normal life span and then die of old age, if an illness or accident didn’t claim him first. Granno’s balls! How it hurt to see the vampires live forever, a gift denied him. All his life, he was forced to move from one city to the next so that the vampires never suspected that he didn’t share their gift.

Mindful of the reward offered by the government for any information leading to the arrest of the vampires, he thought of the money he could win by turning over the whole Goddess-damned association of vampires to the authorities. And he would soon, damn them all. But first, he must win the scryer away from Gaderian, and thus get even with that vampire. Ah, he thought of the humiliations he had suffered over the years because of Wade, the women he had wanted and lost. Well, this was one time he, Stilo, would win. And then watch Gaderian Wade suffer.

An alarming weakness enfeebled him; time to drink the sacred well water. On the first day of every moonphase, the bandregas always drank from the sacred well in the village of Magh Eamhainn, for the water there held special properties that gave them their powers, and also enabled them to look human. Difficult to believe that a few bandregas chose not to drink from the sacred well, preferring to remain as demons who haunted the night. More fool they, for disregarding the powers gained from the sacred well. Many years ago, their leader, Mabon, had sanctified this well, ensuring that the race of bandregas would in time dominate the humans. Stilo smiled to himself, for Mabon had first ridden the village of Magh Eamhainn of all human inhabitants by poisoning their well water, so that all who drank from the well sickened and died. Within no time, the few humans remaining left the village, convinced that their gods had forsaken them, and that the village was cursed. What was poison for the humans was life-giving for the bandregas. Every few moonphases, the current leader of the bandregas renewed the sanctification, so that the well water continually regenerated the bandregas.

Since then, no other mortals lived in Magh Eamhainn, these people who had fled to other villages, whispering about the blighted water and how they must have sinned to make their gods abandon them. Now Magh Eamhainn stood deserted of human inhabitants. Since then, too, the bandregas had multiplied so that they numbered in the thousands here in Moytura, choosing the capital as their home, since it lay close to Magh Eamhainn.

For centuries, the bandregas had dreamed of becoming immortal, as were the vampires. Nor could the bandregas make themselves invisible, like the undead. Ah, yes, his people still had much to do; they could not let those creatures overcome them.

Stilo’s thoughts switched back to Fianna, a woman who had captured his mind. To think that she believed his tale about being an architect! After the fair next week, she would believe anything he told her, because she would be under his spell. She would be his!

Chapter Six

Hundreds of blazing torches brightened the fair grounds as Stilo led Angharad through the crowds. Angharad. He wondered if that was the tavern scryer’s real name, for he suspected she harbored secrets she would never reveal to him … yet. Was she a criminal, running away from the law? An abused wife, escaping a cruel husband? He’d give anything to know the mystery that surrounded this beautiful woman with her auburn hair and green eyes, this woman he ached to possess. In her emerald green dress with gold threads running through it, her gold hoop ear rings and necklace, she had never looked so lovely. He breathed in deeply of her lilac scent, a fragrance that tantalized and lured him, but he fought the ensnarement. Tonight he would do the luring.

The first few stars glimmered in a sapphire sky, tree branches swaying in the wind. Moonlight sparkled on the rippling river. A perfect night for seduction.

Thankful he had ridden with the other bandregas to the sacred well recently, he knew his powers were greater than they had ever been, that nothing was impossible this night. Ah, the sacred well, whose waters had revived him, empowered him, given him such mastery so that he could accomplish anything he wanted.

Throngs of people crowded the fair grounds, hundreds of men, women, and children from all the outlying villages. Lovers strolled hand-in-hand, and fathers carried young children on their shoulders. Vendors hawked souvenirs, statuettes of the Goddess Talmora or ribbons and buttons commemorating the fair. Others sold meat pies, spiced apples, and ale. A myriad of smells carried his way, some of them pleasing but many of them carried a strong, spicy stench that sickened him. All the fair goers were dressed in their brightest colors, hues Stilo could see as vividly as if it were daytime. Voices filled the air, young children yelling in excitement, friends calling to one another, or performers shouting that their acts were about to begin.

From childhood on, Stilo had learned that he could tolerate the food of mortals, as long as he didn’t consume anything too rich or spicy, and as long as he ate a quantity of red meat, an ability garnered from his father’s bandrega side. But no human food could compare to the superb, enticing taste of human blood, and here, he recognized his vampire half, the part he’d inherited from his loathsome mother. Thank all the gods and goddesses he never saw that woman anymore; she was gone from his life forever, and where she dwelled now, he didn’t know and cared less.

Music drifted their way from the far end of the meadow, a wooden platform that bordered the Nantosuelta River. From where he stood, Stilo craned his neck and saw a three-piece band on the stage, a guitarist and a fiddler tuning their instruments, a bell-ringer adjusting his bells.

Angharad clutched his arm, her eyes wide with excitement. “Stilo! It’s been so long since I’ve danced.” She pointed in the direction of the music. “Let’s go there.”

He inclined his head. “Anything you want.” Passion stirred inside him, and he knew what he wanted, to have her under his spell, so that she would desire no one but him.

With Angharad in tow, Stilo wended his way through the multitudes and headed for the dancing area, past a booth where a juggler entertained the crowd, and a puppet show in the adjoining booth, where dozens of wide-eyed children had gathered with their parents to watch the antics of Etain and Cabell, two whimsical characters popular with the children of Avador.

They reached the dancing area as the groups began to form, four couples in each set, and Stilo led her to the far end, where three couples waited for another to join them. The men and women were all clad in their holiday apparel, the men in fine linen tunics, the women in cotton frocks with a silk sash around their waists. A loud chord from the guitarist announced the start of the dancing as the musicians played a well-known melody, The Love of Alanna, a slow, plaintive song whose lyrics told of a village maiden who lost her lover, killed in battle. The dancing began as the men and women swayed and dipped, moving from one partner to the next person in their circle, clapping their hands at the completion of the round. Then they stepped in the opposite direction, following the same pattern, their footsteps echoing on the wood.

Stilo kept his gaze on Angharad with each movement, his every sense focused on drawing her under his beguilement, so that she would want only him, but more than that, oh, so much more. After tonight, she would belong to him, her body to use for his pleasure, her mind to bend to his will. He noted her eyes sparkling with delight, her luscious smile, those full lips he longed to kiss, the sensuous swing of her body. Angharad. He wondered again if that was her real name, but for now, he wouldn’t dwell on that quandary, but rather work his magic on her. Soon, she would be his alone, to keep or discard, or share with another man. Two men and one woman--Angharad--in bed. Ah, what a frolic that would be. Passionate images bombarded him, his arousal at a peak. Breathing deeply, he struggled to suppress his excitement.

Angharad would never want anyone but him, and certainly not Gaderian. A spurt of anger knotted his stomach, and he resolved to forget about that vampire, one who could no longer threaten his plans.

Angharad blinked her eyes and shook her head, as if she sensed he was casting a spell on her. He deepened his concentration and reveled at the look of longing when her eyes met his. His loins tightened, his body on fire until he could think of nothing or no one but Angharad. Before the sun rose on the morrow, she would be lying in his arms, satiated with passion, on fire to join with him again and again.

No one else in their gathering perceived that he was bewitching his prey, for throughout the years, he’d learned to perfect his magic, create the illusion that all remained normal.

Two more slow dances followed, then the tempo of the music increased as the band segued into another popular song, this one about a shipload of sailors with one woman on board their vessel. The men and women clapped their hands and stamped their feet, the women swaying their hips so provocatively that Stilo was well-nigh driven to madness. His every thought centered on Angharad, on lying with her body beneath his. He imagined her shed of her clothes, as if he could see her full breasts, those rose-tipped nipples, the tuft of hair at the junction between her legs. His passion increased, and he forced himself to think of other matters, other people, especially how he would get the best of Gaderian. He clasped Angharad’s hand as they met once more in their rhythmic circuit, satisfied that her gaze was only for him. A sexual hunger for her flooded his body, a desire too great to ignore. He couldn’t last much longer without taking her over to the bushes and making love to her then and there. He wanted her--now, now, now!

* * * *

While the music played and the dancers stepped to the beat, Fianna met Stilo’s gaze, his expression ardent and focused, as if she were the only woman in the world. How handsome he was in his dark blue tunic, a red leather belt studded with gold around his waist, his musk scent rather appealing. Gratified she’d gotten such a good bargain on her new green dress, the fake gold necklace , she knew she looked her best.

A disorientation dizzied her, and she almost lost her step, but Stilo tightened his hold on her to prevent her from falling. She glanced around, at first not sure where she was. Ah, she was dancing with Stilo and other men and women, here at the fair grounds. Of course! Bright lights shimmered in front of her eyes, and the music of a thousand violins played in her head. She felt a pull, a dislocation of her senses, then a warm languor washed over her. She was sinking, sinking, sinking into a maelstrom of desire, a longing that rendered her helpless to think of anyone but this man who never took his gaze from her. She teased and taunted him, giving him her most beguiling smile, certain she could lure him into her web of enthrallment.

A sexual yearning overwhelmed her, a longing not to be denied. Forget about Gaderian, she mused with a disdainful toss of her head. Before this night was over, she’d be lying in Stilo’s arms and she’d know the true meaning of love; the ultimate closeness between a man and a woman, that coupling she’d never experienced but could only imagine. And for the Goddess’s sake, she chided herself, tell him your real name. Mustn’t let him continue to call her Angharad if she would spend the rest of her life with him. When would he ask her to marry him? Tonight, she hoped. She couldn’t wait to lie in his arms, to feel his lips on hers. The music and dancers, the fair goers faded in the background, so that nothing and no one existed but Stilo, this man who would claim her for his own.

As the tempo of the music increased, she swung her hips and thrust her breasts out, flashing him her most seductive smile, her hair flinging in wild disarray. The other dancers blurred in her vision, the rest of the world shut out. Perspiration beaded her forehead and dampened her clothes, whether from passion or the heat of the night, it didn’t matter.

With a crescendo, the music stopped, the dancers flushed and breathing heavily as couples stopped, to catch their breath and talk among themselves. Then they left the dance grounds while the band started packing away their instruments. Overhead, millions of stars glittered in the sky, and a full moon silvered the land. A light breeze cooled her body and lifted her hair from her shoulders, her cotton skirt billowing around her ankles. Her knees shook, every thought on Stilo as he clasped her hand and led her back the way they had come. The fair grounds stood near empty now, most of the crowds gone home.

He looked her way, an expression of longing in his eyes. “Come with me. I want to have you alone.”

Burning with desire, she leaned into his embrace. “Oh, yes!”

Chapter Seven

Haunted by thoughts of Fianna, Gaderian rushed from the cave and mounted his horse as soon as the sun sank in the east. Goddess! He’d be glad when his mansion was renovated and he could move in. Hoping Fianna would have the evening off for the fair, he headed in that direction, toward the meadow that bordered the Nantosuelta River.

After stabling his horse, he dashed along the cobblestone streets and cursed himself for not asking Fianna to accompany him to the fair, but a journey to the village of Sligo had detained him for several days. Word had reached him that another vampire there was killing innocent mortals for food instead of feeding off criminals, this at a time when the vampires were already suspected throughout the kingdom of Avador. The undead must convince the mortals that they provided protection against the bandrega, then and now. Orrick, the leader of the undead, had remained in Moytura to enjoy the charms of his latest mistress, Goddess damn the bastard! With stern persuasion and threat of punishment, Gaderian had convinced the maverick vampire to halt his murder of the innocents.

The entire mission had taken too much time, too many days away from Fianna. He’d seen Stilo’s gaze following Fianna in the tavern and feared Stilo’s attention boded no good. What if Stilo had escorted Fianna to the fair? His insides clenched at the thought.

Hunger roared inside him. He had gone for days without sustenance, but food must wait. First, he had to find Fianna. Over the years, no, centuries!--he’d learned to hone his intuitive senses and to trust his instincts. Now he feared the worst.

Lacking the strength to make himself invisible and to transport himself, he hurried past shuttered stores and businesses, heading for Aventina Way and the meadow beyond. Others passed him along the way, everyone going to the fair. Every few minutes he stopped to rest, furious with himself for going so long without feeding. His strength was failing him; he couldn’t continue much longer.

Next to a sword shop, he heard the fair in the distance--the chatter of countless fairgoers, the laughter of children, a band playing farther on, close by the river. From where he stood, he saw thousands of men, women, and children. How in the name of the Goddess would he find Fianna among the multitudes? Oak branches along the wide avenue tossed in a light breeze, and far off, the Nantosuelta shone by the moonlight, its waters rippling like crystal. A beautiful night for lovers, if only he had Fianna by his side.

Gaderian stopped to rest again as hunger knifed through his belly like a red-hot dagger. Gritting his teeth, he doubled over and pressed his hand to his stomach. Sights and sounds blurred, a meaningless background to his anguish.

With dogged determination, he straightened and plodded on, each step an agony but his goal in sight. Crowds formed as he neared the entrance to the fair, where Aventina Way ended and the meadow began. The clamor of adults and the screeching of children assaulted his eardrums, another torture he must endure. The stench of mortal food tormented him, a reminder of his own hunger. He took one more step and stopped by the oak tree that guarded the entrance to the glade. A good place to rest, if only for a few minutes. Sinking down on the warm grass, he leaned his head against the tree trunk, resolved to get up after a brief respite.

He closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to a time years ago when he had first met Stilo, before any enmity developed between them. It was a night such as this …

Alone, Gaderian had spent much of the evening at the Snow Leopard, nursing a mug of ale. From the corner of his eye, he had observed a solitary man several tables away, imbibing one mug of ale after another. Another vampire, he could tell, sensing at the same time something different about this fellow, a nebulous quality that set him apart from the rest of the undead. One thing was certain: The man didn’t know when to stop drinking.

After another mug--Gaderian had lost count--the man tried to stand. Ignored by the other patrons, he fell backward, his chair the only thing that saved him. Finished with his own drink, Gaderian shoved his chair back and rushed over.

Gaderian grabbed his arm. “Hey, there, fellow, looks as if you need help.”

The blond man gave him a long look, part defiant and part apologetic, and spoke in a slurred voice. “Just ‘cause I lost my b-b-balance--”

”Just because you’ve had too many drinks,” Gaderian countered. “Tell me where you live, and I’ll take you home.”

He waved him away. “Don’t need your help.”

By this time, everyone else in the tavern had stopped drinking, all eyes on him and the drunk.

Gaderian stood back and gestured toward the door. “Very well, then. My mistake. Have it your way.”

The stranger took a step and fell across the table, knocking the mug to the floor. Gaderian raised him up. “That does it. Let’s get you home. And tell me your name while we’re at it.”

He hiccoughed. “Stilo.”

Tapping his chest, Gaderian gave his name. He slung his arm around Stilo’s waist and they left the tavern together, stepping out to a balmy night, the sky sparkling with stars. Since Gaderian had recently fed, he had the strength of ten men.

“Now where?” Gaderian began.

Stilo pointed ahead, beyond Tavern Avenue. “Granno’s Way, a f-f-few blocks ahead. M-my apartment’s at the end.”

“I know where Granno’s Way is.” He half-dragged, half-carried Stilo along the cobblestone streets, the man scarcely able to stand, much less walk.

Within a short while, they arrived at a stone apartment building in an affluent section of the city, where statues of gods and goddesses graced the landscape, and magnificent oaks trailed along the wide street. The air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and countless other flowers Gaderian couldn’t identify.

Up several steps, they entered the apartment building, and Gaderian observed an elevator to his left. He’d seen this contraption in other buildings and knew it was operated by magic. Stilo would have to perform the spell, for Gaderian had never had reason to use it. Talmora’s tits! What if he was too drunk to recall the spell?

Slumping against him, Stilo performed the incantation, making vague circles in the air and mouthing strange words. Gaderian glanced at Stilo’s hand, seeing talons instead of fingers, afraid he must be hallucinating. The vision disappeared, Stilo’s fingers normal again. Soon, the elevator raised from the ground floor and made its slow ascent, stopping at the fifth floor. Once they reached his apartment along a hallway to his left, Stilo stopped, his eyes closed, his head against the door.

At the sound of his snoring, Gaderian nudged him. “You need another spell to enter? Let’s get on with it. I don’t have all night.”

Stilo roused and a simple wave of the hand opened the door. They stepped inside a huge room filled with elegant furnishings and draperies. Gaderian took it all in with just one look, too exasperated to linger. He helped Stilo stagger into the bedroom, where the man flopped down on the bed, asleep immediately.

Before leaving the apartment, Gaderian performed his own incantation, this time to ensure that Stilo forgot this encounter. When Stilo woke up, he might wonder how he came to be in bed fully clothed, but he would be none the wiser.

Then Gaderian left the apartment, this time making himself invisible and transporting himself to his own residence. …

Too bad Stilo has forgotten the favor, Gaderian mused, now back in the present. He struggled to rise but fell back, weak and tormented by hunger. He had to feed--now! He glanced around and saw an inebriated vagrant trudging along a path that led away from the meadow. First making sure no one else was about, Gaderian pushed himself to his feet, close to fainting with the effort. He rushed over to the path and grabbed the tramp from behind.

“No!” The man struggled in his grip, but the noise from the fair drowned out his protests. Despite his debility, Gaderian held on and turned him around. He sank his teeth into the man’s throat, guzzling the life-giving liquid, each drop granting him a revival of his potency.

Moments later, satiated and renewed, Gaderian released the vagrant after invoking a spell to make the man forget the experience. He slipped him to the ground, where the tramp fell asleep. When he awoke, he, too, would be none the wiser.

With renewed vigor, he rushed on, back to the crowded meadow and the fairgrounds. He dashed from one booth to another, his head turning right and left. The mobs of men, women, and children obstructed him at every step. He could scarcely move! Tempted to scream at the noise, the crowds, the stench of human food, he worked his way through the crush of people. The music from the wooden platform blasted through the air, louder now as he neared the river. Hemmed in by all the laughing, chattering mortals, he craned his neck to see the dancers, but they flew past him in a blur of color. The music slowed, the dancers clapping and talking among themselves, then the band stopped. Before heading in that direction, Gaderian checked every booth and souvenir stand, his hands clenched as he realized the futility of his quest.

There! He saw an auburn-haired lady, her back to him among the mobs, strolling with another man, next to the juggler’s booth. He rushed in that direction--and saw it wasn’t Fianna. Fierce disappointment twisted inside him.

Desperate to reach the dancing area, Gaderian tried to make his way through the throngs of men, women, and children, impeded by the crowds headed in the opposite direction. If he could just reach the dancing platform--surely he would find Fianna there. With Stilo? Goddess, no! He was still too far from the dancing platform, and rushing against the thousands of people was like trying to restrain a flood.

Gaderian clenched his hands, cursing himself for his negligence. He should never have left Moytura. If Stilo had Fianna in his grasp, he had already headed back to the city, back to his apartment. He gritted his teeth as he turned around and rushed back to the city, to Stilo’s apartment. Surely he would find Fianna there.

* * * *

His arm around her waist, Stilo led Fianna away from the meadow and east toward the city, swept along with the other fairgoers also leaving the fairgrounds. They eased their way through the mob, the crowds pushing and shoving around them.

“Where are we going?” she asked in dreamy speculation. She wrapped her arm around his waist, unable to think of anything but having him all to herself. At the same time, she felt as if she were floating in the air, looking down at herself. A light breeze caressed her face and cooled her body, lifting wisps of hair away from her forehead.

“We’re going to my apartment, where I’ll have you all to myself.” Stilo squeezed her waist, his fingers thick and blunt against her body, his musk scent stronger than ever, combined with an aroma she couldn’t identify, a smell pungent and overpowering.

She leaned into his embrace, feeling lighter than a moonbeam, her brain fuzzy and unfocused.

“Almost there, Angharad,” Stilo murmured in her ear. Eventually the crowds thinned, the mobs heading for their homes, until the cobblestone streets became near empty, with only a few stragglers here and there, and the ubiquitous vagrants tottering along. Past the shops and businesses, they approached an area on the outskirts of the city, a street she knew as Granno’s Way, where mansions and splendid apartment buildings graced the long avenue.

She turned her head to look up at him. “You know, Angharad is not my real name. You may call me Fianna Murtaugh, and that is my real name. I took a different name since I ran away from home,” she said, then told him the story of her departure from Ros Creda and the circumstances that forced her to leave her home and all that she loved.

“So you see,” she said minutes later as they passed a statue of Aventina, the river goddess, “no one from Ros Creda must know I’m here in the capital.”

“Ah.” An expression of contemplation captured his face, prompting her to wonder what was going through his mind. But the question drifted away, obscured by the dizziness that imprisoned her.

Near a grassy park thick with magnificent oaks and bushes, they reached his apartment building, an elegant stone edifice several stories high. Night-blooming jasmine scented the air, and nightingales sang from the trees. Only a few yards distant stood wooden benches set in a garden, where the apartment dwellers gathered to enjoy the evening breeze.

After mounting the front steps, he released his hold on her waist and opened the door to the building, where they stepped into an entranceway lit by numerous oil lamps. A marble hallway stretched the length of the structure, with apartments leading off from either side.

At the entrance stood a small enclosed room, capable of holding ten or twelve people. Its doors stood wide open. Stilo eased her toward the tiny room, and her steps slowed, a sensation of the unknown creeping over her.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Haven’t you seen a moving cage before?”

“I’ve heard others speak of them, but I didn’t know they looked like this.” Giddy and muzzy-headed, she entered the strange contraption without a qualm, willing and longing to do anything he asked.

“Well, come on, then.”

The small space boasted gold-colored walls with an oil lamp overhead and murals on the wall of gods and goddesses.

With one hand, Stilo shut the doors, then made hand motions and muttered a few strange words. Magic vibrated through the air, her skin tingling.

The cage was moving! She looked from side to side, up and down, while the contraption conveyed them upwards, past the outside walls. Lost in hazy confusion, she felt as if she were floating, floating, floating, up to the sky, never to come down to earth.

Stilo slid his arm around her waist. “See, isn’t this a clever apparatus? We will soon arrive at my floor.”

As he uttered those words, she felt the cage stop. Taking her by the hand, Stilo led her onto the hallway, this one with branches leading to the right and left. They took the hallway to the left, passing several doors, and stopped at the fifth one down. He waved his hand again, and the door swung open, revealing a magnificent apartment decorated in black and red, with occasional white accents.

Fianna didn’t like the colors, but she couldn’t deny the room’s opulence, the furnishings that spoke of wealth and power. A wide window that stretched the length of the wall greeted night’s darkness and revealed a breathtaking view of the river far to the west. Even from here, she could see its waters glittering in the distance.

At the entrance, Stilo came to stand behind her, his hands cupping her breasts, his body pressed against hers, leaving no doubt of his desire. He bent to kiss her neck, and she leaned back into his embrace. And odd sensation rippled through her, as though she were someone else observing herself. She tried to throw off this uneasy feeling, this impression that she lurked somewhere outside her body. Caught in a web of murky enchantment, she felt powerless to fight the lure.

Stilo kicked the door shut behind him. He dropped his hands from her breasts and eased her across the wide expanse of the living room, to another door that led to the bedroom, in which a huge bed with a black silk bedspread dominated the room.

He closed the door and stepped away from her, a sly smile on his face. His gaze covered her, from her head to her feet, his look one of passionate wanting.

He nodded at her. “Now take off your clothes.”

Chapter Eight

“I’ve made a good start on the rings.”

“How many?” From his chair in Kelvin Connor’s study, Angus Kendall shot the other man a sharp look and reached for his wine glass from a side table. He sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving Connor’s face.

“One-hundred for now, more to come, of course. Worked almost night and day, creating these rings. Not the best craftsmanship, had to cut corners here and there.” An understatement, shoddy craftsmanship, every one of them. He expected the stone to fall out at the slightest bump, a fact he kept to himself.

“But they will do just fine.” Kelvin pulled out the top desk drawer and retrieved one of the rings, then reached across the space separating them and handed him the piece. “Here, see for yourself.”

Angus examined the ring from all angles, the sunlight playing on the amber-hued stone. Then he handed the piece back to Kelvin. “Good for now.” He sipped his wine, his thin, elongated fingers wrapped around the glass. “But we will need hundreds more ... and very soon.”

“Give me time! There’s a limit--”

”I understand.” Angus held up his hand. “Believe me, I understand. But we need to get those rings to the bandregas as soon as possible.”

“Which I understand, and why I’ve been working almost night and day to make these pieces.” He shifted his position and stretched his legs out from behind his desk. “Who is your contact among the bandregas?”

Angus set his glass down on the side table. “I have several, but Stilo Mongan is one of my main contacts, besides their leader. Stilo Mongan lives in Moytura, although I’ve never met him. As a matter of fact, when I sent my servant--the one headed north to Moytura--to track down your stepdaughter, I told him to get in touch with Mongan in the capital at the same time and send him here to me.” He reached for his wineglass again and sipped. “I gave my servant Mongan’s address, along with a letter signed by me, with my seal. He is one of my most trusted servants who would not dare read the contents of the letter. Enough that Mongan will know. And he’ll know where to get the money to pay us--to pay me. Remember, your payment is contingent upon finding Fianna.”

Another spurt of irritation heated Kelvin’s face, but he kept his silence.

“When Mongan arrives here,” Angus continued, “I’ll have another trusted servant give him the batch of rings and tell him more rings will be forthcoming. Some problems at the mine have kept me busy lately, too busy to hand out the rings myself. The bandregas will pay handsomely, that I know, once they learn of the ring’s magic properties. When the bandregas see the power of the rings, they will beg for more.”

“Well, I should hope so. All this work--”

Angus scratched his chin. “Now, about your stepdaughter, Fianna. I instructed all my servants to check in all the villages along their routes--east, west, north, and south--to see if she is anywhere but the capital. Whoever finds her will send me word--my carrier pigeon system again. These spies are very skilled at tracking people. So far, they have found no trace of the girl, which leads me to believe that she is, indeed, in the capital.” He crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest.

“And if she isn’t in Moytura or any of the villages?” Kelvin leaned back in his chair, trying to match Angus’s impression of utter nonchalance and hoping to conceal the ire that churned inside him. The smug Goddess-damned bastard got on his nerves. “What if she’s gone to another country on the continent?”

Angus frowned. “Another country? I hardly think so. She’s not fluent in other languages, is she? Or in the ways of these other people? Don’t forget, most of the other countries are still in the barbaric stage, lacking the cultural attributes of Avador. Elegia is the only country we have much in common with, and if I’m not mistaken, Fianna doesn’t speak their language. So Moytura it is. It stands to reason that she would try to lose herself in the largest city in the kingdom.” He nodded with assurance. “We’ll find her.”

“And when you do--”

”When we do, I will go after her myself. As I told you, I want the pleasure of bringing her back here. Then we shall wed, an event I happily anticipate, even if she doesn’t.” He winked, as if finding vast amusement in Fianna’s dilemma. He uncrossed his legs and stood. “That’s all for now. I expect Stilo Mongan will be visiting me within the next nineday with a goodly amount of money for the rings.” Angus headed for the door. “And then let’s see the vampires try to defeat the bandregas.”

After Kendall left, Evelina slipped into the room, leaving Kelvin to wonder how often she eavesdropped his discussions with Kendall. He’d have to check on her from now on, make sure she wasn’t hiding behind the door.

She sat down, her eyes red from weeping. “Will I ever see my daughter again?” she cried, twisting a handkerchief in her lap. “If we haven’t found her by now--”

”Oh, we’ll find her. These things take time. When we do find her, Angus will bring her back, so they can marry.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, presenting a picture of absolute confidence, an image that eluded him in Kendall’s presence.

She looked up, an expression of despair on her face. “But if she doesn’t want to marry him--”

”Who cares what she wants? She will marry Kendall, and that’s all there is to it.”

“No, that’s not all there is to it.” She spoke with a vehemence that surprised Kelvin. “This is what made her leave home in the first place, her dislike of Angus Kendall and fear of marrying him. If we find her again, please let us welcome her back and let her make her own decision about marriage.”

“You mean reward her for her disobedience?” He flicked his fingers. “Not a chance.”

She stood and sighed; tears ran down her face. She spoke through her sobs. “It may be a moot point, for I fear we will never see her again.”

* * * *

Gaderian agonized over the many mishaps that might have befallen Fianna and wondered if he were worrying needlessly. Maybe she was back at the Snow Leopard, sound asleep in her own bed. Maybe, but not likely. His mind dwelled on all the lovely traits that made her so endearing: her long auburn hair and green eyes, her soft voice and sultry smile, all these qualities that meant everything to him. Why deny the fact? He loved her, but thinking of her would gain him nothing. They could have no future together. He would live forever, for such was the way of vampires. She would grow old and die, and even though he would always love her, in time she would come to resent his immortality.

Revived by his recent feeding and exploding with fury, Gaderian focused on transporting himself back to the city center. Anger bridled his ability, and he forced himself to seek an inner calmness, to enable him to become invisible and travel back. He’d go to Stilo Mongan’s apartment first, and if she wasn’t there, then surely she would be at the Snow Leopard. The streets stood near empty now, with only the occasional tramp shuffling along, or pleasure women hawking their charms. The stores and businesses remained shuttered, the street vendors gone home. Gaderian closed his eyes, his every sense, every bit of concentration centered on transporting himself. A swift onrush of air, a buzzing in his ears, a blur of buildings, streets, and trees gratified him and revealed his efforts were successful.

As noiseless as the air, he burst through Mongan’s bedroom door, a silence that failed to alert the man, this son of a bitch who’d kidnapped Fianna, and who even now, had eyes only for her. With one glance, Gaderian took in Fianna removing her clothes, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Clad only in her underclothes, she removed her breast supporter, her full breasts lifting free of that restraint. Her long hair fell forward, locks veiling her face. Despite his utter fury, Gaderian could only stare, taking in the lush beauty of this dear woman, her slim fingers, the gentle concavity of her waist, her long slender legs.

Turned sideways, Mongan faced her from several feet away, a lecherous smile on his face, a bulge under his tunic leaving no doubt of his arousal. He unclasped his belt and let it fall to the floor, his mouth wide open as he gaped at Fianna.

A fresh spate of anger erupted within Gaderian. With a flick of his hand in the distance separating them, he cast Stilo through the air, and the man landed in a heap against a far wall, a stunned look on his face. Fianna turned in Gaderian’s direction, looking vaguely surprised. He wanted to throw her dress back on her and get her out of this place, but first, he must immobilize Mongan, a task that demanded every bit of concentration.

“Hey!” Stilo’s face reddened as he pushed himself to his feet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Time! Gaderian’s heart raced. He needed time to center his attention, time to transport himself and Fianna back to the Snow Leopard. Red spots danced in front of his eyes. Fierce anger roiled in his gut. “I should kill you!”

“You bastard!” Stilo braced himself against the wall. “She came of her own free will. I never forced her. Goddess, I’ll kill you!”

Stilo rushed his way, but Gaderian called on every power, his heart, mind, and body centered on one thought only, to immobilize the son of a bitch. Raising his hand, he created a magic barrier, an obstacle Stilo couldn’t penetrate. Stilo stood motionless, eyes protruding with anger, arms motionless at his side. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

With red-hot anger hindering his ability, Gaderian knew the shield was a weak one. He had to get out--and fast. First grabbing her dress, shift, and breast supporter, Gaderian wrapped his arm around Fianna’s waist and began the trip back to Tavern Street. Silent and inanimate, she hung in his arms, as lifeless as a rag doll as he transported them both back to Tavern Street, to a bench outside the Snow Leopard.

Returned to Tavern Street, Fianna stared around, her gaze hazy and unfocused. Conscious of the need to dress her, he eased her breast supporter across her breasts, and remaining as lifeless as a wilted flower, she let him raise her arms to slip through the straps, as he fastened the garment in back. Wanting to let his hands linger on her bosom, he became conscious of his own arousal, his body on fire from wanting her. He yearned to touch every inch of her, kiss her until she begged for more, but not when this mental haze infused her every action. He ignored his own need and reached for her shift and slipped it over her head, then her frock, while she went through the same lifeless motions.

She shook her head, as if emerging from a dream. “Gaderian, how did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was in Stilo’s apartment.” She slurred her words, as if drunk.

“And don’t you recall anything before that?” His fingers rested on her shoulder, his gaze following the swell of her breasts. With every ounce of willpower, he drew his hand back and let it fall to his side. For now, he wouldn’t tell her how he’d transported her; better to divert her attention to her own plight. But surely she would wonder, if not tonight, then tomorrow.

She frowned, lips pursed in thought. “Well, of course, I was at the fair with Stilo and we ... we were dancing.” She closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. “I....

I ... we were dancing, and I had an odd feeling, as if I wasn’t there.” She sighed. “The music, the dancing ... everything became a blur.”

He looked at her anxiously, hoping she would soon come out of her trance. Damn Stilo to hell! Gaderian asked a question that had haunted him since his rescue of her. “Why did you go to the fair with Stilo in the first place? How well do you know him?”

“As well as I know you.” In spite of her haziness, an expression of indignation captured her face. “And I didn’t go to the fair with him. I arranged to meet him there.”

“Well, I hope you realize by now that you can’t trust him, that he’s a no-good bas--” He swallowed and raked his fingers through his tousled locks. “When I think what might have happened had I not come to get you....” His muscles tensed, his hands even now itching to strangle Stilo.

“And why did you come to get me? How did you know I’d be at Stilo’s?” Her voice remained dull, intensifying his worry that she was still under Stilo’s spell, but for how long? Knowing that the barrier he’d created around Stilo was a weak one, Gaderian expected the man to come after them any minute. He wanted to get Fianna inside the Snow Leopard, safe in her own bed, but first he had to gain more information.

Fianna’s voice wrenched him back to the moment. “How did you know to come after me? And why did you?”

Why? She still didn’t understand the danger from Stilo, that she’d come near to ravishment. “As to why I came after you, call it intuition. I’ve seen how he stares at you. I knew you’d not be working at the Snow Leopard tonight, since everyone at the tavern had the early part of the night off to attend the fair.”

* * * *

A tramp shuffled past, and Gaderian stopped talking, waiting for the vagrant to move on. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the oaks and bringing the scent of jasmine. Banners on poles flapped in the breeze, and the sign above the tavern banged back and forth. A few strands of hair blew across Fianna’s face; gently he smoothed the locks away and tucked them behind her ears. He sighed and forced himself to shut out all outside influences, to convince Fianna that she mustn’t trust Stilo. Talmora’s tits! What did he have to do to show her the man posed a danger to her?

“You still haven’t answered my question. You’re skirting the issue to say you didn’t go to the fair with Mongan. The fact remains, you were there, dancing with him. So, why?”

“None of your business why I danced with him.” Her voice sounded livelier now, the words not so slurred, prompting a spurt of optimism in him. “He didn’t hurt me. He acted the perfect gentleman.”

He longed to shake her. “Didn’t hurt you! But he was about to. Why do you suppose you were undressing for him?”

She looked down at herself, at her fully clothed body, and threw him a puzzled look. “I have all my clothes on.”

“But you didn’t then, at his apartment. You were undressing for him.” The memories, ah, the memories returned, images that would stay in his mind forever of this lovely woman who would never be anything but a friend. What if he hadn’t arrived at Stilo’s apartment in time? He wanted to kill Stilo.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He took me to his apartment and....” Her voice trailed off.

“And?” He leaned forward, giving her a close look.

She sighed. “And I don’t remember much after that. But I know he didn’t hurt me.”

“Goddess!” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “What do I have to say to make you understand!”

“Nothing.” She threw him a look of insulted pride. “You don’t need to say a thing to me. I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.” Hands in her lap, she straightened her back and turned her head away from him. He studied her lovely profile but knew he must not let his emotions interfere with his concern for her.

“Well, of course!” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. If she didn’t understand now what a threat Mongan was, she might well make the same mistake again. He couldn’t let that happen. “Ah, yes, I see you can take care of yourself!”

He switched to another topic. “Fianna, has it never occurred to you that your stepfather will come after you, or send someone after you? What about the man you are to marry? What if he comes for you?”

“Of course it’s occurred to me. I think about it night and day. But for the first time in my life, I can support myself. I don’t need to depend on anyone for anything, except Cedric, who has kindly given me a room of my own and--”

”Maybe not so kindly. You still must share your wages with him.”

“Well, yes, but he pays me well.” She paused. “You are the only person in the city who knows my real name. Everyone else knows me as Angharad Cullain. If anyone comes after me, he will use my real name.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “And you won’t turn me in, will you?”

As if he would! “Not for all the gold in the kingdom.”

“Well, then, there you are.” She rose from the bench and nearly fell back. He stood, too, and slipped an arm around her waist, but she pushed him away. “I’m tired and I want to sleep,” she said in an aggrieved voice. “I’m going to bed.”

Alone, thank the Goddess. He would relinquish the argument for now, but from hereon, he must keep a vigilant eye on her. “At least let me walk you back to the tavern.”

“I can make it on my own.” With those final words, she toddled away from him, heading for the tavern. Her long hair bobbed across her shoulders, and despite her halting steps, her back remained straight, her buttocks shapely and firm beneath her cotton dress. He rushed ahead to open the door for her, wanting only to spend the night with her, to hold her in her arms and whisper in her ear, to tell her all she meant to him. And more, he yearned for so much more, longings that would forever remain out of reach.

She disappeared inside the Snow Leopard, leaving him to wonder how much she would remember tomorrow. At first, he scolded himself for not casting a spell on her to make her forget Stilo’s ensnarement, but then he realized it would be far better if she recalled the entire episode in the days to come. If she recalled. Perhaps then she would realize that Stilo had malicious designs on her.

But if she didn’t? And if he wasn’t around to protect her from the bastard next time, what then? She would have to learn to take care of herself, something he realized she could do, if only she avoided Stilo’s allurement. But if she fell under his spell again ... he shook his head, reluctant to think of the consequences.

Chapter Nine

A knock on the door jolted Stilo from a troubled slumber. Still seething from Gaderian Wade’s interference last night, he turned over and held his pillow over his head, trying to go back to sleep. Late this morning, after the vampire’s spell had worn off, he’d closed his draperies to blot out the sunlight and plodded on to bed, there to toss and turn, planning how to kill Wade, to inflict a slow, painful death on the vampire.

Now, as early evening shadows crept into the corners of the room, he wanted nothing more than to return to sleep. A second knock quashed that wish and brought him upright. He swung his legs to the floor, then kicked his boots aside. Granno’s balls! Who could it be?

Shoving his tousled hair from his forehead, he trudged to the living room. Aware he could handle any mortal enemy, he opened the door. A stranger clad in a dark green linen tunic, leather belt and mid-calf boots stood in the hallway. Who in the name of all the demons was this?

His visitor made a slight bow. “Good evening, Stilo Mongan. I’m Conan Adair, a messenger from Angus Kendall. I believe you’ve heard of him?”

At Stilo’s nod, he handed him a letter. “A very important message from Angus Kendall. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here while you read it. Then I will send a carrier pigeon back to him with your reply. There is another matter I wanted to speak to you about.” He took a step. “If I may come in?”

Stilo opened the door wider and gestured Conan Adair inside, and with a toss of his head, he indicated a chair. Hands shaking, he tore the seal from the missive and unfolded the parchment, the crackling sound echoing like a boom of thunder in the silent room. He scanned the contents, careful to control his features as excitement roiled inside him. So a jeweler by the name of Kevin Connor had special rings made for the bandregas, rings with a magical property. Rings that would make the bandregas invisible!

Struggling to keep his features neutral, he looked over at his visitor. “Do you know the contents of this letter?” He sat down on the sofa across from him.

“Of course not, sir. I just deliver messages. I don’t read them.”

How do I know he’s telling the truth? Stilo would have to take his word for it. He folded the missive and set it on a table, reminding himself to destroy it later. “Very well, then, I’ll leave tomorrow.” Actually, he’d leave tonight; travel by night and sleep during the day, for he couldn’t abide the sunlight. And he would eliminate Gaderian Wade as soon as he returned.

His brain teemed with emotions: elation that these magical rings would grant the bandregas mastery over the vampires; bitter disappointment that he couldn’t kill Wade anytime soon; stinging regret that the vampire had cut short his seduction of Fianna.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “You said you had another matter you wanted to present.” Gods, he wanted to get this damned business over with.

“Yes.” The courier sat forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Angus Kendall is looking for a young woman who left her house several ninedays ago--”

Fianna!

“Sir, is there something you know?” The courier shot him a questioning look.

“No, just thinking about the journey.” Damn, he must learn to be more circumspect.

Adair continued. “Angus Kendall has sent messengers to other parts of the kingdom, in every direction. So far, his efforts have availed nothing. Fianna Murtagh is quite beautiful--chestnut hair, green eyes. I realize there is scant chance that she would come to Moytura, or indeed, that you would know her. However, I’m leaving no stone unturned. I just arrived in the city a short while ago, but shortly after I leave here, I intend to place a notice of my search on the city’s bulletin board. But first, I thought I’d ask if you, by remote chance, know her.”

“Give me a few moments.” Stilo pretended thought, afraid he would give himself away. After a short while, he shook his head. “No, I don’t recall seeing anyone of that description.” He grinned. “Sounds like a woman I’d like to know. I promise you, I will keep my eyes open.”

Contradictory feelings clashed inside him. Here was his chance to get even with Gaderian Wade, to turn Fianna in. But no, he still hoped to seduce her. He had failed the first time, but he had no intention of giving up. Before he could claim Fianna as his own, he must rid himself of Wade. Kill the vampire!

Conan Adair stood. “Thank you for your time, sir. I’m staying at The Hungry Bear, you know where that is?” At Stilo’s nod, he continued. “Please get in touch with me, should you think of anything concerning this woman. In the meantime, I’ll post a “Wanted” sign on the village bulletin board. As for your journey to Ros Creda, Angus Kendall has a contact in Moytura--indeed, in many cities of the kingdom--who dispatches carrier pigeons with messages. I’ll contact this man and tell him you will be leaving tomorrow.” He raised his eyebrows. “You can leave by then?”

“Yes, yes.” Stilo suppressed his irritation, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Did Conan Adair think he was his warden?

The courier turned to leave. “Very well, then, sir. I bid you good evening and a safe journey tomorrow.”

Not bothering to get up, Stilo watched him depart; the man could see himself out. One thing me must do before heading for Ros Creda--he would tear down the “Wanted” sign from the bulletin board.

He stood and headed for his wide front window that presented a panoramic view of the city in all its beauty and ugliness, its temple spires and magnificent avenues, its splendid stone buildings, but also its humble dwellings with their thatched roofs, the city’s crowded alleys. He leaned on the windowsill, thinking. It would take him nearly two ninedays to journey to Ros Creda and back, but before he left he must fetch the gold to pay Angus Kendall. Since Kane, the bandrega leader, had left for Fomoria, he’d placed him in charge of the Avadoran bandregas and their considerable hoard of money, the gold and silver kept in a safe in Kane’s apartment. Stilo had the key to the apartment and knew the combination to the safe.

Fianna entered his thoughts again, she of the tempting breasts and sensual body that promised pleasures beyond belief. If Angus Kendall offered a big enough reward, surely someone would surrender Fianna. Serve her right if someone did. Despite his potent attraction for her, he wanted to see her suffer. Gaderian Wade, too, ah, how he wanted the man to suffer. Damn them both to hell! But he would try again and again to lure Fianna to his bed, and never give up.

He glanced at the hourglass atop an end table. He had much to do before journeying to Ros Creda. Best he leave soon.

* * * *

Finished scrying for the evening, Fianna went to her room to change her dress, then headed for the main dining room, wending her way among the many occupied tables. She smiled good-naturedly at the men’s teasing remarks, aware it was their way of showing appreciation, but Goddess! she wondered if she’d ever get used to their flirtations. She pushed the heavy oaken door open and stepped outside to a balmy night, a hint of cooler weather in the air. Hardly anyone roamed the streets, except the usual vagrants. A light breeze cooled her face and sent her dress fluttering around her ankles.

Just recently, Cedric, the tavern owner, had told her that his wife was, indeed, with child, as she had predicted upon her first meeting with him. Now she felt vindicated and more certain of his confidence in her.

As many mornings as possible, she found an isolated spot in the meadow, where she practiced throwing her dagger, satisfied she was even more skilled than she had been upon leaving Ros Creda. She tried to fit a few minutes of reading into her daily schedule, too, borrowing books from Moytura’s well-stocked library. Her days and nights were quite busy, indeed. Only yesterday, she’d visited Talmora’s Temple at the western edge of the city, to pray for her mother and brother, for the Goddess to take care of them and to permit her to see them sometime again soon. Ah, how she missed them, and even though her brother lived away from Ros Creda, still she and her mother visited him several times a year.

She recalled Gaderian’s warning about walking the city streets alone at night and decided to sit for a while on the wooden bench a few yards from the Snow Leopard. Mostly inns and taverns comprised this street, but an occasional shop occupied a space, such as the silversmith’s shop not far from where she sat, as if the store had been added as an afterthought.

She pressed her hand to her forehead and tried to recall everything about her visit to the fair and dancing with Stilo. She and Stilo had walked back to his apartment together, then had ridden in a strange contraption--an elevator--from the ground floor to his own. Memories slowly emerged , but as she focused on every minute of their time together, the remembrances coalesced, like fitting in the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. How close she had come to enduring Stilo’s ravishment, this man who had cast a spell on her. And Gaderian! If he hadn’t come after her…. Could she have fought Stilo off? Not likely. And how had Gaderian rescued her? One minute she was undressing for Stilo--ashamed of herself, she blushed at the thought--and the next minute, Gaderian had burst upon them.

First, he had immobilized Stilo--but how? After Stilo stood helpless, she and Gaderian were flying through the air, stopping at this very bench she rested on now.

Light footsteps on the cobblestones wrenched her back to the present. She looked up and saw--Gaderian! It seemed as if her mind had conjured him. Spotting her, his eyes lit up, and her pulse raced as she tried to project a picture of cool nonchalance. Why did this man always have this tempest-tossing effect on her?

“Well, hello.” She smiled his way as he joined her on the bench, her every sense alive to his proximity. Shoving her tumultuous emotions aside, she focused on the previous night and his rescue.

Fianna plucked at the folds of her skirt. “I’ve been thinking about last night....”

“As well you should,” he said with a stern look. “You came very close to being ravished. Don’t you realize he cast a spell on you?”

“I realize that now. But how was I to know at the time?” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “How ... how did you get me from Stilo’s apartment back here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“If I remembered, I wouldn’t ask.” She looked across the cobblestones, where other taverns and inns lined the other side of the street, along with an occasional shop. Oil lamps lit the area, casting shadows on the street.

His gaze assessed her, as if he could see her unclothed, as he saw her last night. The images returned, heating her face.

“Magic!” he gestured with his hands. “I transported you. How else can you explain your trip from Stilo’s apartment? I have powers you can’t begin to understand.”

Her heart hammered against her chest. His declaration overwhelmed her, but she hid her astonishment. “So you’re a wizard?”

He looked down for a moment, as if her question caught him off-guard, but then his face held an expression of utter frankness. “Yes, of course, what other explanation is there?”

Indeed. Yet she sensed he was hiding something from her. Vampire. The word ricocheted through her head and knocked against her heart, dizzying her with confusion. She wanted to ask him--was dying to know--what her earlier scrying of him meant, that never-ending flood of blood that gushed and flowed, on and on. But caution--or fear--restrained her.

His deep voice penetrated her thoughts. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you.” For now, she’d keep her speculations and fears to herself. She smiled at him to mask her confusion. “It’s a lot to take in at once. I know magic is permitted in the kingdom of Avador, but it’s not every day you meet a wizard.” She licked her lips. “And Stilo--”

”A wizard, too,” he replied, “using his magic for evil purposes. And Fianna, you must remain vigilant against his magic. Best to stay away from him. He may well try to lure you again. Do not let him. But if you can’t avoid him, and if you so much as see that intention in his eyes, fight his magic. He is evil, is Stilo, and he practices black magic. You are a strong woman. Don’t let him get the best of you.”

Goddess, how she hated to admit she’d fallen under Stilo’s spell, she, who had always considered herself capable of handling any situation. She would not let Stilo lure her again.

“Let us talk of something else.” Gaderian shifted his position and crossed his legs.

“The renovations are complete at my house. I have already moved in. Should you ever need another place to stay--”

”Thank you, but I’m managing fine where I am.”

“Stilo Mongan cast a spell on you and almost seduced you last night, and you call that ‘managing fine’?”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. “And how in the world was I to know that Stilo would--or could--cast a spell on me?” She gestured toward the tavern. “I’ve made friends at The Snow Leopard, and for once in my life, I’m independent. I’ve learned I don’t need to lean on anyone.” She paused. “We’ve already discussed this, but I’ll say it again. I doubt if either my stepfather or Angus Kendall would come after me. Either of them would send a servant. Even if that man had a good description of me, how could he find me in a city this size, one that has, what? fifteen thousand people?” She nodded with assurance, but agonized if she really was safe.

“Gold talks, you know,” he said, putting her doubts into words. If either Angus or her stepfather offered a reward ... His assurance ate away at her confidence while doubts nibbled at her mind. A reward for her capture. The prospect sent shivers across her arms and legs. She saw herself being dragged back to Ros Creda and forced to marry Angus Kendall. But no, it wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let that happen!

He placed his hand over hers, and a surge of warmth zipped from her heart to her stomach. “Let us drop the matter for now. But I want you to think seriously about moving, should the need arise. Independence is fine, and I understand why it means so much to you. But all of us, at one time or another, must lean on others.”

She had to admit, if only to herself, that his argument held merit. She may have been sheltered for much of her life, but she was no longer a naive child. Not everyone is honorable; hadn’t her real father said that more than once? A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her. A hundred memories teased her brain, traces of people and places she might never see again. She missed her real father so much, this dear man who now dwelled in the Otherworld. Her mother and brother--would she ever see them again? Her village, her friends in Ros Creda, and Tillie, her horse--all these images flooded her mind and saddened her heart.

Gaderian stood, reaching his hand toward her. “Come, let’s walk for a while. It’s too lovely a night to sit on a bench so close to all the taverns.” He smiled that smile of his that could melt the heart of a demon.

As if by mutual agreement, they headed for the meadow, hand-in-hand. She reveled in the breeze that bathed her face, the heavens bright with a full moon and millions of glimmering stars. But more than the moon or stars, Gaderian’s nearness aroused her like a lover’s kiss, like the beat of a thousand drums. She liked his tall, sinewy build, his erect posture and easy walk that spoke of confidence. With each step, a burning need kindled inside her, a fever in her blood, as though life had been a cold abyss up to now. With a look full of meaning, Gaderian wrapped his arm around her waist and eased her closer; her legs weak, her body heavy with passion.

After passing Aventina’s Way with its magnificent structures and Talmora’s Temple, they arrived at the meadow, the breeze stronger here, the waters of the Nantosuelta glimmering by the moonlight.

Needing no words, they reached for each other. They kissed hungrily, as if they’d been separated for years, as though there would be no tomorrow. To kiss him like this, to be held in his arms--ah, this was pure rapture, his kisses magic! She tangled her fingers in his long locks, then let her hands roam to his neck and down his back, touching ever ridge and muscle, delighting in the joy she gave and received, the passion deep within her she never knew she possessed. Through the thin material of his tunic, she felt an unfamiliar pressure against her belly. With a swift awareness of the bulge, she gloried in his arousal, in his passion. He slid his hands down to her buttocks and held her tight against him, then released, as if taunting her, teasing her, driving her out of her mind until Gaderian was her world, his kisses all that mattered. He feathered kisses from her lips to her throat, then up to her earlobe, his mouth settling on hers again, kissing her long and fully as his fingers made sensual magic on her skin. He eased her away from him and caressed her breast; she gasped with pure pleasure as a slow heat spread throughout her body, an ache in her feminine core, a need like nothing she’d ever known. Her legs felt weak, and she knew she would slide to the ground if he didn’t support her. Yet she knew they must stop now, for if they didn’t, they would never be able to. With a heart-wrenching reluctance, she drew back, sorry for the agony she was causing him.

“Ah, Fianna,” he said with desperation in his voice. “What are we going to do?” He whispered in her ear, “I want you so much, more than anyone I’ve ever wanted in my life.”

And it’s the same with me, she wanted to say, but could only give him a look deep with yearning. She knew they must end this madness but didn’t want to stop; she could stay with him all night long and never tire of his kisses, his caresses. Yes, and for all their nights to come, until the end of time

He stepped back, his face revealing his anguish. “You’re driving me crazy, do you know that? Do you know what I want to do to you--with you? Do you know how I hunger for you?”

She could only nod, finding no words to reveal her desire for him, this sweet yearning inside her that she must deny herself--and him, for where would it lead them? Once they made love, she could never live without the pleasure he alone could give. And how much did she know about him? Would he still be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next? But Goddess, would she ever satisfy this craving for him that still burned inside her, this reminder of how much she wanted to make love with him!

He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “You don’t need to say a word, my darling. I had better take you back.”

Chapter Ten

Returned from Ros Creda over two nine-days later, Stilo headed for Kane’s apartment building, not far from his own, a magnificent structure of sarsen stone, with bas relief figures of gods and goddesses that embellished the outside. Splendid oak trees lined both sides of the cobblestone street that led to the apartment building, and an occasional rose bush added color and a lovely aroma. Mostly well-dressed men and women strolled the streets in this hour of early evening, when dusk had descended over the city and the air cooled with the sun’s sinking on the eastern horizon. Grand apartment buildings and mansions comprised this area of the city on Granno’s Way, where prosperous merchants and government officials resided, not to mention a few bandregas, unknown to the others.

Before he’d left Moytura, Stilo had torn down the sign the courier had posted to the village bulletin board, in which Angus Kendall had offered a reward for Fianna’s capture. A spurt of optimism quickened his stride, for he intended to try again to ensnare this beautiful woman, first using his magic to erase the memory of his previous failure from her mind.

Rain fell from leaden skies, beginning as a drizzle, soon becoming a downpour. Men and women rushed for shelter, heading for their own homes. Stilo dashed through the streets, keeping close to the buildings as lightning scorched the sky and bursts of light fell all around him.

Brushing raindrops from his hair and clothes, Stilo knocked on Kane’s door at the ground level and was ushered inside the spacious apartment, where oil lamps revealed a long blue velvet sofa, a few occasional chairs of the same material, and a thick sheepskin rug. Where Kane’s wife was he didn’t know and couldn’t care less. The bandrega women had learned long ago to recognize the men as their masters and knew their subservient place in society, their purpose to provide sex, produce children, and manage the household.

He handed a leather satchel to Kane. “The rings, more to come very soon.”

“Ah, yes.” Kane gestured toward a chair. “Sit down,” he said, taking a place across from him on the sofa. Since Stilo was with a fellow bandrega, he’d dropped the glamour upon his entrance, both men revealing a feral look to their faces, long ears and noses, their furry hands with claws.

“Only one hundred rings here,” Stilo offered, “not nearly enough for all the bandregas.”

The leader scratched his chin. “Almost time for our people to journey to the sacred well in Magh Eamhainn. That would be the best time to distribute the rings, when all of us are together.” He opened the satchel and withdrew a ring, studying it from all angles by the light of an oil lamp on the table. “When I hand them out, it must be on a first-come, first-served basis. You know there are always stragglers who arrive at the well long after many of us have left. Perhaps when they see what they have missed, it will encourage them to arrive on time next moonphase. And some of our kind never do appear at Magh Eamhainn, preferring to stay as they are. Fools, who don’t know what they are missing.” He frowned. “I will enforce the rule, that all of our kind must appear at the sacred well at the beginning of every moonphase. If they don’t, they will be ostracized, driven from the city.”

Kane’s eyes lit up. “As for the rings, do you see what this means? Any vampire who attacks us will find we disappear as soon as they bite and draw blood.” His voice rose in anger. “For too long, we have existed at the mercy of the undead. Time we fought back. And now that we have fooled the mortals of Avador into thinking it is the vampires who are killing them, we will soon be rid of the undead. Only a matter of time.”

Stilo frowned. “Yet we still have not gained immortality, not even I, part vampire that I am.”

“Ah, immortality!” Kane sat back, a look of cunning on his face. “Did you know I have several bandregas working on this very attribute? No, I can see you didn’t know. That was the purpose of my visit to Fomoria, to discuss this matter with the bandrega leader there.” He made a face. “A backward country, Fomoria, the mortals so primitive compared to those of Avador. But soon we will conquer them all,” he said, gesturing widely, “the mortals of Avador and Fomoria, eventually the rest of the continent. Yes, and the vampires, too. We will defeat them all! But first, we must gain immortality, a matter of adding the right ingredients to the well water in Magh Eamhainn.” He smiled slyly. “There will be no stopping us then.”

“Let that day come soon!” Stilo pounded his clawed fist on his knee. “Get rid of the vampires and mortals of Avador, then the entire continent.”

“Patience, my dear Stilo, patience.” He leaned forward. “Until then, we still have our many skills. We can practice black magic and make ourselves look human. We can seduce mortal women by applying the glamour, to make ourselves appear handsome and virile.”

Except that his planned seduction of Fianna hadn’t worked, Stilo silently lamented, damn Gaderian Wade! But he would try again ... and soon.

Kane’s voice jerked him back to the moment. “A little less than one nine-day ‘til the next moonphase. We shall all gather at the sacred well at Magh Eamhainn then.”

Stilo snickered. “Strange that the humans have not caught on to us. Here we move among them and they don’t know what we are.” He paused. “No, not really strange. They think we disappeared long ago, stupid mortals! We are truly clever in applying the glamour. And now that we’ve made it look as if the vampires are killing the mortals--”

”Queen Keriam has offered a reward for the capture of the vampires,” Kane finished with a sharp look Stilo’s way.

“I could turn in every vampire I know,” Stilo said, “and believe me, I know many. But it suits my purpose--our purpose--to mingle with them, discover their plans. Later, when the time is right, I’ll tell on them. Let the authorities turn them out in the sunlight. It will soon be obvious that they are the undead.” He smirked. “Let them burn to ashes. Only think of the reward money I’ll collect. Their leader is feckless, no help at all to them. Spends more time with his mistresses than he does in guiding the undead.” He paused. “I find my bandrega half growing stronger all the time. By the time I turn them in, I should be able to endure the sunlight myself.”

“What about the vampire you were telling me about a few ninedays ago--what’s his name?” Kane asked.

“Gaderian Wade. I’ve heard that he aims to become leader of the undead, a goal I will do everything possible to prevent. Much better for us if Orrick remains the vampire leader, lazy bastard that he is.” He smiled slyly. “Funny how those vampires talk among themselves when they think no one else is listening. I pick up much information that way.”

“I’ve seen Wade with that new scryer at the Snow Leopard.” Kane licked his lips. “What a woman! Beautiful face, tempting body....”

“Angharad Cullain,” Stilo said, irritation increasing his heartbeat. He didn’t want to hear anyone else speak of Fianna, nor would he tell even his own leader her real name. “She fancies that she cares for Wade, but I intend to change her mind.”

“Let us rid ourselves of Gaderian Wade. Something tells me he wants to destroy us.” Kane spoke matter-of-factly. “A determined man such as he is a hindrance to our plans. Just as well that Orrick remains their leader.” His harsh facial features tightened. “Destroy Gaderian Wade!”

“Oh, I intend to,” Stilo agreed. “But give me time. For one thing, I need to revive myself at the sacred well, since it’s about time for all of us to travel there again. Just as important, I mean to seduce Angharad Cullain, and I want to make Wade suffer by seeing that she belongs to me.” He looked out the wide window, where blackness covered the city, with only street lamps illuminating the cobblestones. He turned back to Kane. “Just you wait. Soon enough, I will destroy Gaderian Wade.”

* * * *

Sporting his new ring less than one nineday later, a bandrega prowled the streets of Moytura, looking for sex with a mortal woman. Nighttime had long since fallen over the capital, most of the stores and shops locked up, their awnings secured. Mostly clothing shops lined both sides of the street, interspersed with an occasional hat shop or shoe store. In this, one of the less desirable parts of the city, a few vagrants wandered the streets, and here and there a shopkeeper hurried home after a long work day.

Ah, yes, he could have a good time with a bandrega woman, the man silently acknowledged, but sex with a mortal woman added much more spice and excitement, especially if that woman fought his hold. A struggle and the inevitable conquest heightened his enjoyment and gave him a sense of power. Driven wild with desire, his body hardened until it became near painful as his gaze covered the streets and alleys for a human female. He knew he looked his best, as handsome and appealing as any mortal man, with his dark hair and straight nose, full lips. But where was a woman for him to fornicate? He lightly caressed his engorged penis, and wave after wave of longing heated his body. He dropped his hand, and through force of will, dampened his passion, reluctant to give himself away too soon.

There! A few yards ahead, a young woman stepped out from a dress shop and locked the door, obviously done for the day. She was young and pretty, he observed as he approached her, studying her even features and trim figure, her provocative breasts, neither too full nor too small, just the way he liked them. He clenched his hand, imagining how he would fondle those breasts, squeezing the luscious fruit, sucking on her nipples. He wouldn’t seek quick gratification, he vowed as he drew nearer, but liked to make his sexual experience last. And these shop girls were so easy to seduce.

She glanced up at the sound of his footsteps, an expression of alarm on her face. Her gaze darted from left to right, as if seeking a means of escape. Hmm, maybe she wouldn’t be so easy, after all. His planned ensnarement might require a little persuasion on his part.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, now face to face with her. “You know, a young woman like you should not be wandering the streets alone at night. Not safe.” He smiled widely, attempting to turn the full force of his charm on her. “Allow me to walk you home.” Sweat slicked his forehead and dampened his tunic as lustful images raged through his mind.

She stepped back. “You stay away from me. I don’t walk with strangers, and I’m perfectly capable of going home alone, been doing it for years. Only tonight, I had to work late and--” She stopped talking and bit her lower lip, as though aware she’d said too much.

“--and so here you are, alone at night, except for me, of course. But who wants to be by herself on such a lovely evening as this? And I can think of better things to do than walk.” He hardened again, scarcely able to wait. Passion burgeoned inside him, as hot as burning coals.

Clutching her by the waist, he pressed his body against hers, leaving no doubt of his desire. “See what I mean?”

“No!” She jerked free and tried to run, but he caught her and swung her around. “No!” She twisted in his arms, her face set in fearful desperation.. She opened her mouth to scream, but he shoved his hand over her lips. His recent trip to the sacred well had given him such power, superhuman--superbandrega!--strength. He held her fast, and one glance told him no one else was about, except for one man, a long distance away, coming in their direction. But the bandrega intended to finish the deed before the man guessed what was happening. He dragged her into an alley, even while she fought and kicked his shins. He panted, not with effort but with excitement. Ah, this was going to feel good.

“Now we can either make this pleasant,” he said in a conversational tone, “or I might have to use a little persuasion. Which is it to be?”

A look of terror captured her face as he raised his tunic and released his bulging, throbbing penis. She twisted in his hold, scratching her long nails across his cheek.

He flung his head back, blazing with anger. “Bitch! Persuasion it will have to be then,” he said, pressing against her. “I wanted to make this a nice, pleasant experience, but you--”

A hand clamped on his shoulder, someone jerking him around. Shock rendered him speechless, his heart hammering. Struggling in the man’s grip, he found his situation reversed with his recent and almost victim.

“Run!” the stranger ordered the woman. Needing no more inducement, she ran away, only once looking back before she turned the corner.

“As for you--” Furious and taunted by hunger, Gaderian bit into the man’s throat, and-- The man disappeared! Just like that! A mist formed in his place as Gaderian stared in shocked silence.

Tense seconds passed, but still he saw nothing but a vapor, which gradually drifted away. A bark of laughter filled the silence, leaving him puzzled and groping for answers.

* * * *

“I’m telling you what happened,” Gaderian declared several nights later inside Orrick’s splendid apartment. “It must be one of the bandregas, for no mortal man has this power.” A cool breeze wafted the silken draperies at the windows. A heavy patchouli scent polluted the air, evidence that Orrick’s latest mistress must be somewhere about, no doubt in the bedchamber.

Orrick frowned. “Disappeared, you say?” Tall and beefy, he had the look of a pugilist, or of a retired soldier who’d let his body go to seed. Bushy brown hair sprouted from a round head, thick eyebrows topping dark, penetrating eyes. Deep wrinkles tracked his forehead and cheeks.

Gaderian snapped his fingers. “Disappeared, just like that!”

“You sure you didn’t have too much to drink that night?” The vampire leader smirked.

Irritation roiled inside Gaderian, a muscle twitching in his jaw. And this is the leader of the undead, he fumed. He shifted his position in the chair. “You know I don’t drink to excess. I’m telling you what I saw, what happened that night.” Talmora’s tits! What did he have to say to convince the man?

“Witnesses?” Orrick asked with a raised eyebrow. “What about the lady in question?”

He struggled to suppress his annoyance with the obstinate leader. “I told you, she had already run away.”

“Ah, yes, you did say that, didn’t you? So I have only your word.” He sat back and crossed his legs.

Gaderian’s irritation increased, his pulse pounding. “Come on, Orrick! What could I possibly gain by making this story up?” Although he was seething inside, he fought to keep his voice even. Must not let the leader see how rattled he was. “Look what the bandregas have done, just within the past few years. They have created fear of the vampires among the humans. Now there is a reward offered for our capture. Every bit as important, how do they get their powers? How do they make themselves look human? It was not always so, Orrick. I remember and surely you do, too. More than a century ago, the bandregas had to stay within their own villages, never mingle with the mortals who would see them for the demons--the monsters!--they are. Now they can apply the glamour and practice black magic. And more recently, they can make themselves disappear. Haven’t you ever wondered how these changes came about?”

The vampire leader stretched his legs out. “It has crossed my mind now and then. And yes, I wish I knew how they have affected these changes. But until we can do something about the situation, we need to find out more.” He looked away for a moment, speaking to a distant corner of the room. “We must develop a plan.”

Gaderian scoffed. “Forget about a goddess-damned plan. Isn’t it past time we had another meeting of our representatives? We usually meet at the beginning of every moonphase. We must discover how the bandregas have acquired these powers, how they have learned to make themselves look human, and yes, how they can make themselves invisible. I intend to do something about it.” He pointed his finger at the leader. “And I intend to defeat them.”

Chapter Eleven

Fianna emerged from the Snow Leopard onto the wet cobblestones as a recent shower slowed to a drizzle and gradually stopped. The scent of rain hung in the air, a fresh, clean aroma and a welcome relief after the tavern’s smoke-heavy dining room. Within minutes, the clouds drifted away, a quarter moon and millions of stars lighting a cobalt sky. A cool breeze lifted her hair from her neck and prompted her to draw her woolen shawl closer about her shoulders as she headed for the wooden bench to sit for a while before retiring for the night. Raindrops from the oak tree dripped onto her arms, and the streetlights cast a dull path on the wet cobblestones. An occasional vagrant tramped past, but for the most part, few people frequented the streets at this late hour.

Voices reached her from the other side of a vast oak, a tree that hid her from view. One voice left her with no doubt of the speaker.

“How long has it been?” he asked. Gaderian! Who else? “Fifty years, one hundred? Time means nothing to our kind. You taught me that fact after my transformation, so long ago.”

Fianna caught her breath. What was Gaderian talking about? Who was he talking to?

“Ah, yes,” a woman replied. “But we always meet again, don’t we? You’re a difficult man to forget, Gaderian. No other man can compare to you, ever.”

A few moments of silence followed, leaving Fianna with no doubt of how Gaderian and the woman were filling the time.

Dizzy and sick with heartache, Fianna unobtrusively slid along the bench and walked steadily back toward the tavern. Inside, she suppressed tears and assumed her friendly face, smiling and returning the greetings of the men who occupied the tables in the main dining room, men who surely must have wondered why she’d returned so soon. After wending her way among the tables, she headed down the hallway to her bedchamber, her heart hammering inside her chest. Careful to hide her feelings in case any of the men watched her, she opened the door to her room and shut it behind her, breathing a long sigh, stifling the tears that threatened to spill. Cedric had recently provided her with a pine three-drawer dresser, and within the tiny room, she withdrew her black mirror from her dresser drawer, then sank down on her pallet. Once and for all, she must discover the truth about Gaderian. She should have done this long ago but realized she’d been afraid to learn the truth.

She blinked her eyes and sought concentration as she aimed for a trancelike state. She waited long moments, willing her heart to stop pounding, waiting for the visions to appear. Silent minutes passed as she stared into the mirror, every thought, every focus on Gaderian. Images swirled in the mirror, visions of a man, tall and handsome--Gaderian!--biting into a helpless victim’s throat. She saw the man thrash and struggle in Gaderian’s grasp. Gaderian sucked blood from the man’s throat, then looked up, as if looking straight at her! Blood ran down his chin and dripped onto his tunic. He let the man slip from his hold and; the image faded, leaving a blank mirror. Fianna willed the visions to return, but the mirror remained blank. Frustration taunted her that she couldn’t see more, but she’d seen enough, discovered the monster Gaderian was.

A jumble of emotions raged within her, where sorrow mingled with shock, but anger, too. She recalled the notice on the village bulletin board when she had first arrived in Moytura. She could see it clearly, a reward offered for information leading to the capture of a vampire. Goddess, don’t let it be true. Let this all be a nightmare. Vampire. The word repeated itself in her brain, over and over, a never-ending torment. Anguish churned inside her, making her sick. She swallowed again and again as tears streamed down her face. He’d led her to think he cared for her, when all along another woman held his heart. And he wasn’t even human.

If she turned him in, then what? A stake through the heart. Could she do that to the man she loved? But he didn’t love her. He had misled her, betrayed her, this man who was not mortal, this man who preyed on human beings.

Her heart pounded inside her chest, so fast she feared it would explode. With careful deliberation, she set the mirror aside as her ears rang and the room spun around her. It was all true, what she had pondered from the beginning but dared not believe.

Gaderian was a vampire.

* * * *

After gently removing Moreen’s hands from his shoulders, Gaderian sought to tell her they could no longer see each other as they had since his transformation. Or if they did meet now and then, best to meet only as friends. Without a doubt, he loved Fianna and her alone. He would love her until the sun died and the world stopped spinning.

He spoke with hesitation. “Moreen, your friendship means more to me than I can say, but--”

”But friendship is all you want, is that it? Well, it is the same with me. But a bit of casual sex now and then would not be amiss, as we’ve done all these centuries. Gaderian, you are so good in bed, I live for the times we can spend together. If only we could see each other more often--”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed on. “--and after all, why don’t we? You surely can’t be so busy that every spare moment is taken. And I get bored with many of my other lovers,” she said with a look of beguiling appeal. She placed her hands on his chest. “None of my other lovers are as good as you.”

Seeing that several mortals had gathered on the street, he lifted her elbow and led her away, where they could walk along a narrow alley, devoid of people. He looked down at her and spoke with resolve. “Moreen, I need to tell you that there is someone else I love very much.”

“Ah,” she said, her eyes alight with interest. “Who, Gaderian? Germaine, Nola? Aye, she’s a pretty one, is Nola. Or Ronat?” Coming to the end of the alley, they crossed over to Gwydion Street, this one leading to a seedier part of the capital.

Despair twisted inside him. “She is a mortal woman, and yes, I know nothing can come of our ... friendship. But don’t you see, I can’t make love to someone else--to you--while my mind is on this woman.” He remembered the love he and Moreen had once shared, the good times they had spent together. He wondered if his love for another woman hurt Moreen, the farthest wish from his mind.

Moreen sighed. “You have always held a special place in my heart. And although you tell me nothing will come of your attraction to this mortal woman, I sense you intend to pursue this love interest. I--no, let me finish. You must stay away from this mortal woman, forget her. Our kind should never mingle with humans. Therein lies only heartache--”

”You think I don’t know that?” he cried, the words wrenched from him, his despair deepening.

“We are in enough danger already.”

“The bandregas!”

She nodded. “Just so. And what if this mortal woman discovers you are a vampire and turns you over to the authorities? Or have you forgotten that there is a price on our heads?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he muttered. He tried to think rationally, despite the many doubts that stalked his mind. Fianna’s scrying had hinted to her of his secret. Talmora forbid that she would find out he was one of the undead. “In the first place, I have given her no reason to suspect what I am.” He tried to reassure himself as much as to convince Moreen. “In the second place, I flatter myself that she returns my affections. Even if she did guess what I am--and I’m certain she won’t--she would not turn me in.” He spoke with a confidence he didn’t feel, knowing full well she might be tempted to look into her mirror again, to discover the secret he’d tried so hard to conceal. And if she did discover his secret, would she surrender him to the authorities? Goddess forbid!

She waved her hand. “As important as this matter is, we will let it go for now. You know I want only what is best for you. I fear you are trusting too much to chance or good fortune, but I fear I can’t dissuade you from your purpose. I don’t want you to get hurt. Now, another matter--what shall we do about the bandregas?”

“Just as important, what shall we do about Orrick?” Absently, Gaderian glanced in the window of a shoe shop as he and Moreen trod along the cobblestones and reached Vernunna’s Alley. Bitterness crept into his voice. “How I’d like to replace Orrick as leader of the undead. The man is useless, does nothing for us. He remains aware of the danger from the bandregas, but I swear the threat means nothing to him. How in the world did he become our leader?” Overhead, clouds formed again, the breeze picking up. Heaps of garbage were piled up outside buildings, waiting for collection in the morning. A rat skittered across the cobblestones, then another ... and another.

Moreen smirked, sidestepping a loose branch on the street. “I’ll tell you how Orrick became our leader. Threats, bribes. He basks in the prestige that comes with the position, the luxurious apartment. He doesn’t do anything to earn his keep, as the mortals would say. All of which brings us back to the bandregas.” She laid a hand on his arm and spoke with determination. “If you were to discover their secret, how they can make themselves look human, what enables them to practice black magic--if you could turn them over to the government, you could easily replace Orrick as our leader.”

“This same thing has occurred to me--to discover the puzzle of the bandregas. I’d give anything to learn how they’ve gained their special powers.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It seems an impossible task. I don’t know where to begin.” His jaw tightened. “But I intend to do everything possible to defeat the demons.” Silently, he cursed himself for his words of futility. It wasn’t like him to be so pessimistic. A plan formed in his mind. He would search from village to village in the kingdom of Avador, to the places where the bandregas used to live at the time of their banishment. Would Fianna be safe from Stilo Mongan while he was away? Doubts lodged in his mind. He could not stay away for long, would need to hurry back to Moytura, to protect Fianna.

Moreen faced him. “Let’s see if I can help you. Since I’m not attached to anyone,” she said with a knowing smile, “my time is my own. I come and go as I please. I’ll do anything I can to learn more about these demons.”

A sense of optimism lifted his spirits. “Ah, then, Moreen, we will both defeat the monsters.”

* * * *

Done fortune-telling for the night, Fianna left the scrying room and walked down the hallway, into the dining room. Her mind on Gaderian and his deception, her gaze fell on Stilo. She had managed to avoid him since his previous ensnarement that Gaderian had interrupted--thank the Goddess. Catching Stilo’s eyes on her, she felt a magnetic pull, conscious that he was attempting to lure her again. This time, he would fail; she would fight him with every breath in her body. She must move cautiously, pretend that he succeeded with his bewitchment.

Wanting to avoid him now, she knew that was a hollow wish. She should have stayed in her room but as usual, wanted to get a bit of fresh air after scrying for so many hours. Besides, she hadn’t seen Stilo for a long time and had assumed he would stay away from the tavern. But she was wrong. She hesitated for only a moment before making her way to his table and smiling brightly, as if nothing extraordinary had happened between them.

Stilo eased out a chair for her. “Angharad,” he said with a slight bow, “always a pleasure to see you. You enliven my evening.”

His gaze, focused and sensuous, remained fixed on her, his eyes beckoning, luring. For only a moment, she turned away, aware she must fight his magic, must never let him ensnare him again. Could she pretend? she agonized. Could she act as if she had fallen under his spell? She saw no other course, but even as she vowed to resist his magic, a haziness fuzzed her brain, a sensation of floating above the table and looking down at herself. She stared at her fingers on the table, resolved to fight him.

“A drink?”

She blinked her eyes and looked his way. “Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.” Talmora, she had to defeat his efforts.

His voice carried a note of assumed patience. “I asked if you wanted a drink.”

“No thank you.” A drink would only weaken her further, and she needed all her faculties to persevere. She turned her head as one of the patrons a few tables away plucked on his lute and softly sank a plaintive melody, one that was popular in Avador and often sung by the minstrels.

She smiled at Stilo, acting as if all was normal, as though she wanted nothing more than to remain in his company. She breathed hard as she dug deep her soul, her very self, for an inner strength to resist him.

“You look lovely tonight.” He raised his tankard to his mouth, the full force of his gaze on her.

“You look rather handsome yourself.” And he did look handsome, she thought, afraid she was succumbing to his charms. The noise and laughter of the room faded away, replaced by a disorientation that undermined her every sense and left her groping for reality. Countless moments passed between them, a time she could tell he was projecting all his charm magic to win her over, so that she would want no one but him. But he would not, must not, succeed.

Best to divert him. “I’ve never scried for you. Don’t you want your fortune told? I’ll do it for free.” She offered him a teasing smile even while a miasma of confusion pulled her down.

“I already know my fortune,” he said with absolute assurance.

His answer surprised her. “You do?”

A few tables remained occupied as talk drifted around but she sensed a constant tug on her mind. She felt as though she was floating in the corridors of perception, unsure what was real and what was make-believe, as she searched for an anchor of actuality.

Stilo’s words wrenched her back. “I’ll fall in love with the most beautiful woman in Avador, and she’ll fall in love with me. And then....”

“And then?” she prompted, swimming against the tide of his blandishments but resolved to reach the shore of sensibility, the here and now.

“It remains to be seen if she’ll marry me, but that is my most fervent wish.” He drained his tankard and set it down, his look heavy with beguilement.

She forced herself to hesitate, aiming for her goal to think that she fell for his bewitchment. “Who is this woman? Someone I know?”

He leaned closer on the table, speaking in low tones. A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead, and he shoved the hair back with his blunt fingers. “Fianna, when is the last time you looked into a mirror, a looking glass?”

“My mother once said the same thing, but my lips are too full.” A wave of nostalgia for her home, her mother, further debilitated her.

“Your lips are just as I like them, the better to kiss.”

“And my nose turns up.”

“You have a lovely nose. And beautiful eyes I can never forget.” His expression changed from deep intensity to calm detachment. “Gaderian Wade....” he began.

“A casual acquaintance, nothing more.” What was Stilo’s game now? Why had he introduced Gaderian into the conversation? She injected conviction into her voice. She could not let Stilo guess her feelings for Gaderian, even while she realized there could be no future between her and Gaderian, nothing at all.

“He’s a fickle man,” Stilo said, “flitting from one woman to another. He never remains faithful to one woman.”

Yes, she recognized the truth of Stilo’s comment, one more reason why she had to avoid Gaderian. Goddess, how it hurt. She swallowed a painful lump in her throat.

She drew herself up straight in her chair, striking a balance in her struggle to shrug off Stilo’s allurement and at the same time, pretend she had succumbed. “Well, Gaderian means nothing to me. At one time, yes. But the man I love must love only me, be faithful to me.” That much, at least, was true.

He placed his hand on his heart. “And surely you know the woman I claim as my own will have my sole allegiance, my faithfulness for all time. I’m a one-woman man, Fianna, please believe this.”

Believe him? Never!

She threw him a loving glance and placed her hand atop his. Almost, he made her believe every word he said, almost, but not quite. A battle still raged within her, a struggle for her heart and mind, for her very self. But something told her she was winning this struggle, that if she tried hard enough and projected everything within her--everything that made her Fianna Murtaugh--she would conquer this weakness and emerge stronger for her victory. And never let him guess his failure.

She glanced around and found that all the tables stood empty now, the rest of the patrons gone. She turned back to him, her eyes meeting his, her mind and soul fighting, fighting, fighting, his bewitchment.

And winning.

Chapter Twelve

Stilo stepped out into the dark night, unsure about his seduction of Fianna. Had he succeeded? He’d seen the loving look in her eyes, felt the warmth of her skin in her touch. Granno’s balls, how he wanted her in his bed. But when he did bed her, ah, when he had her lying beneath him, she would be his sex slave, his to give him pleasure in every way he could imagine. Just thinking about whipping her excited him almost beyond endurance. He liked to see two women making love, and he knew the very woman to pair with Fianna, one with full breasts and buxom hips. Ah, what a pair they would make!

His thoughts switched to Gaderian Wade. Stilo knew his own powers had increased since his last visit to the sacred well at Magh Eamhainn. And if Wade dared to go after him to kill him, one bite from the vampire would render him--Stilo--invisible. Let Wade try to capture him then!

Could Wade save Fianna again? The question taunted him, a reminder that Fianna was not yet his. He clenched his jaw, wanting to kill the vampire now, stab him over and over and burn him to ashes. Torn between fear that Gaderian might rescue Fianna again and the knowledge that he must move slowly with the mortal woman, he vowed he would bide his time but never falter in his pursuit.

Stilo ignored the night sounds, the footfalls of the tramps who roamed the streets, his every thought on Fianna. He wondered if she even suspected that Wade was a vampire. But what reason would she have for her suspicion? Clever creatures, the undead, but not as powerful as the bandregas. An idea popped in his head; why hadn’t it occurred to him before? Next time he saw Fianna--soon!--he’d plant the idea in her mind that Wade was a vampire. Well, it was the truth. Goddess damn all the vampires, the bastards!

Never mind that Stilo himself was part vampire; Fianna would never guess. More and more, he found his bandrega half growing stronger, giving him ascendancy over any of the undead that might challenge him. Soon, he hoped to gain the ability to endure the sunlight and not need to live only by night. Before long, he wouldn’t need blood for sustenance but would prefer great quantities of red meat, like the other bandregas.

A hint of hunger teased him, and although he had fed recently, another desire tormented him--he needed to kill, kill, kill! But not here. Far better to go where he would find his victim alone. He strode on, his boot heels clicking on the cobblestones. He passed other taverns until he reached Vernunna’s Alley, where the cheaper shops resided, a section of the city where rats ruled the night, and stray cats fought over garbage. Queen Keriam wanted to clean up this part of the city by taxing absentee landlords to pay for improvements. Hah! Fat chance! Anyway, the city’s appearance meant nothing to him.

Relief poured into Stilo as he saw a lone vagrant trudging the stinking alley, the tramp in tattered clothes, a look of apprehension on his face when he spied Stilo. He gloated as the man’s steps slowed. I’m going to suck him dry, drain all the life from him.

Stilo approached the vagrant. “Say, friend, it looks as if I’m lost. New to the city, trying to learn my way around. An acquaintance wanted me to visit him tonight, keeps late hours, don’t you know. Lives on Granno’s Way. Can you tell me where that is?”

The tramp reeked of alcohol. “Ah, Granno’s Way,” he said, pointing off to the south. “That’s where all the rich folks--”

Quick as lightning, Stilo grabbed the man and jerked his head back.

“Ah!” A look of terror seized the tramp’s face. Despite his struggles, Stilo held him tight. He bit into the fellow’s throat, sucking, sucking the blood, that rich, restorative liquid that flowed through his veins and increased his strength. Even after he’d drunk more than enough and the man languished in his arms, as helpless as a blade of grass in a windstorm, Stilo continued to suck, heady with desire. His loins tightened, his body desperate for a woman. After he sucked the man dry and ended his foolish mortal life, Stilo dropped him to the ground, like a sack of chicken feed.

He needed a woman, and he knew just the place where he could find the one he wanted, the girl who knew how to please him. Engorged with blood and lust, he headed for Pleasure Alley. Looking down at his protruding tunic, he forced himself to dampen his passion. Plenty of time for fornication in a short while.

A few minutes later, he reached his destination where pleasure houses lined the street, some fancy, some plain. Scantily clad women advertised their charms outside the houses, calling to the men who passed by, pulling their dresses lower at their bosoms and higher at their thighs. Ignoring them, Stilo entered the most splendid house on the street, where red velvet curtains graced one wide window, and gold-plated oil lamps hung from the ceiling, casting shadows on the purple walls. Several girls in transparent dresses sat on a red velvet sofa, looking at him expectantly, but he didn’t see the one he wanted.

“Morna,” Stilo barked as the madam approached him.

Clad in a tight black satin gown, her face caked with makeup and bright red lipstick, the madam smiled apologetically. “Ah, Stilo Mongan, one of our best customers. But I must tell you that Morna is no longer here.”

“Not here!” A crush of disappointment sank his spirits. Morna knew every trick to please a man. “Why not? Where did she go?” Anger heated his face.

The smile never left the madam’s face. “Would you believe she married a very wealthy man who did not want to share her charms with another. Wanted her only for himself. But we have many other girls here who know all the tricks to please a man. Take Lavena, for instance, one of our most popular girls,” she said, indicating a blonde woman on the sofa.. Still reeling with fury, Stilo followed her gesture. “We’ve had no complaints about her,” she said as the blonde woman sashayed forward and hooked her arm through his. Since Stilo didn’t draw his arm away, the madam took that as his acquiescence and smiled obsequiously. “Enjoy yourself.”

Stilo nodded. “Pay you later.”

Clad in a gown that revealed all her charms, the blonde girl--her hair obviously died--led him up the winding stairs, swinging her hips with each step.

Fueled with desire and frustrated with disappointment, Stilo followed the girl up the stairs, to a room a few doors down a long carpeted hallway.

The room stank of the heady scent of patchouli. Mirrors covered the walls, pink silk curtains at the window. Lavena closed the door behind her, giggling and swaying her hips provocatively. She drew her gown over her head, revealing wide hips and full breasts, just as he liked them. Without a word, Stilo picked her up and threw her on the bed. Wearing no under-tunic, he lay atop her and plunged himself inside her, finding release within seconds. He waited a few moments for his lust to return. He moved inside her again, slowly this time, then faster, faster. Passion exploded inside him, going on and on, the best orgasm he’d ever had. Moments passed before he withdrew, wondering if he could try for another fornication.

Throughout the years, Stilo had found a thin line existed between lust and wrath. His fury at Wade’s rescue of Fianna returned, coupled with fear that the vampire might succeed again. He burned with anger, a pulsing, living thing, a need for vengeance. He raised himself from the girl and pressed his fingers against her throat, at the same time holding his hand against her mouth. He delighted in seeing her bulging eyeballs, her reddening face. She struggled and pushed him, gasping helplessly against his hand, unable to prevail against him. Moments later, she collapsed against the pillow, her body still, her eyes staring upward. Stilo rose from the bed and adjusted his tunic. He left the room and trod down the stairs, a pleasant smile fixed on his face while he nodded to the madam.

A satisfying night, he mused as he left the pleasure house, a compensation for past failures. He walked out into the darkness, aware that he would escape punishment. No one at the pleasure house knew where he lived, and he would surely never come back here again.

* * * *

Sunlight flooded Fianna’s room as she awoke the following morning. A hint of disorientation teased her mind, a disquiet she thrust aside, too well aware a remnant of Stilo’s enchantment remained within her. With all her resolve, she threw off his enscorcellement as she slipped off her nightgown, and tossed his bewitchment aside on the ash heap of failed endeavors.

And Gaderian? The question lurked at the edge of her consciousness, like a sore that wouldn’t go away. She could never love nor marry a vampire, a man who killed others for sustenance. She wondered if she had the nerve to apprize the authorities of Gaderian’s vampirism. Could she do that to him, mindful that he would suffer a stake through the heart and possibly public burning? Revulsion at the prospect of his cruel death grappled with the knowledge that vampires killed mortals by sucking all the blood from their bodies. Let the vampires be captured and die, then. They deserved it.

She stared at herself in the mirror on the wall, as if seeing herself for the first time. Who was she, and what did she want from life? First thing, she wanted independence, what she had sought since leaving home and had found here in Moytura. Besides that, she wanted stability, to settle down and stay in one place. As always, memories of her mother and brother taunted her, a torment that never ceased. A sob caught in her throat, a desperate wish to leave the capital and return home, to see her mother and visit her brother in Sligo. Would she ever see them again? No, not while Angus Kendall remained a menace, a hateful interference in her life.

She turned away, aware she had much to do this day and little time in which to accomplish her errands before her workday began. For one thing, she intended to pick up a dress at a shop on Vernunna’s Alley. Now that cooler weather had arrived, she’d need warmer clothes, and the seamstress at the dress shop had told her the frock would be ready today. One dress was all she could afford now.

If she still had time, she thought as she splashed water on her face and hands at her basin, she intended to visit Moytura’s Treasury of Knowledge to check out one or two books. She enjoyed reading and indulged in that pleasurable pastime in her few spare moments. She combed her hair with her silver comb and tied the locks back with a green silk ribbon. Finished dressing, she headed for the main dining room.

As usual at this time of day, most of the tables in the dining room stood empty. Business at the Snow Leopard rarely picked up until late afternoon or early evening, when most laborers completed their day’s work, the exception being special fair days and festivals, when customers crowded the tavern. Faint sunlight penetrated the stained glass windows, leaving the room in semi-darkness, but Cedric never lit the oil lamps until darkness had fallen, wanting to save on oil.

After an exchange of friendly words, the waitress brought her a bowl of brose-boiled milk poured over barley mill, and flavored with honey. Fianna dipped her spoon into the brose but found it too hot. The tempting scent of cinnamon rose from her mug of steaming tea as she took a tentative sip of the spicy brew. Finding the tea too hot, too, she sat and waited a few moments for the tea and brose to cool a little. She attempted her cereal again and found it just right, neither too hot nor too cold. She finished the brose and drained her tea, noting that the room had brightened a little since she’d sat down.

Done with her breakfast, Fianna pushed her chair back and left the tavern. Outside, the sun shone brightly although remnants of last night’s rain puddled on the cobblestones. Stepping over the puddles, she made her way to the shop on Vernunna’s Alley, a short walk from the tavern, along the twisted streets and alleys. Centuries ago, when the city had been constructed, foreign invasions were taken into account. Thus the city was built with a pattern of convoluted streets, to discourage invaders.

Even though the shops were located in one of the seedier sections of the city, she didn’t worry about going there at this hour of the morning. At night, well, that was a different story. Word was that Queen Keriam wanted to clean up this part of the city, but the landlords refused to pay the taxes necessary for the rejuvenation.

She loved this time of year when the heat of summer gave way to the cooler air of autumn, and the leaves changed from green to orange, gold, and red.

Along the narrow alley, she passed a second-hand bookstore, a candle shop, and a store that sold nothing but men’s under-tunics, but there were no trees, no bushes, nothing to add beauty to the street. She noticed that most of the shops were opening now, men raising the awnings, others mopping the cobblestones in front of their shops from buckets of soapy water, as if to compensate for the stores’ location in such a derelict area. Two cats snarled over a scrap of garbage, a mangy dog trotting along the avenue.

Looking ahead, she saw--a pile of rags? No! A man languished on the street a few yards away. A vagrant, no doubt, a man who’d passed out after one drink too many. Afraid her guess might be wrong, and that he was dead, she warily approached the body on the street. She wondered why the shop owners had not checked on the man but assumed they were used to seeing drunks here in this alley. She knelt beside him and sniffed but didn’t catch the smell of liquor. The man lay still, so still, no rise and fall of his chest. Her heartbeat quickened, her fear intensifying. Goddess! He couldn’t be dead. And look at his skin--so white, as if all the blood had been drained from his body. Gingerly, she shook his shoulders but got no response. And he was cold, so cold. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. The street tilted around her.

She waited several moments for her dizziness to pass, then rose on shaky legs. Trudging back the way she had come, she searched for one of the city’s sentries to report the dead man.

After that, she would go to the magistrate’s office to report Gaderian.

* * * *

Leaving the village of Tir Conaill far behind, Gaderian headed back to Moytura, approaching the Nantosuelta River. Oaks, pines, and hemlocks lined both riverbanks, a pleasant, piney aroma filling the air. Clouds hid the moon and stars, and a strong northerly wind sent tree branches thrashing. He reached a bridge that spanned the river, the horse’s hooves clattering over the wooden boards, then onto the hard ground again. For too long, he had been away from the capital, away from Fianna. He had yet to discover the bandregas’ secret, what gave them their ability to look human, their skill in practicing black magic. He knew from centuries past that a tribe of bandregas had inhabited a village close to Tir Conaill, this at a time when they had remained genuine demons, before they had developed the ability to assume human form. Other such hamlets existed in Avador, when the demons had been banished from mortal centers. Yet he had found these old villages empty of habitation, human or demons. The knowledge that Moreen was searching for the bandregas’ secret gave him a glimmer of hope that between the two of them, they were bound to discover a clue. He considered enlisting the help of others among the undead, but decided against it. Too many of them talked loosely, revealing secrets, and quite possibly word would reach the bandregas that the vampires searched to discover their secrets.

Hunger gnawed at him, a burning, tormenting need. The craving weakened him, but he dared not stop. He must see Fianna again, ensure that she was safe. As a cloud slid away from the moon, he looked up at the sky and guessed the time, mindful that Fianna would soon end her work day. Surely Stilo wouldn’t attempt seduction of this dear woman again. Surely he had learned his lesson.

Tempted to stop by his home on the outskirts of the city, he decided against it. He must see Fianna again. And he must feed.

The spires of the city’s temples came into view as he cantered down a rocky, woodsy hill, the city’s streets and edifices laid out before him, as clear as daylight. The Gorm Forest loomed to the north, a vast area of pines and hemlocks.

A recent rain slicked the city’s cobblestones, the streets devoid of people. He slowed his horse to a walk as he approached one of the city’s stables. The smell of horses and fresh hay floated up his nostrils as he entered the structure, most of the animals asleep while standing. After giving instructions to the stable boy, Gaderian walked on, headed for the Snow Leopard. He glanced all around him and saw no one, just frame apartment houses and a few cheap shops, their windows closed and shuttered.

His hunger intensified, his weakness slowing his steps. He had to feed--now! He needed to find someone--

A man stepped out from the shadows and grabbed him from behind. A bite on his neck, a sizzling pain like acid, sent him falling. The world spun around him.

With his last bit of strength, he looked up to see his assailant. He gasped as he saw wolf-like features and furry hands.

A bandrega!

Chapter Thirteen

“Gaderian has been asking for you.” A woman stood in the doorway of Fianna’s scrying room, looking worried. Her voice--so familiar! Ah, yes, the woman she’d heard talking to Gaderian. Fianna kept silent, allowing herself time to think. Why was Gaderian asking for her? And why did it hurt so much to see this other woman, his lover? She wished she could drive him from her mind, this man who haunted her dreams and teased every waking hour.

“Madam?” She strode into the room, a beautiful woman with silvery hair, a black velvet dress hugging her curvaceous body. No wonder Gaderian loved her.

Fianna forced herself to speak. “Gaderian? And who are you?”

The woman sat down across from her. “Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Moreen, and I’m a friend of Gaderian’s.”

More than a friend, oh, so much more. Fianna shook her head, an indefinable haziness hindering her ability to think clearly, Stilo’s allurement she thought she had conquered.. A plethora of emotions fused inside her head, Gaderian’s betrayal foremost. He was a vampire, a fact he had never revealed to her. But why should Gaderian’s affection for this woman matter to her now? He was one of the undead, out of her life forever. If Gaderian was the enemy, why did her heart beat faster at the mere mention of his name?

Moreen leaned forward, looking increasingly worried. Her low décolletage revealed full breasts. “Gaderian is very sick. He wants so much to see you.” Her nails were beautifully manicured, shining silver in the dim light, to match her hair.

“Sick?” Fianna didn’t know vampires suffered illnesses. Yesterday returned in full force, the dead man on the street, her report to the city sentry. She’d headed for the magistrate’s office to inform on Gaderian, but at the last moment, she couldn’t go through with it, and why, she didn’t know. Did she still love Gaderian, this man who had betrayed her? You can’t just turn love on and off; that much she knew. She folded her hands on the table and forced herself to speak calmly. “What illness does he suffer from? And where is he?”

“Last question first. He has taken shelter in a cave--”

”A cave!” The same cavern in which she had first met him?

“I’ll let him tell you why he chose a cave to take refuge in. And he can explain his illness.” Moreen stood. “Come, we are wasting time. I’ve hired two horses at the stable, healthy mares. You must come with me. Believe me, he is quite ill. I’ll let him explain everything to you. But please, we must hurry.” She hesitated. “You do ride, don’t you?”

“For years, since I was a child.” More worried by the minute, she pushed her chair back and stood. “Give me but a few moments to tend to matters here.”

Leaving Moreen, Fianna headed for her room, there to return her mirror and money box to her dresser. She grabbed a woolen shawl from a drawer and tied it across her chest, then left the room, locking the door behind her and pocketing the key. At the tavern counter, she spoke a few words with Noel, the man who took Cedric’s place at night, explaining that an emergency had arisen, a very sick friend. Noel gave his reluctant permission but advised he expected her to work a full day on the morrow.

A short walk on the rain-swept cobblestones, past the other inns and taverns and an occasional shop, took Moreen and Fianna to a spacious stone stable with a few small windows. The aroma of fresh hay and horses permeated the air. Recognizing Moreen, the stable boy led the mares out, two fine-looking animals already saddled and bridled. From the mounting block, they mounted their horses and the boy adjusted the stirrups, then they rode away under an overcast sky, past the shops and warehouses on the southern edge of the city. Thunder rumbled in the west, a thick bank of clouds blocking the moon and stars. Along the way, they passed the mansions of the wealthy, these three-story structures of stone and brick with their spacious lawns and beautiful greenery.

First trotting the mares, they increased their speed after leaving the capital, then galloped the rest of the distance. Her hair whipped behind her, the wind against her face. Fianna felt the horse’s muscles bunching beneath her, its mane flying back. How good it was to be riding again, although she lamented the reason for the journey. They splashed over mud puddles as they ascended rock-strewn hills and descended into deep valleys, the horses’ hooves pounding on the ground as they covered miles. Oak trees and earthberry bushes lined both sides of the dirt road; a fresh, woodsy scent filled the air. Here and there cottages nestled on small plots of land, and sometimes large farms commanded acres rich with crops ready for harvest. A owl hooted from a tree, and foxes took refuge among bushes at their approach.

“Almost there,” Moreen said, now slowing her horse to a canter.

Fianna slowed her horse, too, but remained silent, seeing all the familiar trees and bushes, aware they headed for the cave where she had first seen Gaderian. Memories came flooding back, of her first meeting with him, of his kiss. Despite the rush of warmth inside her, she thrust the recollections aside, knowing there could never be anything between them. He was a killer of humans, a creature she must learn to hate. If only she could.

They trotted the mud-splashed horses up a grassy hill and stopped outside the cave, then tied the reins to an oak branch. Darkness covered the land, the moon in hiding, not a star to be seen. A wolf howled in the distance, and a chorus of howls answered.

“Take my hand,” Moreen advised, “sharp drops and dips inside here.”

Clasping Moreen’s hand, Fianna found the woman’s skin ice-cold, like winter snow.

Moreen led the way, moving with sure-footed confidence inside the cavern’s craggy interior as they followed the twists and turns, from one chamber to the next. Water dripped from overhead, and Fianna heard gushing waters in the distance as they moved cautiously along.

“Moreen?” Gaderian’s voice sounded weak, without its usual rich timbre. His voice echoed through the chamber.

“Fianna is with me,” Moreen answered as they approached. A flaming torch thrust in the limestone wall lit Gaderian’s prone body, his hands crossed over his chest. “I’ll leave her alone with you and wait outside the cave. First, I’ll take the horses to the stream so they can drink. I’ll return in a little while.”

Alone with Gaderian, Fianna was torn by emotions as the torchlight cast flickering shadows over his body, making him look whiter than chalk at one moment, and the next, giving his body a faint gray color. Still hurt by his betrayal--for concealing the truth about himself--just the same, a burst of sympathy gripped her upon seeing his weakened state. She sat down on the cold limestone floor, confused about his illness, about her feelings for him, and waited for him to speak.

“Fianna.” He reached his hand toward her but she refused to take it, opting instead to face him head on. Yet she wanted to take his hand, to know the feel of his skin, to have contact with this one man she could never forget, no, not in a thousand years. His voice was weak, the sharp lines and planes of his face more pronounced than ever.

“I wasn’t aware vampires got sick.” Speaking the word “vampire” made her breath catch in her throat, her skin shivering. She had to remain calm, never let him see how merely the sight of him made her want to lie down next to him.

A surprised look claimed his face, and he shot her a questioning glance. “How did you find out that I am a vampire?”

“Scrying, of course, and I should have figured what you were when I first scried for you. But you weren’t honest with me, were you?”

He sighed. “I knew ... knew about the reward posted for turning in a vampire.” He quirked a smile. “Do you know, I took that sign down when I first saw it, but it went back up again. As for not telling you, I couldn’t take the chance. I wanted you to accept me for what I am, as one who ... cares for you, very much.”

She let that remark about caring pass, instead addressing his illness. “How did you become sick?” And when will you get well? she wanted to ask. But he had pained her too much with his deception, for not telling her what he was, and she wanted to hurt him back. He loved another woman, so remained forever out of reach. She wished it didn’t hurt so much.

“First let me tell you that Moreen found me about an hour after I was attacked, else who knows what might have happened to me. A bandrega--”

”Bandrega?” There were no such creatures.

“A bandrega bit me. I was weak from hunger, unable to fight back.” He looked long and hard at her, a look of pleading on his face, but defiance too, as if daring her to challenge his words.

“Bandregas! Tales to scare children. They disappeared from Avador long ago. No doubt they are living in Fomoria or Partholonia now.” She snorted. “You’ll have to think of something better than that.”

“Please believe me!” He reached for her hand again, his skin as cold as the limestone, then dropped it as he sank back on the stone floor. “The bandregas are demons, walking and living among us now. They have magical powers beyond comprehension.”

A painful bitterness roiled inside her. “You expect me to believe this?” She shifted her position, her backside numb from sitting on the cold cavern floor. “How can you expect me to accept what you say?”

He gazed at her in poignant misery. “Because you mean so much to me.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he rushed on. “I have never lied to you.”

“Never? A matter of interpretation. You haven’t told me the truth.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “I already explained why I didn’t tell you everything about me. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You never had me,” she said with brutal frankness. She immediately regretted her harsh words but would not stop now. Certain his illness was temporary, she sought to get even with him. “Stilo loves me and wants to marry me.” She assumed an expression of serene acceptance. “I’m considering his proposal.”

”Stilo!” He jerked up, then winced with pain as he lay back down. His face held a look of agony. “Stilo?”

“Yes, the same.” Shadows flickered across the limestone, bestowing a ghostly quality on the cave. Disorientation still hazed her brain, prompting her to wonder if this was all a dream.

He laid his arm across his forehead. “Marry Stilo? You can’t mean that.” His voice sounded distant, then closer, and she questioned if it was her haziness or his illness that created that impression.

“What if I do?” She nodded toward the entrance. “Anyway, you have a lover.” Water dripped from overhead, and she moved a few feet back.

“Moreen is a friend, one I have known for centuries. We were lovers at one time, yes, but no more.”

Fianna said nothing, letting the silence speak for her. What if he was telling the truth? If he was, the truth made all the difference in the world, but it still didn’t mean that he loved her.

He drew one leg up close to his body, then stretched it out again, grimacing with pain. “You must not marry Stilo. He--”

”Must not,” she interjected. “Who are you to tell me what I must and must not do?”

“--he is a vampire, also.”

“Impossible!” She glanced around, wanting to leave, but she couldn’t see beyond the torchlight.

Gaderian narrowed his eyes. He leaned closer, a look of purpose on his face. “Please, Fianna, I beg of you. Don’t marry Stilo.”

She bristled with resentment. “Don’t tell me what to do. My life is my own now. For once, I’m not dependent on anyone. My decision is mine alone.”

He looked up at her. “Have you ever scried for Stilo? No, I can see by your expression you haven’t. Do it, then, when you return to the Snow Leopard. And please stay away from him.”

Memories chased themselves in her brain, of her and Stilo, but Gaderian, too. Vague images penetrated her mind, of the festival and Stilo, the recollections leaving her more bewildered than ever. And something about an elevator. She shook her head to clear it, agonizing that she was going out of her mind.

“One thing I wish you would promise me, that you’ll stay away from Stilo.”

“Why should I?”

A pleading note crept into his voice. “Because I’m asking you to.”

She shook her head. “Not a good enough reason.”

He sighed. “For now, please do as I ask you. And when you get back to the tavern, take a look in your scrying mirror. See what you discover about Stilo.” He spoke forcefully. “Be strong, Fianna. Fight him. Don’t let him lure you again.”

She let his remarks pass as he changed his position on the hard limestone. Still muzzy-headed, she had a sense that she was someone else, looking down at her body. She pondered what was real--what existed in the here and now--and what was her imagination. The silence stretched, an awkwardness that left her bereft and confused. Above all, she didn’t know what to believe about Stilo.

“I still don’t understand about your illness,” Fianna remarked to change the subject. “Whether or not bandregas exist,” she said with a wave of her hand, “in what way are you sick? What are your symptoms?”

He moved his hand restlessly across his chest. “Weak, so weak. A burning ache in every muscle, a pain in every joint. And nauseated.” He sighed heavily. “Caught unaware, when I was already so weak and hungry.”

“Well, um, how do you feed now?”

He smirked. “Haven’t felt much like feeding, but when I do--” He motioned toward the cave entrance. “Moreen.”

“I see.” She nodded, aware of the breach that separated them. “I’d better leave now,” she said in a tone of finality. Goddess, her thoughts were scrambled, and she wondered if she’d ever straighten them out. She rose and brushed the limestone from her hands.

As if she had sensed Fianna’s discomfiture, or possibly felt it was time for Fianna to leave, Moreen appeared in the chamber where Gaderian lay and stopped in front of Fianna, throwing her a questioning look.

Fianna nodded. “Best I get back to the tavern now.”

Within minutes, the vampiress led her from the cave. A light rain fell on their way back to Moytura, the rain matching her mood. Neither said a word.

* * * *

After Fianna left, Gaderian cursed himself for his illness, and for being caught by a bandrega in the first place. Pain wracked his stomach, a torment he’d tried to hide in Fianna’s presence but feared he hadn’t succeeded. He hated his weakness, this incapacitation. Despite his optimistic words to her, he lamented when--or if--he would get better.

He breathed deeply, catching her lilac scent that still lingered in the air. He recalled her sultry voice, her slender fingers and delicate hands, her skin so soft and warm, like cattail puffs on a hot summer day. He remembered the time from so long ago--eons!--when they had kissed and held each other so close in the meadow. In spite of his debilitating illness, a yearning stole over his body, a desire to make love to her, to make her his own. He closed his eyes, his imagination running free, and pictured all the ways they could make love, how to prove to her all that she meant to him. Passion gripped him, hard and strong, replacing the pain that tortured him.

He had to get well soon, had to discover the bandregas’ secret! He would find that out, damn it! Thank the Goddess Moreen would help search, too, promising she would cover as many cities and villages as possible, whatever was needed to discover the bandregas’ secret. And when he--or she--did find out what gave the bandregas their powers, he would supplant Orrick, that feckless good-for-nothing, as leader of the undead. He must not permit his people to remain in danger. Already he’d heard of two of the undead, captured and imprisoned in the magistrate’s dungeon. In time, they would go on trial, but how had they allowed themselves to get caught? Perhaps they had been captured in a moment of weakness, suffering from hunger, as he had been snared. More to the point, how would they prove their innocence once their trial came up?

Gaderian clenched his hands at his sides. He had to get well soon, for his sake and Fianna’s.

Stilo. The name taunted his brain and drove him to madness. What was there about Stilo that set him apart from the other vampires? Why did his very essence arouse puzzlement, coupled with fury? Ah! It came to him then, like a sword stroke. He remembered Stilo’s fingers--talons! He recalled taking a drunken Stilo home so many years ago, back to the man’s apartment, when Stilo had been weak, his defenses down. The vision resounded in his head now, beating against his brain like thunderclaps--the sight of those talons. The image had disappeared so quickly, that Gaderian had thought at the time, he must have imagined it.

Now he knew. Stilo was part bandrega.

* * * *

Returned to her room at the Snow Leopard, Fianna sank onto her pallet and closed her eyes. Haziness obscured her thoughts, a feeling she wasn’t quite anchored to the present, while images, mostly of Stilo, drifted in and out of her head. Now and then, a vision of Gaderian emerged, and with it, a wellspring of happiness. Pictures of Stilo flashed in her brain again, leaving her more puzzled than ever. Opening her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to recall something Gaderian had told her to do, an important task she must fulfill.

Ah, yes, Stilo. Gaderian had told her to scry, to find out what she could about Stilo.

Fianna stood to get her mirror from the drawer, then sank back down on her pallet. She closed her eyes again and breathed evenly, shutting out all thoughts except those of Stilo. Silent moments passed before she opened her eyes and gazed at the black mirror, her mind still focused on Stilo. Pictures gradually appeared, his handsome, even features, a face she’d seen so many times. The pictures faded in and out while others took their place, of feral features, a long nose, and furry hands. She saw him in this form, biting into a human’s neck and drinking blood. She gasped and rubbed her eyes, convinced this was another creature, not Stilo. She stared at the mirror again, once more glimpsing his handsome face, but ugly animal attributes surfaced once more, frightening pictures that made her heart pound. Nausea churned in her stomach, her skin snow-cold.

Gasping, she dropped her mirror on the pallet, as if it were deadly poison. This can’t be, can’t be, can’t…. She swallowed hard, fearful she would vomit, her skin turning hot, then cold. She pressed her hand to her heart and took deep breaths, afraid--Talmora, so afraid!--to accept what her eyes told her.

Stilo was part vampire, part bandrega.

* * * *

“I’m going after her.” Angus Kendall faced Kelvin Connor across the jeweler’s desk. “She’s in Moytura, I have no doubt. Why that fool of a messenger failed to find her is beyond me.” He tapped his chest. “I’ll find Fianna this time.”

Kelvin looked up from his desk. “I have more rings finished for you to deliver to the bandregas. As for Fianna--what if she’s not in Moytura?”

Irritation stirred inside Angus. “We’ve been through this before. Something tells me she is in the capital. But if not, I’ll search every city, every village in Avador. No one gets away from me.”

Chapter Fourteen

Fianna braced herself and walked out into the tavern’s main dining room, her new woolen dress clinging to her ankles. She smiled at the men as she passed all the tables while her eyes teared in the clouds of smoke. For days after her visit to Gaderian in the cave, she had avoided Stilo, unsure how to handle him. She must face him and could no longer postpone their meeting. Yet she had to proceed cautiously, pretend that all was normal between them. If she didn’t ... her intuition told her Stilo could be dangerous when crossed, a warning sign she should have recognized long ago, upon first meeting him.

Despite her efforts not to think about him, Gaderian dominated her thoughts. Had he recovered from his illness? She found herself thinking about him every day; the more she avoided Stilo, the more Gaderian teased her mind. But nothing would come of their friendship--and friendship their link would remain, for even if what Gaderian had told her was true, that it was the bandregas who were killing the mortals, she could never share her life with a vampire.

Now that she had evicted Stilo from her thoughts, she realized she could manage very well on her own. She liked her independence, living her own life, making her own decisions.

Fixing a smile on her face, she approached Stilo’s table, the usual place by the front door where he always sat by himself. As soon as she looked his way, she felt a pull on her senses, a disorientation, as if she were two places at the same time. She took the chair he held for her and sat down, a haziness surrounding her. His musk scent overwhelmed her, and she wondered why she’d ever found it appealing.

His eyes were penetrating, his gaze focused on the space between her eyes. “Why haven’t I seen you here lately?”

“Been working long hours,” she hedged, aware that was a feeble excuse. She had always worked long hours here. Fight his spell. Don’t let his magic overcome you.

“But I haven’t seen you here,” he said, tapping the table. “Avoiding me?” He grinned, as if to take the edge off his words.

“No, of course I haven’t been avoiding you. My goodness, why should I? I’ve been very tired lately. Not sleeping well.” She bit her bottom lip, regretting her last remark. He would wonder....

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Why haven’t you been sleeping well? Thinking about me, no doubt. Wanting to bed me? You should be happy, about to be married soon.” He reached for her hand, his skin cold and furry. Furry? Goddess! A tuft of brown hair fouled the back of his hand. She jerked hers away, furious with herself for being so obvious. She recalled his image in her mirror, his bandrega features. She tried not to shudder.

“In the name of all the gods and goddesses, Fianna, what is the matter with you?” Curiosity defined his face, but anger, too.

She glanced at his hand again and saw normal skin, a human hand. She thought quickly. “Sorry, it’s ... it’s my moontime. Women often act oddly at that time, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I see.” He shoved his hair back and stood. “Come, let’s go outside for a while. This is no place for courting a lady.”

The last thing she wanted, but she dared not refuse. “All right, but only for a few minutes. It’s late. I should go to bed soon.”

He held her chair back as she rose from her seat. “And I’ll see that you do.” Together, they left the tavern, she ignoring the grins and knowing looks from the other men. How can Stilo act such a gentleman, she agonized, when he is an evil demon? Yet she knew his charming manners were part of his magical powers, the ability to pretend to be something he wasn’t, and to act with assurance.

They walked out into the cool night air, a strong breeze from the north fluttering tree branches and sending dry leaves scraping along the cobblestones. He gripped her hand and she felt the pull of his magic with every breath she took, every drop of blood in her veins. At the same time, she sensed his ensorcellement was weaker now, or was it that she had developed stronger defenses?

“Shall we walk to the river?” He looked up at the sky, where a multitude of stars stretched across the heavens, and a full moon cast its light on the land. “A clear night, no hint of rain.”

“Not to the river this time.” She claimed the wooden bench where she often sat. “Not feeling well tonight ... you know, what I explained earlier.”

He joined her on the bench. “Very well, if that’s how you want it.” She caught the edge to his voice and reminded herself she must remain alert. A shiver of fright raced down her spine.

He turned her way, his eyes alight with craving. “If we are to marry, it’s time we pleasured each other.” Without another word, he jerked her into his arms and pressed a wet kiss on her mouth, a kiss as cold as mountain snow. Revulsion swept over her. She must not fight him, for she could never let him suspect her feelings, or lack of them. She had no choice but to let him think she returned his affection. His tongue plundered her mouth, driving in deep. He pressed his hand to her breast, squeezing so hard tears brimmed her eyes.

“No!” She struggled in his grasp, but he persisted, reaching for her hand and setting in on his crotch. He held her hand down so that she couldn’t draw back, pressing it down and releasing it, again and again, moaning with passion. He released his other hand from her breast and tried to push his hand past her thigh, but her position on the bench prevented his intent, thank the Goddess!

This wasn’t love; this was lust. Gasping, she tried to break loose, but he held her tight. His hand inched up her dress, past her thigh, his fingers aiming for her most feminine part. She panted and struggled in his arms, trying to push him away, but her efforts were as meaningless as pushing against a tree trunk.

“Enough!” She feared she’d vomit.

A tramp shuffled past and guffawed, the sound like thunder in the nighttime quiet. Stilo drew back, his face set in anger, his breath coming in hard gasps. He threw her a look of fury, as if she were to blame for their aborted lovemaking. Nevertheless, she silently thanked the vagrant for his interruption, because if he hadn’t laughed at them, she would have screamed for help.

Relief poured over her, coupled with a strong warning inside her head. She would never permit Stilo to guess how abhorrent she found his lovemaking. If this was lovemaking, she wanted no part of it.

Fianna straightened her dress and sought serenity, even as her own breathing came in quick gasps and she struggled to hide her revulsion. Loathing and fear tangled inside her, a constant barrage that hindered clear thought. He kept his gaze on her, his expression accusing, even while deep passion lurked in his eyes. Smoothing her dress, she stood and he followed, his face twisted with frustration.

She dipped deep into her mind for the right words that would veil her contempt and not betray her feelings. “Stilo, when we are wed, we can consummate our love and enjoy each other’s bodies. Until then....” She let the sentence hang in the air, hoping with all her heart he would attribute her caution to modesty. Goddess, she could never marry this wretch.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He jerked his head in the direction of the tavern. “Come, let me walk you back.”

Fearful he would still catch her aversion to him, she set her hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly on the lips. “When I’m your wife,” she whispered, “we can make love like animals.” He would never know what her pretense cost her.

* * * *

After Fianna left him, Stilo kicked a street lamp, cursing his impulsiveness. Fool! Had he frightened her away? Worse, had she freed herself of his ensnarement?

He vowed to stay away from her until the next moonphase, not too long from now. His powers always weakened at the end of each moonphase; indeed, that was true of all bandregas. Once they drank from the sacred well, they were rejuvenated, their capability restored. He counted the days until the next journey to Magh Eamhainn, agonizing that he couldn’t wait that long. Yet he had no choice.

Granno’s balls! He needed a woman. His loins stiffened, his desire at a fever pitch. One thing he knew: his passion never lessened, no matter what day of the moonphase, unlike females, ruled by the moon. Dampening his ardor, he strode the cobblestones, heading for Pleasure Alley, but not the house he’d visited before, where he had killed the bitch. On second thought, best he avoid that street altogether, on the slim chance that one of the girls in the area might recognize him. Very well, then, he would prowl the alleys until he found a woman.

He wandered the lonely cobblestones, looking for a woman, any woman, as he walked past cheap shops and businesses. Rats skittered along, and cats fought over piles of garbage. But no woman, damn them all to hell. Fierce anger coursed through him, melding with a sizzling desire that brooked no denial. About to succumb to his temptation and head for Pleasure Alley, after all, he saw a woman ahead of him on the street. Woman? No, a girl, no more than fifteen, he guessed as he shortened the distance between them. He caught her frightened expression, his excitement mounting. She switched directions and ran, but he quickly overtook her and grabbed her from behind. She screamed, but he clapped his hand over her mouth while he held her in an iron-tight grip and turned her around. A pretty girl, he mused, with blonde hair and dark eyes. Making helpless sounds beneath his hand, she threw him a look of entreaty, her eyes wide with terror.

So excited he thought he would burst, he dragged her over to a darkened shop entrance, away from the street lamp. He threw her down on the street, her head banging on the cobblestones, and pushed his tunic up. Thrashing in his hold, she tried to fight him, kicking him in the shins, but he held her fast. He thrust himself inside her, disappointed but not surprised that she wasn’t a virgin. These homeless girls often had to trade their favors for any food or clothing they could get. He gloried in her struggles as he plunged himself inside her again and again, finding his release all too soon.

His hand still over her mouth, he fumed at the night’s events--Fianna’s snub of his advances and his fear that Gaderian Wade had warned her away from him for good. Damn the bastard! In furious reprisal, Stilo bit into the girl’s throat and sucked, then kept on drinking until he knew there was little blood left, even while she struggled in his arms. Satiated, he dropped her lifeless body on the cobblestones and glanced every which way, making sure no one else walked the streets.

Seeing no one, he strode on, headed for his apartment, Fianna tormenting his mind the whole way. As difficult as the prospect was, he decided to stay away from the tavern and thus avoid the beautiful scryer. He would wait until the next moonphase before seeing her again, after he had revived himself at Magh Eamhainn. Even as he made the resolution, he wondered if he could keep it. She was a fire in his blood, a burning need in his gut.

At any rate, he had gained gratification this night, both sexual and corporeal. Not a bad night, after all.

* * * *

Outside the deserted village of Magh Eamhainn, Moreen trotted her horse to a stop and slid off the beast, then tied the reins to an oak branch. Forested hills surrounded her in all directions, the night air cool but clear, with moonlight pooling the ground. Tired and discouraged, she questioned her sanity in coming to this abandoned hamlet, for what would she find here that had eluded her in the other cities and villages she had visited? What secrets about the bandregas could this lonely place possibly reveal? She had heard tales about this isolated place, stories she discounted, about Magh Eamhainn being haunted, the mortals fearing to live here.

Still, she was performing this mission not for herself but for Gaderian and indeed, all the undead. Surely, if she could bring good news back with her, it would help in Gaderian’s recovery. She worried about his sickness more than she wanted to admit, but hoped and prayed he’d be better when she returned to Moytura, especially if she had reliable news to give him about the bandregas. And if Fianna would only return his affection, she silently admitted, recognizing that his devotion and love for the mortal woman ran deep and unswerving. She sighed with regret, for the love she and Gaderian had once known, a love he now felt for another woman. But thinking of the past would not help her deal with the present, of the mystery she had to solve.

Her gaze covered the empty frame houses that squatted on their small plots of land, the huts decrepit with broken windows and hanging shutters that banged in the wind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a family of foxes that raced across the rutted lane and disappeared into the woods that bordered the hamlet. She glimpsed a well close by, where the forest ended and the village began. Overgrown weeds and tall grasses tossed in the wind, a wind that swept dirt along the road, getting in her eyes, making her cough. She asked herself again why she had come to this Goddess-forsaken place. Obviously, no one lived here, yet she had vowed to cover as many villages as possible.

The answer was the same, no matter where she went. “Bandregas! No such creatures in Avador. They left the country years ago, gone to Fomoria or Partholonia.” More often than not, she got this additional refrain, “It’s the vampires that are killing the mortals.”

Now here she was, in this empty village of Magh Eamhainn, apparently deserted a long time ago. Well, she might as well leave and--

“They come here, you know.”

Moreen swiveled around, scolding herself for getting caught unaware.

A lone man approached, a hermit by the looks of him, with a scraggly beard, long, stringy hair, and tattered clothes. Up close to her now, she saw he had an eye missing and one arm that ended at the elbow. He smelled of sweat and stale urine.

Quickly, she recovered, retreating a couple steps. “Who comes here?”

He gave her an odd look, as if to say part of her brain was missing. “Why, the bandregas, of course.”

Her pulse raced. “How do you know about the bandregas?”

He shifted position, putting his weight on one foot. “Why, I seen ‘em, naturally.” He snickered. “Rest of the village left, a long time ago. Somethin’ about the well water.” He pointed, and she followed the direction of his finger. “You see that well over there? Years ago, one of the bandregas--the leader, I reckon--put somethin’ in the water that made the people sicken and die--”

”But not you? You never drank from the well?”

“Nah, never did. I live in a cave,” he said, nodding toward the hills that rose in the distance. “Never did drink from the well or mix with the villagers. They wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with me on account of my missing eye and bad arm. But sometimes I’d stand in the wood and watch these people--them that lived here before the bandregas. Within a few days, jist about all of them got sick and died. But some of them sur--sur--”

”Survived?”

“Yeah, survived. Don’t know why. Mebbe they was stronger than the others, or didn’t drink as much water as the others. Who knows? Anyways, them that didn’t die packed up all their things and left for other villages and never came back, everyone sayin’ the place is cursed.”

“The bandregas....” she prompted.

“Well, that’s what I’m tellin’ you if you’ll jist listen. Whatever is in the water that killed the people is like a magic elix--elix--”

”Elixir?”

“Yeah, that’s it. The bandregas come here once every moonphase to drink from the well. They come at night, takin’ lonely back roads, I reckon, one at a time. I seen ‘em sometimes, not all the time, mind you. But I been livin’ in the cave for years and sometimes I come here at night, sometimes during the day, jist to see what I can filch from the houses. Those bandregas always come at night, lots of them lookin’ like the demons they are, others lookin’ weak, kinda bedraggled. They line up at the well--hundreds of ‘em!--and drink from a dipper there. Within a little while--no more’n an hour, ‘cause that’s how long it takes for all of ‘em to drink, they look handsome, the best lookin’ people you ever saw.”

“Men and women?” Moreen asked.

“Sure, both. Children, too.”

Moreen nodded, scarcely able to hide her exhilaration. Just wait ‘til she told Gaderian this news. She couldn’t get back to Moytura fast enough.

“Oh, and one more thing--”

”Yes?”

The hermit turned and spat. “Last time they come, their leader--I think his name is Kane--handed out rings to the men and women, like the rings was somethin’ special, magic or somethin’.”

She digested this information, wondering at its significance. What magical function did the rings serve?

“Sir, you--”

”Dyfed’s the name, ma’am.”

“Dyfed, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve told me.” She rummaged in her pocket for a gold piece. “Please take this, use it for--”

”Nah.” He waved his hand. “I ain’t got no use fer a gold piece. Where would I spend it? I’m happy livin’ alone in my cave.” He squinted his one eye at her. “But tell me, how come all these questions about the bandregas?”

“Well .... a friend and I suspect they are doing evil things to the people of this country, killing them, mainly in the capital. We must thwart them, ensure that they kill no more.” And kill them, she vowed, but would not say. “So they come here every moonphase? When, do you know? Beginning, middle, end?”

He shrugged. “How should I know? Time means nothin’ to me. I only knows they come here every moonphase. I count the days between the visits.”

She was getting closer to solving the puzzle, the question of when. “How many days has it been since they last came?” She held her breath.

He scratched his crotch. “Lemme think. Musta been more’n twenty.”

More than twenty! Not much time left. She placed her hand on his shoulder, wishing she could give him something to express her gratitude, at the same time anxious to return to Moytura. “Dyfed, you have helped me so much, more than I can ever say. If there is anything I can do for you--”

”Nah, ain’t nothin’ I want, ‘cept my other eye and the rest of my arm. And I reckon you can’t give ‘em to me.”

“Believe me, I would if I could. I thank you, Dyfed, from the bottom of my heart. Goodnight to you, and may the Goddess watch over you.”

After Dyfed plodded away, she untied the mare’s reins and led the horse toward the well. There, she saw it was well-constructed, lined with brick, a dipper and bucket resting on the ground beside it. It stood about four feet from the ground and maybe the same distance across. She stood in silent contemplation and stared down into the well, her keen night vision enabling her to see the water, as clear as if it were daylight. She sniffed, trying to catch a smell, but found the water odorless.

She mounted the horse and headed for Moytura, ecstatic with her news but too well aware that she and Gaderian--all the undead--were running out of time.

Chapter Fifteen

Clad in her cotton nightgown, her long hair hanging loose, Fianna knelt to draw her blanket back, then sank onto her pallet. Business being slow this night, she had gone to bed early. She pulled the blanket up and stretched her legs out while countless anxieties raced through her head. Anxieties, yes, Gaderian! He haunted her, taunted her, a thousand tormenting memories. Out in the dining room, an occasional bark of laughter broke the night’s silence, but for the most part, quiet had settled over the tavern. Anyway, she was used to the noise by now and had always been a sound sleeper.

She wondered if she had fooled Stilo with her pretense of love. A clever man was Stilo, not easily deceived. So what if she hadn’t fooled him, what could he do? She didn’t want to find out. Just stay out of his way.

And, ah, Gaderian. He had to get better, and soon! She’d learned that vampires were immortal, once she realized that the undead really did exist. Only a stake through the heart killed them, and even that often failed if it did not reach the center of the heart, in which case burning completed the gruesome task. If Gaderian recovered from his illness--and oh, how she prayed he would--she could never wish that fate on him. But if he killed humans? She shook her head vigorously, too confused to think clearly.

In the pitch blackness of night, she turned over on her side, trying to find a comfortable position. Face it, she loved him, no use denying it. She loved him for his goodness, for his consideration of her, for always being there to help her. She pictured his slow smile, heard his deep voice, felt his fingers on her skin. But her love for him would lead her nowhere. Gaderian was holed up in the farthest reaches of a cavern, in a location she could never find. Why had she treated him so shabbily on her last visit, when Moreen had come for her? If she traveled to the cave, could she find him on her own? Not likely; she might get lost and never find her way out.

Her eyes closed, and visions filled her head, of Gaderian and their time together in the meadow so long ago, their caresses, kisses. Ah, to live that time over again, to see him once more....

A tap on the door jerked her from her daydreaming. She pushed herself upright, wondering if she had only imagined the sound. A second tap brought her to her feet, and she padded to the door, shivering in the nighttime chill.

She brushed her long flow of hair back. “Who is it?” she asked in a loud whisper.

“Moreen. Please let me in. I have to talk to you.”

Gaderian! Something had happened to him.

Pressing her hand to her thudding heart, Fianna opened the door, stunned beyond words to see the vampiress again, here in the tavern, in the darkest hour of night. No, not surprising to see her now, since the undead lived by night and shunned the light of day.

Moreen stepped inside, as lovely as ever with her silvery hair, her regal figure and curvaceous curves, her face shrouded in darkness. She smiled. “Give me credit for a little courtesy. I didn’t want to shock you by sliding through your door, something I can do.”

Ah, yes, vampires had powers that mortals couldn’t conceive, but how was Moreen’s presence related to Gaderian? Or was it? “How did you know which room is mine?”

“Not difficult. I caught your lilac scent. But we are wasting time. Gaderian wants to see you again. It would make him very happy. Please throw a dress on and come with me. I have two horses waiting at the stable, the same ones we used last time.”

“Gaderian,” Fianna murmured, afraid to ask. “How is he?” Her heart skipped a beat. She held her breath.

“Very sick. The bandrega caught him at his most vulnerable, when he was hungry and fatigued after a long ride. Please, enough talk, let’s go.”

“Yes!” Fianna’s heart raced as she wrenched her dresser drawer open and grabbed a woolen dress, then slipped it over her nightgown. She threw a woolen cloak around her shoulders and tied it at the throat. Not knowing how long she would be with Gaderian, she drew a honey cake and an apple from her drawer, wrapped in a linen cloth that she had saved from lunch, and tied the ends together. Seizing the key on top of her dresser, she dropped it in her pocket and motioned for Moreen to go ahead. She closed and locked the door behind her, pocketing the key as always. In the dining room, the few patrons left gave her a surprised look upon seeing her departure now, coupled with admiring glances for the vampiress.

Outside, a cool wind whipped at her hair, her dress billowing around her ankles. Moreen appeared not to notice the cold, but of course, temperatures meant nothing to vampires. Fianna’s thoughts switched to Gaderian, this enigmatic man who dominated every waking moment and haunted her dreams. Don’t deny it. You care for him. Her love for him had blossomed and grown over the past several moonphases, ever since she had first met him, if she wanted to be honest with herself. Always there when she needed him, he was a constant support in her world that had turned upside down ever since she had left home, when her stepfather had told her she must marry Angus Kendall.

A short walk led them to the stable, where they mounted their horses and left the city behind them, neither speaking for a long time.

Once on the road, Fianna could no longer hide her dread. “Gaderian--he will get better, won’t he?” She threw an anxious glance at Moreen as the horses followed the twists and turns of the winding dirt road. She scarcely noticed the trees and bushes that lined both sides, the cottages on their small plots of ground, the occasional mansion. Clouds drifted in front of the moon, and a fresh wind tossed tree branches and whipped her hair across her face. She shoved her hair back as she waited for Moreen’s reply.

Moreen stayed silent for so long, Fianna feared the vampiress wouldn’t answer. “It’s very unusual for one of our kind to react in this manner to a bandrega bite. Sick, yes, for a short amount of time, but never like this, for so long. I can only conclude....” She paused.

“Can only conclude, what?” Fianna held her breath. Agony seeped through her, a slow torture.

Moreen turned to give her a long look. “Can only conclude that other factors are at play ... other forces.”

Fianna squeezed the reins so hard her nails bit into her skin. “Other forces? What do you mean?” Aware of her rising voice, she couldn’t stop. “Tell me!”

Moreen looked her way again, and even in the dark, Fianna saw her face drawn in sorrow. “Please, dear, let’s wait until we see Gaderian again. Why, for all we know, he may be recovering--even while we speak. Let’s wait and hope for the best.”

They slowed down as the road curved, and then ascended a rocky hill, the ground thick with shale and spreading tree roots. Catching the wind, a hawk soared overhead, diving down behind the hills.

Fianna’s throat clotted with unshed tears. Goddess, how can I bear it if something happens to him? Afraid to consider what that something might be, she braced herself for the cruel truth.

Gaderian was dying.

* * * *

Stilo sulked at his table inside the Snow Leopard, as always sitting by himself, ignoring the few other patrons at this late hour of the night. A terrible weakness enfeebled him, a frightful panic that he wouldn’t be able to last until the next moonphase before heading for Magh Eamhainn to drink from the sacred well. Determined to enforce the rules, Kane, their leader, had issued an edict that all the bandregas must make the trek to the well to arrive on the first day of the moonphase, traveling singly or as families. No stragglers, no truants, and no excuses.

Stilo raised the mug of ale to his lips, all the energy drained from him, afraid that his demon features would soon surface, afraid the mortals would see him for what he was. He couldn’t even wear his ring now, the one that made him invisible, his fingers were so swollen. Chastising himself for coming to the tavern, he couldn’t deny the reason. He yearned for Fianna, needed her as he needed air to breathe, blood to suck. Upon his arrival this night, he’d checked her scrying room but found the place empty, the oil lamps doused. He pondered the meaning of her absence. Had she left the tavern or gone to bed early? Tomorrow night stretched ahead, if he could wait the long hours before seeing her.

His thoughts reverted to his own dilemma, an overwhelming fear that he couldn’t bide his time until the beginning of the next moonphase. What if he arrived at the well a day or two early? No fooling Kane, Stilo acknowledged. The leader would surely recognize if Stilo didn’t arrive at the appointed time since he--Stilo--held much influence among their people. If he did arrive early, what could Kane do about it? Ostracize him? Punish him? He snickered, for he recognized his own importance among his kind, his keen mind and oftimes quick thinking. Did he owe his sharp mind to his vampire half? The reason didn’t matter; the other bandregas looked up to him. He tapped his fingers on the table, shocked to see a patch of fur on the back of his hand. Hiding his hand under the table, he took a swig of ale with the other and cast a furtive glance around the room. No one had seen him, he felt sure. He sank back in his chair, only then aware of his tight muscles, glancing one more time around the room. A couple tables remained occupied, the rest of the patrons gone home.

“Say, friend, mind if I join you?”

By all the demons, yes, I mind. Stilo sullenly nodded toward an empty chair. With all the empty tables in the place, why had the fellow chosen this one?

The stranger pulled the chair out and sat down. In a fine black linen tunic woven with gold metallic threads, he had the look of an important man, a merchant, perhaps. His brown hair was neatly combed and reached almost to his shoulders.

He gestured toward Stilo’s empty mug. “Allow me to buy you another mug of ale.”

Stilo waved his hand, speaking with reluctance. Granno’s balls! He just wanted to be left alone. “I’ve had enough.”

The man raised his fingers to get the barmaid’s attention. “Well, I think I’ll have an ale, if you don’t mind,” he said as the barmaid headed in their direction. After she took the newcomer’s order, Stilo looked him over, tempted to get up and leave now, return to his lonely apartment.

The man smiled his way. “Ah, but I haven’t introduced myself. Angus Kendall, from the village of Ros Creda.”

Angus Kendall! The mine owner. For reasons he couldn’t identify, Stilo didn’t want him to know his identity, or that he was a bandrega. “Gildas Keir,” Stilo said, thinking quickly.

He placed his hand on the other man’s shoulders, and Stilo did likewise in the traditional Avadoran greeting.

“Ros Creda. That’s from the southern part of the country, isn’t it?” No longer bored, Stilo gave him a close look.

“Why, yes.” He placed a couple coppers on the table as the barmaid set his ale down. “Ever been there?”

“No,” Stilo lied, “but your accent sounds familiar.” Like Fianna’s, that clipped speech, the well-enunciated syllables. As for Ros Creda, he’d traveled there recently to pick up the rings, made from the gems that came from Kendall’s mine. Ah, sweet irony!

The newcomer’s voice jarred Stilo back. “A long way from home. Arrived three days ago, staying at one of the inns. Been looking for someone ever since.” He leaned forward to speak in a conspiratorial manner, even though no one else could hear him. “You see, I had a slight disagreement with the lady I was to marry. I’m sure you realize how, uh, temperamental young women can be at such a crucial time of their lives. So to make a long story short, she ran away. I’ve been searching the city for her--”

”Wait! How do you know she came to the capital? Does she have relatives here?” A vague suspicion teased Stilo’s mind, offset by the fear the young lady might not be Fianna. Too much to expect.

Kendall quaffed his ale, and then set the mug down with a soft thud, wiping his hand across his mouth. “No relatives that I know of. Just figured she’d come to the largest city in Avador, where it is easy to lose oneself.” He barked a short laugh. “Although I don’t see how a lady as pretty as she could remain anonymous. She is a real beauty, a woman any man would hate to lose. I intend to post a reward for her if I don’t find her on my own.” He frowned. “Somehow, she got the impression that I don’t love her.”

A rush of exuberance erupted inside Stilo, but doubts bridled his euphoria. It couldn’t be Fianna, just couldn’t be. Yet if it was, here was his chance to get even with her, and yes, with Wade, too. Goddess damn them both. Granno’s balls, how he’d love to see her dragged back to Ros Creda. And force Wade to witness her humiliation. A sexual hunger burgeoned inside him.

He gave Kendall a wary look. “How about describing her?”

Kendall rolled his eyes. “Ah, you’d know her if you saw her. Fianna--”

”Fianna!”

Kendall looked at him sharply. “You know something.” A statement, not a question.

“We’ll see.” He set his face in nonchalance, reluctant to reveal his emotions. “Describe her,” he repeated.

“Easy to describe. Chestnut hair, beautiful face and body.” Kendall grinned. “Gives a man ideas, if you know what I mean. Last name is Murtaugh.” He narrowed his eyes. “You do know her.”

Stilo grinned slyly. “Odd how coincidences occur. She works right here, in this tavern.”

“What!” Kendall slammed his hand down and looked around frantically. The other patrons had left, the barmaid, too. The night barkeeper, Noel, walked around the room, dousing the oil lamps, giving them meaningful looks. “Where is she?” Kendall asked. “Is she one of the waitresses who works here earlier in the day?”

Stilo shook his head, trying his best not to gloat, ignoring the barkeeper’s hint. “She is a scryer.” But where is she now? Gone to bed?

“A what?”

“Scryer, looks in a mirror to tell your fortune, for a fee, of course. Goes by the name of Angharad Cullain. If you ask anyone else about her, I’d advise you to use that name.”

The man’s face fell. “Then it’s not the same woman. Never heard of Fianna scrying, and Murtaugh is a common name.” He looked around again, as if expecting her to suddenly materialize. “Where is she, do you know? Once I see her--”

”That’s the strange thing. She lives here, has a room in back.” He jerked his head in that direction and tried to hide his own keen disappointment. Kendall would wonder why Fianna mattered to him. “But I haven’t seen her this night. Been away myself for a few days, so I don’t know where she went, or if she went anywhere.” He scratched his chin, then quickly lowered his hand, fearing the tuft of hair remained. He glanced at his hand, relieved the hair had disappeared. “Can’t imagine where she went. Not like her to just go off.”

Kendall gave him a suspicious look. “Sounds as if you know her very well.”

Stilo laughed with false cheerfulness. “Well, there was a time when I fancied her myself. Changed my mind, decided she was too flighty.” His gaze covered the room, his mind playing for time. “Tell you what. Let me know where you’re staying. I’ll get word to you as soon as she returns.”

“As good a plan as any.” Kendall gave him the information, and after draining his mug, departed the tavern.

Vindictive delight grappled with puzzlement. Stilo asked himself yet again, where had Fianna gone? Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Wade, either, not for days. His heart lurched. Was their a connection between Fianna’s absence and Wade’s?

* * * *

Within the dim recesses of the cave, Moreen led Fianna by the hand, making their tortuous way to the place where Gaderian rested. In her other hand, Fianna carried the linen cloth with her snack, making movement difficult. Either Moreen has excellent night vision, she mused, or she knows the cave by heart. Probably both, she decided as they veered to the right, entering another chamber. Outside, Moreen had tied the horses and left them munching on the grass. She had created a magic spell around the mares, protecting them from harm or thievery.

Shortly before reaching the cave, Moreen had apprized her of the sacred well the bandregas drank from and how they renewed their vigor at the beginning of every moonphase, enabling them to appear human, giving them magical powers.

“You must believe me when I tell you this,” the vampiress added. “It is the bandregas who are killing the mortals and making it look as if the vampires are doing the killing. Gaderian has been aware of this problem for a long time, but so far a solution has eluded us.”

What could they do about this situation? Fianna agonized. How must the vampires defeat the bandregas? What a turnaround she’d made in her mind, for now she was on the side of the vampires. The damned bandregas were the threat.

“Something tells me I can trust you not to speak to anyone about this, except Gaderian and me, of course. I’ve already told Gaderian about the well,” Moreen had said, almost as an afterthought. Shuddering with cold and worry, Fianna tried to tighten her cloak around her shoulders but her grip on Moreen’s hand made movement difficult.

After an eternity, they reached Gaderian. By the torchlight that flickered from the cave wall, Fianna saw with a sinking heart that he looked so much worse than on her last visit. He’d lost much weight, his tunic way too large for his emaciated frame. A wave of sorrow and regret clutched her heart. Goddess, please don’t let him die. Please make him well again.

Feeling around in the dim light, she settled herself on the cold floor and set the linen cloth with her food beside her. She forced a cheerful smile as her eyes rested on his haggard face, his emaciated body. Despair knifed through her, an unrelenting torment.

Moreen tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll leave the two of you alone while I tend to the horses, take them down to the stream.”

Gaderian held up a scrawny hand. “No, stay here for a few minutes.” He spoke in a rasping voice, scarcely above a whisper. “I have much to discuss and not much time.”

Not much time? Fianna’s heart was breaking. What did he mean? She bit her lower lip, trying not to cry. She wanted to lie down next to him, cradle his head on her shoulder and tell him she couldn’t live without him. Now, when it was too late, she realized how much she loved him. Too late? Oh, please don’t let it be so.

He held Fianna’s gaze, then switched his attention to Moreen. “About the well at Magh Eamhainn and how the bandregas journey there for sustenance every moonphase--I don’t need to tell you what this means to me--to all of the undead.”

“Yes, but what are we going to do?” Moreen sank down beside Fianna, her silvery hair falling to her shoulders. She frowned. The torchlight cast shadows on the wall, creating an eerie ambience. “We must poison the water, but how?”

Fianna caught the desperation in Moreen’s voice, a distress that found response inside her. She twisted her fingers in her lap, her mind working while she prayed frantically for Gaderian’s recovery and a solution to their problem.

Gaderian spoke so faintly, Fianna and Moreen had to lean closer to hear him. “I’ve given the matter much thought while I’ve been lying here.” He laughed without humor. “Not much else to do but think. Now, the well....” He shifted his position, wincing with pain. “Since I was an apothecary in my mortal life, I know more than a little about poisons. So here’s what we must do. We will poison the well. Let’s start with foxglove, but since it has a bitter taste....”

Fianna watched his face while he spoke, every line, every muscle, as she listened to his muted voice, a voice that sounded as if it would give out any minute. The torchlight cast shadows on his face, at times darkening it, at others making it light. Goddess, how she loved him, but she agonized that it was too late for them. Afraid she’d made her worry too evident, she sat back and tried to impart the impression of merely concerned interest. His voice faded away, forcing her to lean forward again. She was crying inside; this might be the last she’d see him. She ran her fingers through her hair, then stopped when she caught his gaze on her.

“...and so,” Gaderian finished, “a mixture of these ingredients should kill the bandregas within hours after drinking from the well. Silver nitrate, too.” He sighed and closed his eyes, as if speaking was too much of an effort. He looked at Moreen closely. “You can obtain these poisons from a local apothecary. There is one on Medros Lane.” He shot her a glance. “Are you familiar with this apothecary?” At her nod, he went on. “Go there in the middle of the night, tomorrow, to get this mixture and leave ample payment. Don’t forget a flask and a funnel. The poisons should be clearly marked.”

“That should not present a problem.” Moreen paused, as though she had more to say.

Gaderian shot her a troubled look. “What?” His hands moved restlessly across his chest.

“Orrick has called a meeting of the undead representatives from around the country. The meeting has been forced upon him. You know how irresponsible he is, can’t do anything on his own. But there have been too many complaints about the bandregas, too many for him to ignore.” She hesitated. “If I am to procure the poisons and ride for the well at Magh Eamhainn, who is to attend the meeting? Since you’re one of the representatives, he’d surely notice your absence.” In a fit of frustration, she slapped her hand on her thigh. “That these two events should come so close together.”

Fianna’s heart sank. She’d been listening to their dialogue without interruption, certain they could solve the problems, between the two of them. But now this presented a new aspect, one for which she saw no resolution. With the cold seeping through her, she pulled her cloak closer about her, unobtrusively, so they wouldn’t notice. Shadows danced on the wall, and she heard the rush of waters in the distance. The drip, drip, drip of water close by became a constant irritant.

“Not a coincidence,” Gaderian said. “Apparently there are many aspects of human life that operate on a moonphase level, such as with women.” He threw Fianna a smile. “We normally have a meeting at the beginning of every moonphase because that’s when our power is greatest, when we can think our best. Seems to me that the bandregas draw their power at the beginning of every moonphase, too, even if it is with an element outside their body, in this case, the sacred well water.” He frowned. “What makes it so upsetting this time is that it took Orrick so long to call a meeting of the Guild of the Undead.”

“But what shall we do now?” Moreen asked on a desperate note. “Shall we have another one of the undead ride to Magh Eamhainn?”

Grimacing, Gaderian stretched his right leg out and shifted position. “Not sure how many of them know where Magh Eamhainn is. No reason why they should. Neither mortals nor the undead live there now, from what you’ve told me.” His brows knit. “Besides, the fewer who know about the bandregas’ secret, the better. As loyal as the other undead may be, some of them have a tendency to talk too much. Word gets around. The bandregas may catch on that we know their secret.”

“Then shall we ask Orrick to change the night of the meeting? Either move it up closer or have it later, after you have recovered.”

Gaderian slashed his hand through the air. “No! We should not change the date of the meeting. It will arouse suspicions, and once more, the rest of our kind will wonder why. We know many of the undead frequent the taverns of the mortals.” He clenched his hands across his chest. “I just want to get this over with. Poison the well and be done with it!”

“What about your friend Egan?” Moreen asked.

He shook his head. “He’s been away for some time, visiting friends in Uisnech, I believe.”

Moreen released a frustrated sigh and spoke in quiet, patient tones. “One of us must go to the meeting. That’s all there is to it. The other representatives are out for blood, if you’ll forgive the expression. We need a good, steady person such as you. Besides, our people have become tired of Orrick, no, disgusted. How many times have you told me that yourself? Also, there are other things our people want to discuss. We need to know the facts, what has been decided.”

Gaderian’s features tightened. “We have no choice, then. I will go to the meeting. I’ve lain here too long, anyway. Should get used to standing again.” He tried to rise, his face twisted with pain.

Fianna placed a restraining hand on his chest, forcing him to lie back down. “I’ll go.”

Moreen blinked. “To the meeting? But you’re a mor--”

”No, listen! I’ll go to the well.” Moreen and Gaderian spoke in unison, both of them objecting to her plan. Ignoring their arguments, she turned to Moreen. “Get the poison mixture and bring it to me.” She thought for a moment. “I’ll stay here with Gaderian. Meet me here early tomorrow morning, long before daylight. Leave one of the horses for me to ride. ” Her mind struggled with ambivalent emotions. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with Gaderian, yes, but she was worried out of her mind about his condition. If she rode to Magh Eamhainn, she would be away from him for days. What if something happened to him while she was away? she wondered, not wanting to admit what that something might be.

Moreen nodded. “Yes, but--”

”No ‘buts’ about it. Meet me here tomorrow morning, say, two hours before daylight. That should give you time …” She pressed her finger to her bottom lip. “… to sleep when you need to.”

Gaderian clasped her hand. “A big chance you’re taking. So many things can go wrong. Not for the world would I have anything happen to you. What if a robber attacks you along the way? What if you get lost?”

“I won’t get lost, and I can outride any other rider. As for robbers, did I never tell you I’m very proficient with a dagger?”

At his look of surprise, Fianna spoke with conviction. “Well, I am.”

Once more, Gaderian shook his head. “I won’t let you do it. I could not bear it if you met misfortune along the way.”

“Nothing will happen to me. Besides, I don’t see that you have much choice.” She nodded in Moreen’s direction. “Be sure to get my dagger, sheathed in a leather belt in my drawer. And my long vest to cover it. I know where Magh Eamhainn is, slightly northwest of Sligo. I rode past it years ago with my family. My father scoffed at the idea that the village was cursed.” She nodded with assurance, shifting position, her backside numb. “Which leaves Cedric to worry about.”

“Cedric?” Moreen asked.

“The owner of the Snow Leopard. Someone will have to explain to him that I won’t be there for a few days--”

Moreen spoke again. “Well, I can do that. He already knows about your sick friend, assuming the barkeeper told him.”

More problems crowded into Fianna’s mind. “Then there’s the money he’ll lose by my not scrying.”

“Don’t be concerned about the money.” Gaderian’s voice evidenced his fatigue, his disability. “I’ll reimburse him for any money you might lose.” Apparently he realized the futility of further argument, accepting that this was something she alone must do. But he didn’t look happy about it.

Fianna leaned over to smooth his hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering on his skin. “So now you agree?”

He sighed. “I still don’t like it, but I’m afraid I have no choice, as you say. I couldn’t bear it if ... if you didn’t come back,” he said, his voice breaking.

She nuzzled her face against his throat. “I will come back,” she whispered.

“It’s settled then.” Moreen’s tone of assurance replaced her earlier skepticism. “I’ll pack a saddlebag of clothes and such that you’ll need and bring it here, let’s say three hours before sunrise, which will be better for me. I’ll go to the meeting in Gaderian’s place and tell him the truth,” she said with a look his way. “I’ll tell him you’re sick, and why. By that time, Fianna will already be on her way to Magh Eamhainn. Or arrived. The poisoning of the well will be an accomplished fact.”

Fianna tried to convince herself that she was helping Gaderian and all the vampires by traveling to Magh Eamhainn to poison the well. But oh! How she hated to leave Gaderian, now that they had discovered how much they meant to each other. Would he be alive when she returned? If something happened to him, she didn’t want to live.

Chapter Sixteen

Alone with Gaderian, Fianna lay down beside him and clasped his hand, his skin as dry as parchment and cold as ice. She ignored the discomfort of the frigid limestone floor, content to spend this time with the man she loved, but more worried about his illness than she cared to admit. Goddess, she prayed as she had so many times, make him well again. Despite her interrupted sleep last night, she felt wide awake, and all the things she wanted to talk about crowded her brain, until she didn’t know where to start. With every breath she took, she feared she had too little time in which to tell him all the matters that pressed heavy on her heart.

“I will get better, you know.” It seemed he could read her mind. His voice, low and rasping, broke through her thoughts, as welcome as sunshine after a thunderstorm. She ached to kiss him, caress him, make up for the time she’d questioned her love for him. Now, she agonized that it was too late to tell him all she wanted to say, but she wanted to accept his reassuring words.

She squeezed his hand. “Goddess, I pray it will be so.” But deep distress still touched her mind, an ever-present fear that he would not recover. He looked and sounded much worse than on her last visit.

He returned the squeeze. “I will get better. Having you with me has made all the difference in the world. And if I could believe that you cared for me--”

”You know I do, although it took me a long time to realize it.” While I suffered under Stilo’s enchantment, she silently acknowledged. And now? Did any future happiness exist for them? She wanted to live her own life, make her own decisions, stay in one place, once and for all. Could she achieve these desires if she married him? But wait; he hadn’t said a word about marriage. Even if they didn’t marry, could they achieve happiness together? She didn’t see how, unless he let her live her life as she wanted. It gave her a sense of pride to have a job she considered fascinating and useful, to be earning her own money. She was her own woman and wanted … needed … to remain that way.

For now, she would forego these thoughts of the future and live only for the present, take each day as it came, her main wish to see him well again.

“And when I’m better, I want you to move in with me, where you will be safe.” He spoke with more resolution now, his voice stronger. “I don’t want to wonder from one night to the next if you’ll still be in the tavern, or if your fiancé--”

”Not my fiancé!”

“--the man who wants to marry you. I don’t want to even consider that he might come for you. You will be safe at my house,” he repeated. “The renovations are complete. I intend to move in as soon as I recover here. Can’t move in while I’m sick. My servants will wonder enough about me--why they never see me in the daytime. And although I expect their loyalty, they will wonder more if they don’t see me at all. When you move in, I will expect no obligations from you,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I told you that once before, remember?”

“Yes.” But could she resist him? Not likely. While Gaderian spoke, Fianna pondered how to tell him she didn’t need anyone; she could take care of herself. And decided the direct way was best. “For the longest time, I have wanted independence. I have my own life to live now, and that means much to me. I told you that before, remember?”

“Yes, and I also recall that Stilo Mongan cast a spell on you once and nearly succeeded a second time. I recognized your disorientation the last time you visited me here--”

”I wasn’t disoriented!” Yet he spoke the truth, a truth she feared to accept. She had come so close to succumbing to Stilo’s malignant magnetism a second time. Afraid their discussion would soon degenerate into an argument, she raised herself and leaned across his chest. “Please, dear, let us not disagree in the little time we have together. Let’s make the most of these hours we have with each other.” She lifted her head and kissed him on the lips, her breasts cushioned against his chest. Her kiss deepened, a heavy passion inside revealing how much she had yearned for him all these moonphases since first meeting him. She tangled her fingers in his long, curly hair, letting her hand linger on his neck.

“Ah, yes!” Moaning, he wrapped his arms across her back and eased her closer. Through his tunic, she felt the movement of his muscles, the pressure of his arms drawing her nearer. A deep hunger blazed inside her, a craving so long denied during their separation when she suspected him of evil.

Pressing ever closer, she feathered kisses on his chest and throat while he changed position, his fingers and hands caressing her breasts, moving downward to cup her buttocks, his breath coming in gasps. She wanted their lovemaking to go on and on, but they must stop. Besides, she told herself with righteous justification, he was sick. With a reluctance that bordered on despair, she withdrew from him and once more settled next to him. She was still on fire from wanting him, waiting for her passion to subside. She breathed deeply, a throbbing in her feminine core.

A short laugh rumbled in his throat. “See, I told you I would get better. All I needed was you. I still have a long way to go, mind you, and I don’t yet have the strength to stand.” He sighed. “If only I could go to Magh Eamhainn in your place. The thought of you putting your life in danger....”

She turned his way. “How can I be in danger? If I start out tomorrow night, it won’t take me long to get to the well. I’ll arrive there several days before the next moonphase.” She leaned over to place a light kiss on his mouth. “Don’t be concerned about me. Haven’t I said, time and again, I can take care of myself. Yes, I know you saved me from Stilo’s ensnarement, but since then I’ve learned to fight him, resist him. I’m safe from him now.”

“What about the man who wants to marry you?”

“The man I don’t want to marry. So what if he comes after me? What’s he going to do, drag me back to Ros Creda? I won’t go,” she said simply. “I’m my own person.”

“We must discuss these things more,” Gaderian said, his voice slurring. “But not now.”

“One more quick question.” She nodded toward the torchlight. “Does that light never go out?”

“Magic,” he murmured. “Magic keeps it lit.” He lay silent, his eyes closed, his body rigid. Fianna sensed it was daylight outside, his time for sleeping.

Hungry now, she sat up and unwrapped her linen cloth and bit into the honey cake, its rich texture thick with almonds. She ate every bit of it, thankful she had remembered to bring food. While its almondy taste lingered in her mouth, she brushed her hands off and bit into the apple, the sweet juices running down her chin. Dabbing the cloth across her mouth, she regretted not having more food with her. This small repast would have to last until tomorrow night, when Moreen returned. She wished she’d brought more food with her, but her anxiety to see Gaderian had blotted out every other consideration.

Drowsy from her aborted slumber of the previous night, she closed her eyes and fell asleep immediately. As her sleep deepened, she dreamed of a deserted well, where a horde of demons crawled out from its depths. The fiends chased after her, brandishing bottles and screaming, “Poison! Poison!” Frightened beyond thought, she ran from them, becoming tangled in weeds and thickets of earthberry bushes. Just when she thought she was safe, another demon menaced her. His long ears extended out from his head, his furry hands ending in talons. She looked up at his face and--Stilo!

Her heart pounding against her rib cage, she jerked awake and glanced frantically around. Perspiration dampened her dress. At first, she didn’t recognize where she was, and feared her dream had become reality. She breathed a long sigh of relief to see she still lay in the cave, Gaderian asleep beside her. Thoughts crammed her head, mostly of Gaderian’s offer to have her come live with him. No obligations, he’d said, but she knew she couldn’t resist him and wondered if he could resist her. Did he want her only for her body? No matter what, there could be no future for them, a fact painful to accept. She would grow old and gray while he stayed young and handsome. In time, he would want another woman, either vampire or mortal. A man as handsome as Gaderian could attract any woman he wanted. She clenched her hands, never wanting to accept that possibility, but she had no choice. And how could he stay in one place for any length of time? Others would wonder how he remained young while they grew old.

These problems segued to more immediate ones. What if Moreen failed to obtain the poisons at the apothecary? So many things might go wrong with their plan, rendering the whole scheme a disaster. She had spoken confidently to Gaderian and Moreen about trekking to Magh Eamhainn, but life didn’t always go as planned, a hard lesson she’d learned long ago. What if her horse went lame? What if a robber overcame her, despite her denial of that possibility? What if? What if? She sat up straight, then levered herself to her feet, resolved not to think about her journey. In the semi-darkness, she braced herself along the limestone wall, feeling her way carefully to the spot where water dripped from overhead. Catching the water in her cupped hands again and again, she slaked her thirst.

Needing to exercise muscles sore from lying so long on the hard stone, she stepped within the space lit by the torch, then twisted from side to side. It would be hours before Gaderian awoke again and a long time before Moreen returned. In the meantime, she intended to catch up on her sleep.

* * * *

Moreen came the following night while Fianna lay dozing. At least it must be night, Fianna surmised as she slowly came awake, but time meant nothing inside the cave, where perpetual darkness prevailed, relieved only by the flickering torch whose range stretched but a few yards. Yet she considered the time spent with Gaderian a blessing, their chance for learning more about each other, for strengthening the love between them. And what will become of our love? she agonized, while her mind struggled with conflicting emotions and desires. If she came to live with him--a possibility that beckoned like a siren song--she would become a woman without a purpose, a piece of driftwood floating on the river of regret. Perhaps the day would come when she welcomed his protection, but for now, she didn’t foresee that occurrence

Gaderian’s hand in hers, Fianna was lying next to him when Moreen approached in the cave’s dim interior, her face and body a blur in the faint illumination.

They both looked up as the vampiress sank down next to them. Fianna slowly came awake, then sat up and shimmied into a comfortable position, eager to hear what Moreen had to say.

“First of all,” the vampiress said without preamble, “I got the poisons, the right mixture as Gaderian suggested, combined in a flask. No easy job, that, searching for containers in a strange apothecary, mixing them with a funnel. It’s a good thing I have such excellent night vision. So that’s done,” she said with a satisfied smile.

“Where is it?” Fianna looked around frantically, not seeing the flask or her satchel, or any evidence that Moreen had succeeded in her mission.

“Outside the cave.” With a toss of her head, Moreen gestured in that direction. “It’s a glass flask, of course, so I tucked it in your saddlebag. Which reminds me, it seemed a saddlebag would suit your purpose better than a satchel, easy to carry while riding, so I, uh, procured one for you. Also packed food and clothes for you, everything you’ll need for your journey. Compared to that task, it was a simple matter for me to sneak into your room. As for the horse, don’t worry,” she said in response to Fianna’s frown, “no one will steal the horse or your saddlebag. I placed a protective spell around both mares.” She took a deep breath. “Now, another thing ... do you go by the name of Angharad Cullain in the tavern?”

A spurt of alarm jolted Fianna. Fear tingled along her spine and down her legs. “Yes, but why--”

”A man has been asking for you, giving that name. Wouldn’t give the tavern owner his own name, but I heard some of the tavern patrons talking about you. Everyone has been asking about you. I fear it’s only a matter of time before the tavern owner and everyone else discovers your real name. The tavern owner--Cedric?--told them you went to stay with a sick friend. The truth. Too bad I didn’t get the name of the man who’s been asking about you.”

“Angus Kendall!” Fianna pressed her hand to her mouth. A myriad of troubles coiled inside her, painful and intense.

Gaderian squeezed her arm, a trace of urgency in his voice. “The man who wants to marry you?”

“The same. But I won’t marry him.” She tried not to think of this new development, a dilemma she’d tried to convince herself would never happen. Yet the very real possibility that Angus would come for her had always lurked in the back of her mind, like a nightmare waiting to burst free.

Moreen waved her hand. “We will have to let this problem of your would-be lover go for another time. As important as it is, we have more pressing things to undertake. Or rather, you do,” she said with a smile.

“Yes,” Fianna agreed, putting a brave face on her predicament, refusing to deal with it now. “Never mind Angus. I’d better be on my way.” She leaned toward Gaderian while Moreen turned aside.

Fianna kissed him long and passionately, striving to hold back the tears, convincing herself he would be recovered by the time she returned. Despite her efforts, tears trickled down her cheeks and fell on his hand.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He brushed her tears away with one finger. “I will be better when you return. This I promise you.”

“Oh, yes!” She had to believe him.

He clasped her hand one last time. “Take care of yourself. May the Goddess watch over you.” He eased her closer. “I love you,” he whispered.

She murmured in his ear. “And I love you.” After one last embrace, she stood and took Moreen’s hand, her linen cloth in her other hand. They left the cave together, Gaderian’s whispered words echoing in her ear. I love you. Her eyes brimmed, and she fought to suppress her tears. Now was not the time to break down and cry.

As they emerged from the cave, Moreen gave her a frank look. “Gaderian will be recovered by the time you return. Recall when I said other forces were at work here?” At Fianna’s nod, she continued. “Knowing that you care for him makes so much difference.”

Suppressing her tears, Fianna merely nodded again. Overhead, a plethora of stars flickered in a cobalt sky, a full moon casting a glow on the ground. Slightly cooler weather had settled over the land, a strong wind rustling bushes and tree branches. Her hair blew across her face, and she tucked the locks behind her ears.

“Well,” Moreen said briskly, “we’d better see you on your way.” She patted the saddlebag. “Packed your things in this bag.” She opened it and brought out the leather belt with the sheathed dagger. “Put this on now, and I have your vest that will conceal the dagger as long as you keep the vest closed. Clothes and food for you here, too.” She held up a leather bag and shook it with a jingling sound. “Money, if you should need it for any reason. And the flask,” she said, emphasizing the last word. “Guard it with your life.”

“Believe me, I will.” Fianna wrapped and secured the belt around her, then drew on the vest. She fastened the frogs on the vest, then slipped the cloak around her shoulders and fastened it with a silver brooch. She looked around, as if there was more she wanted to say. “That’s it, then. Best I leave now.” While Moreen held the reins, Fianna hitched up her dress and placed her foot in the stirrup, then swung around to ride astride. It would be a lonely ride, for there were no inns along the way.

She bent low to clasp Moreen’s hand. A tremendous swell of affection for the other woman rose inside her, this vampiress she had known for such a short time. “Moreen, I can’t thank you enough for procuring all the necessities for me.”

Moreen stared at her wide-eyed. “It is I who must thank you. Gaderian and I and all of the undead. You are doing us a great favor.” She was silent for a moment, her forehead creased in thought. “If you return at night, meet me here. I’ll be looking for you. If it’s during the day when you come back, I’ll meet you later at the tavern and bring you here. After it’s dark,” she said with a knowing smile.

Now that Fianna was mounted and ready to ride, doubts buffeted her. Could she really carry this off? She assumed a stalwart face, never once wanting to reveal her misgivings. She bade Moreen goodbye, then trotted the horse down the rocky cliff. She followed a narrow path that bordered a stream, heading away from Moytura and south toward Magh Eamhainn. Mindful it would take her at least two days--probably more--to reach the deserted hamlet, she decided to keep at a steady pace, allowing enough time for her and the horse to rest.

After a few twists and turns of the dirt path, she joined up with the Royal South Road, a wider and more heavily-used throughway, but still a dirt road. The night remained quiet, the horse’s hooves pounding on the ground the only sound as she gradually increased her speed to a gallop. Her cloak billowed behind her, and her hair streamed in the wind. The moon hung low in the west, a sign of the approaching dawn. The land became hillier the farther south she rode, elevations the horse took in its stride, slowing down to clamber up the rocky cliffs. Then onto level ground again, once more following the stream that meandered southward. She passed isolated huts, and a few large farmhouses, grandiose even in the darkness, adding a note of charm to the countryside. She caught the aromas of wheat and ripened crops and reminded herself to stop at one of the farmhouses later to buy a few apples or carrots for the horse. Bouncing in her saddle, she tried to catch the horse’s rhythm, for she had a great distance to cover.

* * * *

Miles later, she stopped to rest the horse, give her sore muscles a rest, too. Her thighs and legs burned, her back aching from being in the saddle for so long. She walked the mare for a few minutes to let it cool down, then dismounted and led it to the stream to drink. While the horse eased its thirst and cropped on the grass, she walked back and forth, stretching her muscles, twisting from side to side. Dust and thirst plagued her parched throat, and she knelt by the stream, scooping handfuls of water to slake her thirst, then brushing the drops from her mouth. Her stomach’s growling reminded her how hungry she was. She opened the bag of food that Moreen had packed, cheese and bread to last her throughout her journey. Included with her repast were several measans, a cross between an apple and a peach, an expensive fruit and one she hadn’t tasted since she’d come to Moytura. Honey cakes, too, she noted as she held the cloth bag open and stared inside.

When she got back to the capital, she’d rent a horse whenever her savings permitted, and ride as much as possible. Another wave of nostalgia gripped her, as it had many times recently, for she missed her horse, Tillie, and the great times they’d had, riding together. Brushing her hands off, she sat in silent recollection, reliving happy days at home, before her father had died, before her mother had remarried. Her mother. When would she see her again? She swallowed as a wave of nostalgia swept over her, memories of her mother and brother, her real father, all the happy times they’d shared.

Enough reminiscing, she mused as she pushed herself to her feet. So far, she had seen no other riders this late at night, or early in the morning, she thought as a bluish-gray hue tinted the western horizon. She went behind an earthberry bush to relieve herself, then mounted the mare again. A rosy glow now tinted the land, then gradually faint sunlight revealed maples and hickories, their leaves changing color. She rode on, and within minutes, bright sunlight gilded the countryside, showing wooded hills and valleys, all the beauty and glory of Avador. Fianna breathed in deeply, catching she scent of honeysuckle. She rode past more farms where cows mooed and pigs squealed. In the distance, several horses socialized and bounded within a large, fenced in tract, their manes waving in the breeze.

She looked far ahead and turned wary eyes behind her, seeing no other horseman on the road. That situation was bound to change soon, she fretted, for this was a busy road. She’d spoken bravely enough to Gaderian and Moreen, but if a robber--or worse--several brigands ambushed her, she doubted that her dagger would do much good. She kept to the middle of the road, where she would be less likely to suffer an ambush.

Ahead of her, she saw other riders, two men and two women, all of them well-dressed, their fine horses additional evidence of their wealth, she could tell as the riders closed the distance between them. No danger there, she hoped. She greeted them as they passed each other, then coughed in a cloud of dust as she heard their retreating hoof beats.

The miles sped past, prompting occasional rests for both her and the horse. During these respites, she practiced drawing her dagger from the sheath and throwing the weapon at a target. Speed was essential, if she had to protect herself ... and prayed that the occasion wouldn’t arise. A forest stretched ahead of her, its woodsy scent borne on a wind that had picked up within the last hour or so. Thoughts of Gaderian helped ease the loneliness of her journey, his kisses and caresses fresh in her mind, warming her body. And his last words. I love you.

Nearing the forest, the sound of hoof beats behind her jerked her attention. She turned in her saddle to see a lone rider. A flash of alarm gripped her, her fingers clenching the reins so hard her nails dug into her skin. Her heart thudded against her chest, her mouth gone dry. Something told her this man posed a threat. He might be harmless, another rider on a mission, but she didn’t dare take a chance. He was fast closing the distance between them, and she spurred her horse on, pressing her thighs against its flanks. A hill loomed ahead, a bad place to outride him, even though he would hold the same disadvantage. Goddess, help me!

On impulse, she veered off from the highway and urged her horse into the woods, weaving among a thick abundance of hemlocks and chestnuts. The horse neighed its displeasure at this unfamiliar murk, but she had no choice but to ride on. A sea of treetops rose above her, a thick gloom abetted by an overhead curtain of wild grapevines, which climbed from branch to branch and tangled together at the tops of trees. She could barely see a thing! The sound of hoof beats behind her sent her heart pounding faster, faster, her mouth parched. She rode from instinct, not knowing where she was going, only knowing she must escape. The man spoke not a word, no need to speak.

Gradually, her eyes became accustomed to the dark, but that did little good. She pushed tree branches out of the way, taking the curves and angles of the trees. Her breath came in gasps, sweat pouring down her face, drenching her clothes. She’d never escape, never get out of this forest alive. Her heart thudded so hard, she felt every pulse in her body. She wanted to cry, both for herself and her mission. She had failed. Talmora, she should have stayed on the road. Goddess, help me, help me. Tears of fright and despair streamed down her face.

A roar reverberated behind her. Her heart jumped, and she turned in her saddle as a bear rushed out from a bush with a heavy rustle of leaves. She screamed and the horse neighed, all but throwing her off. She strained and fought to stay in the saddle. Her body shook, every bone, every muscle. In spite of her fear, she patted the horse, an instinctive gesture she’d learned long ago.

The bear spooked the vagabond’s horse, throwing the man to the ground. “Ahhh!” He fell and lay still, but only for a moment. Roaring with anger, the bear savaged the fallen horseman, batting him with his claws. The man’s screams cut the silence, mingling with the bear’s bellows.

Get out of here! Get out of here! Her horse raised its forelegs, its eyes wild with terror. It took all her skill to bring the mare under control, while the man’s screams echoed in her ears, then faded away. He won’t get out of here alive. She hoped his horse would.

Fianna rode past trees and bushes as limbs swatted at her scratched face. Her arms ached from her grip on the reins. She had to get out of the forest, but where was the road? She dared not take the same route she’d followed when she’d entered the woods for fear she’d encounter the bear again. Darkness surrounded her, the trees and bushes all the same. She stopped for a few moments to calm her fast-beating heart. Everything looked the same! She’d heard of people lost in the woods for days, blundering their way from one tree to another. The very thing she was doing, now! Her breath sounded like thunder in her ears, her back and arms aching, every muscle tense. She looked around from side to side, ahead of her and behind her. She’d never get out of this Goddess-damned forest.

Doggedly, she trotted on, always looking for a glimmer of light that showed where the forest met the road. She pressed her aching hand to her eyes, afraid for her horse, too. It was not the mare’s fault that she had blundered into this forest. She might die here. Her body might be found months or years from now, dead and rotting. The horse’s body, too.

Hours later, she saw a faint lightening at the edge of the woods. She led the horse through the remaining tangle of trees and emerged from the forest, onto the road again. She sobbed then, tears of relief but frustration, too. She had lost precious hours, time she could ill afford to waste. She had to get a grip on herself, for she was scaring the horse, as if the poor thing hadn’t been through enough. She took a deep breath and wiped her sweaty arm across her eyes, then rode on.

Dusk was falling, the moon rising again, the first faint stars sparkling in the sky. More than anything, she wanted to rest, wanted to dismount and never get up again. Prudence told her she’d better continue. She’d lost enough time already. She made a quick decision; she would ride through the night and sleep during the day, still giving her and the mare enough rest. If she saw another farmhouse tomorrow, she’d stop and buy apples for the horse before she found a place to sleep.

She patted the horse. “You deserve a treat after what you’ve been through.”

Hours later, as dawn settled over the country again, she found an outcrop that led to a cave, far from any habitation. A good place to stop. After giving the horse time to cool down, to drink and eat, she led it up the incline to the cave.

She removed the saddle and harness from the horse. First making sure the mare was comfortable, she broke her fast, then lay down to rest. The cold, rocky limestone floor forced her to continually change position, but exhaustion trumped every discomfort.

Stiff and sore, she awoke hours later with no idea of the time. Outside the cave, darkness told her night had fallen again. Stepping onto the outcrop, she glanced up to see the moon hanging low in the west. Early evening, then. Giving the horse plenty of time to feed and eat, she paced back and forth and stretched, exercising sore muscles. She unsheathed her dagger and practiced throwing it, using a mark on a tree trunk as a target. She threw the dagger again and again, immensely grateful she hit her target each time. A short repast and evening ablutions, and she was on her way again.

An hour’s ride brought her to an isolated farmhouse, where she looped the horse’s reins over a fence post and went to the door to buy apples. She left a few minutes later, pleasantly surprised that the farmer had insisted on giving her a few carrots, besides the apples, and not charging her anything.

“I’ll give you a treat next time we stop to rest,” she said as she remounted.

The following night, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not far to go, but a myriad of emotions crammed her brain. What if, by some horrible chance, a bandrega arrived at the same time? She recalled her nightmare while sharing Gaderian’s cave. Would it prove to be prophetic? What if she or the horse suffered an attack from a wild animal? Nonsense, she assured herself. You have nothing to worry about.

Wood huts and larger farmhouses lined this part of the road, then a forest stretched ahead. The night remained quiet but for a barking dog. Another hill loomed in front of her. The horse scrambled up the cliff, the ground thick with sandstone and tree roots. Her heart pounded with emotions she couldn’t identify. Soon, soon, she would arrive at Magh Eamhainn. All this came back to her: the huts and farmhouses, the forest. Ah, she remembered from a time years ago when she had taken this same routed with her family. Clutching the reins, she looked behind her, always fearing another rider.

The full moon gleamed as she entered the deserted hamlet of Magh Eamhainn. The forest lay behind her, a rutted lane leading to the village, another forest beyond. Decrepit houses faced both sides of the road, their overgrown weeds and tangled bushes evidence of the village’s abandonment. An eerie sensation crept over her. Chills raced down her arms and legs. Evil. The word echoed in her brain and sent her pulse racing. Shadows wove among the trees. A shutter banged in the wind, making her jump. She wanted to leave now, forget about her mission and get out. She forced herself to remain calm, afraid she would spook the horse. She feared a sinister spell gripped the hamlet, a snare that would not permit her to escape. If her father had assured her long ago that the village wasn’t cursed, why was she so frightened now?

Forested hills rose in all directions, dark, dismal shapes, harbingers of doom. All was quiet, not even sounds of night animals. Tree branches and bushes thrashed in the wind, dirt blowing in her eyes. She blinked her eyes and looked to the right. The well! An innocuous looking structure, but the embodiment of evil.

A sound broke the silence. Hoof beats? Listening intently, she waited long moments. Just your imagination, she consoled herself. But Goddess, she’d be glad when this task was completed. She dismounted, looking all around, from one side to another. With shaky hands, she tied the horse’s reins to a tree branch, looping it again and again, tightening it. She waited moments longer, leaning against the horse. Her heart beat fast, as if it would explode from her chest.

She tried to open the saddlebag. Sweat greased her hands, but she finally opened the bag. She withdrew the flask, her hands trembling so she feared she’d drop it.. Her legs quivered as she neared the well, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She stopped, the flask gripped in her hand. What if she had heard another horse? She shook her head. No one else would be coming here, not now. With her other hand, she lightly touched the dagger sheathed at her waist. An awful reality seized her. If an intruder came, she might have to kill him this night, or be killed. To be safe, she eased her cloak from her shoulders to give her better access to her dagger.

She had to get control of herself, had to stop her shaking. She set the flask on the rim of the well and withdrew the stopper with a soft plop. Her fingers brushed against the cold, gritty bricks. She saw the dipper and bucket next to her, attached to a chain on the outside of the well. Now to--

“Fianna, what are you doing here?”

Chapter Seventeen

Stilo! Fianna looked at him closely. Every nerve ending tingled with fear. Her body shook from her head to her feet. She said a quick prayer to the Goddess, but she was on her own.

Stilo? His voice sounded like a growl, and oh! Look at his face! A demon’s face. In a tunic and trousers, he strode her way. He glowered at her, every step measured. Fur dotted his face and fouled his hands, his ears and nose elongated.

“What are you doing here?” Anger defined his face, but puzzlement, too. Shame touched his face, also, for surely he must feel humiliation that she would see him like this, as a monster.

Quickly, she shoved the flask into the well. It went down, down, down, echoing with a loud splash.

“What was that? What did you do?” He raised his furred hand, his fingers showing talons.

She’d never get out of this village alive. Keeping her distance from him, she stepped to the far side of the well. She trembled inside, but assumed a brave face.

Her mind worked fast. “Look what you made me do! I came to fetch water from the well, since I was thirsty from riding. You made me so nervous, I knocked the flask over.” Her eyes moved frantically over him, looking for a weapon. Then she saw it--a sword at his side, its jeweled hilt glinting in the moonlight.

He scoffed. “You were thirsty? You’ll have to come up with a better answer than that.” He nodded toward the bucket that rested on the rim of the well. “There’s a dipper and bucket right in front of you. So I’m asking you again--what did you do?”

“Poison!” No use lying now. No way out. “Just look at you! You don’t even look human. I know your secret, no use denying it. I poisoned the bandregas’ well!”

“Why, you bitch!” He lurched drunkenly for her, but she jerked back several steps. She had to keep the well between them. He circled the well, his eyes glittering with malice, his face a picture of fury.

Step-by-step, she inched away. Surreptitiously, she felt the dagger at her side. No backing away now. She’d have to kill him.

He snarled, “Let’s end this game now, Fianna. You won’t get away from me, so stop trying. And let me tell you this. When I kill you, it won’t be a quick death. It will take you a long time to die. You think I can’t do it? You won’t be the first person I’ve killed, nor the last. Give up now.”

“Never!” Her heart hammered against her chest. Sweat poured down her face and drenched her clothes. Her breath came so fast, she feared she’d choke. She unobtrusively wiped her right hand on her dress, lest the perspiration make her drop the dagger.

Stilo laughed, a sick, mocking laugh. “And after I kill you, I’ll take your mutilated body back to Gaderian Wade.” He rubbed his furry hands together. “What fun I’ll have showing him your body. Oh, I won’t take it to the tavern, of course. I’ll lure him to the outskirts of Moytura, where I’ll leave your corpse.” He touched the sword at his side. “This game has gone on long enough. I grow weary of it.” He jerked his sword out with a soft rasp, the weapon gleaming in the moonlight. The sword gripped in his hand, he lunged for her.

She darted back, at the same time, snatching her dagger from its sheath. He stepped quickly, his gaze on her, and hers focused on him. She would have one chance and one chance only to kill him. With one fast fling, she hurled the dagger at his side, aiming for the kidney.

A startled look seized his face, and then his mouth twisted in agony. Hand pressed to his side, he crumpled to the ground with a hard thud.

* * * *

Leaning against the well, she breathed a long, slow sigh of relief, shaking all over. She had done it. She had poisoned the well and killed Stilo. Now, she must dispose of his body. No one must know what happened here, at least not for several days, when decomposition would set in. By that time, the bandregas would have come and gone, and she’d be safe in Moytura.

The wind howled and whipped her cloak about her. Every bush, every tree tossed in the wind. She shivered and drew her cloak closer about her.

Stilo lay face up, his eyes gazing at the sky. Fianna knelt beside him to pull out the knife. No, wait. She’d withdraw the weapon later. For now, the dagger would act as a plug and keep him from bleeding. After she disposed of the body she’d get the dagger.

Grabbing his legs, she dragged him along the dirt path. His boots came off, but she left them where they lay. First, she’d hide his body, then fetch his boots. She breathed hard as she tugged, his body bouncing with each step. For one moment, she stood straight to rest her back, then pulled again, dragging him into the woods, several hundred feet away. A cluster of hemlocks and earthberry bushes provided ample concealment. Gasping for breath, she left him there, then returned for his boots. She stood back several feet from the trees and bushes to gauge how well the foliage concealed the body.

Satisfied he was well-hidden, she knelt to pull the knife out. Rivers of blood flowed from his wound onto the earth. Her breath coming quick and fast, she wiped the dagger on the grass and tucked it back in the sheath. Goddess, forgive me. I never killed a man before. But Stilo was a demon. Or had been.

The ground tilted around her. Sour bile rose in her throat. She pressed her hand against the ground and swallowed convulsively. A wave of faintness washed over her body, her face hot, then cold. She gagged and bent over to vomit. Tears filled her eyes as she waited for her nausea to pass. In the background, she heard her horse neighing in the distance. Stilo’s, too.

Gasping for breath, she rubbed her hand across tear-brimmed eyes. Slowly, she rose to her feet. On quivering legs, she headed back to the mare. Its frantic neighing rang in her ears, Stilo’s horse thrashing in the distance. She found Stilo’s horse several feet from her own, hidden among the hemlocks, thrashing among the trees. She untied the reins and slapped its rump, hoping it would find its way home.

Returning to her own horse, she rested her head on its back. Relief poured over her, mingling with other emotions. But it was done, thank the Goddess, her mission a success.

She felt as if she had aged thirty years. She agonized that she’d never be the same again. Her legs shook as she tried to mount the mare. Falling back, she was forced to try two more times before mounting. She flipped the reins and left Magh Eamhainn, headed for Moytura. Back to Gaderian.

* * * *

Able to sit up, Gaderian leaned against the cave wall. The torchlight flickered, casting shadows on the streams of calcite, revealing the eerie beauty of the cave. Fianna taunted his mind every waking moment. She haunted his dreams while he slept, a vision of beauty, her spunk and courage an added allure. No other woman like her, this one who had come into his life and revealed how empty his life had been. Oh, to be sure, he had wealth, a splendid mansion and friends. Yet how fleeting happiness can be, how unfulfilled life can be without the one you love to share it. But would she be willing to share her life with him? If only he knew. And Goddess! When would she return? He raked his fingers through his hair, afraid to even consider that she might not come back. To think of all the dangers she may have encountered was torture. It was madness to have let her go. He cursed himself again and again; he should never have permitted her to go by herself. He allowed himself a little smile, knowing too well that Fianna had a mind of her own, and once she determined on a plan, she followed through on it. No denying her. Tormented by countless possibilities of things that could go wrong, he pressed his hands to his aching head. She might not come back.

And if she didn’t return? The long, lonely years stretched ahead, years without the woman he loved. No, he couldn’t live without her. Goddess, he prayed, please bring her home safe to me. He wanted to ask her to marry him, but questioned the kind of life he must offer her. He wondered if she could learn to live by night and sleep by day, to adjust her life to his. All the things he had to give her--wealth, a lovely home, the ability to visit any place they desired--would all that matter to her if she had to make the necessary sacrifices to live with him?

His keen hearing detected footsteps coming his way. Within moments, Moreen sank down beside him, pushing her silvery hair from her shoulders and tucking her legs to the side. As much as he wanted to hear about the meeting, he thought of nothing but Fianna. He forced his mind to focus on the gathering of the undead.

“She’ll be all right,” Moreen said, as if she could read his mind. “Try not to worry.”

“Easier said than done.” Yet hope blossomed inside him. Surely Fianna would return soon.

“She should be back any day now. You’ll be so happy to see her again, you’ll wonder why you ever worried.”

He clenched his hands. “So many things could happen to her.” He must deflect his mind from the woman he loved. “Now tell me about the meeting.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” An apologetic look came over her face. “But I do realize your concern for Fianna, believe me, I do.” She clasped his hand. “She’ll be fine. Now, the meeting. First of all, everyone asked about you. I told them you were sick and why. That naturally led to a discussion of the bandregas, the main purpose of the meeting. Before I told them about the well, they all wanted to know how the bandregas gained the ability to make themselves invisible. I told them about the rings. But let’s hope their invisibility is a moot point by now. Let’s hope they are all dead.”

Enthusiasm crept into her voice. “But wait ‘til you hear their reaction when I told them the bandregas’ secret, and how they gain their power from the well water. The infernal regions broke loose! And, of course, Orrick was highly indignant that he hadn’t been apprized of this discovery. I told him we hadn’t had the time, that we’d had to develop a plan ourselves. You and I both know this wasn’t the real reason he wasn’t told ahead of time, but rather that he would have dithered and dallied until nothing was done. And we didn’t want him to know our plan beforehand.” She smiled. “I didn’t say that either, of course.”

She paused, as though collecting her thoughts. “I had to tell the gathering that we sent a mortal to poison the well. No use trying to keep that a secret. And when I told them--well, you could scarcely hear for the chatter and screaming.” She opened her hands wide. “But it’s done, or so we hope. Too late for them to protest.”

Gaderian pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. “If only we knew! If only I’d see Fianna again!”

“It may be a day or two before she returns,” Moreen said judiciously.

Gaderian wondered if Moreen was really so sanguine, or only pretending to be. He was crying inside, out of his mind with worry for his loved one.

“And Orrick?” he asked. “Do the undead still want him as their leader?”

“I believe his days as leader are numbered. When you’re well again--”

”I’m getting better every day. When I’m recovered, I intend to challenge him for the position.” He grinned. “And win!” His mind shifting to Fianna again, he sighed. “If only I knew that Fianna is safe, that she is on her way back.”

Moreen squeezed his hand. “You’ll see her again any day now.”

Above all, he wanted to believe her.

* * * *

Traveling at night, singly or in groups, the bandregas arrived at the well, some of them by horse but most on foot, a long walk from Moytura. Those who had walked had taken side roads, escaping detection by mortals. Mothers and fathers led their children by hand, and babies were held in their mothers’ arms. The women wore long woolen dresses, the men clad in tunics and trousers, for the weather was much cooler now.

Next to the well, their leader, Kane, handed out the rings to the first one-hundred to arrive, for he had no more to give out now. Damn Angus Kendall! He needed hundreds more rings, but was getting them only a hundred at a time. The bandregas, haggard, their demon features showing, slipped on the rings and watched the glitter of the sunstone in the clear moonlight. In their deep voices, they chattered among themselves, scarcely able to wait to test the rings’ magic. With their long noses and elongated ears, they preened and pranced, laughing with joy.

Kane’s gaze covered all the bandregas. “Where’s Stilo?” he yelled. “Anyone seen him?”

The bandregas looked down the line and from one to another, murmuring among themselves. Their demon features showed, their hands and faces sprouted with fur. They shook their heads in puzzlement. No one had seen Stilo.

Kane seethed. What was Stilo up to? His anger turned to concern. Had something happened to him? If not, why wasn’t he here?

Overhead, clouds drifted in front of the moon, and a cold wind tossed tree branches and swept dirt along the road. The moon emerged from the cloud cover, its light silvering the ground.

After the distribution of the rings, they lined up at the well, men, women, and children. At the head, Kane drank first, tilting the dipper at his mouth, letting the water run down his chin. Mothers and fathers rested their fur-dotted hands on their children’s shoulders, telling them they must be patient. Soon, they would all drink from the well again; soon, they would all look human once more, with strength ten times that of mortals. The clang and scrape of the bucket was heard again and again as the bandregas drank of the magic water. The line stretched the length of the village and back into the preceding woods. The demons talked among themselves as they waited, the women exchanging gossip, the men boasting.

“Get rid of the vampires once and for all! Kill every last one of them!”

Those who had finished drinking left the deserted hamlet. For those on foot, it was a long walk back to Moytura, but they were invigorated now, their power at a peak. By now, they were used to the long journey from the capital to Magh Eamhainn, and they accepted it as part of their lives. Chattering among themselves, they headed back to their homes, but their talk quieted as they passed human houses, lest someone wonder why such a crowd was about at this late hour. They knew this area was all farmland, and since the farmers went to bed early, no one would hear them unless they made excessive noise.

Hours later, an older bandrega stopped on the main road. He clutched his stomach, then his head.

“What is it?” His son rushed up to him, his brow wrinkled. “Father, what’s the matter?” Others gathered around, their faces pinched with concern.

“Sick,” the old man grimaced. “So sick. My head, my stomach, can’t see straight.” He groaned and looked around. “Where am I? Why am I on this road?”

“Father! You’re on the road, going back to Moytura. We just drank from the sacred well.”

“No, we’re going the wrong way.” The old man staggered, then bent over and retched.

His son held him, then helped him rise. “Father, please, what is it? What has made you so sick?”

A three-year old girl clutched her mother’s dress. “Mama, I feel sick. Mama, sick!”

“Ahh!” Staggering, the man clutched his heart, then toppled to the ground. He lay unmoving, eyes open to the sky.

“Father!” His son felt his chest but found no heartbeat. Tears streamed down his face, and he rocked back and forth. He cried tears of sorrow but bewilderment, too. Screaming, he tore his hair out and shouted. “He’s dead!” His glance took in all the others. “Dead! How can this be?” His body shook with sobs.

One by one, the bandregas fell to their knees and retched. They touched their heads and stomachs, their faces twisted with worry and fear. They looked from one to another, wailing through their pain. “What is it? What has happened to us?”

“The well water!” A young man rushed among them, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Well water! Poisoned!”

“No, how can this be?”

They looked for Kane, wanting and needing his guidance. But he had gone ahead with the other riders.

“Hurry! Back to the well, go warn the others!”

Too ill to move, they could only moan and vomit. Those who had ridden ahead soon showed the same symptoms, falling from their horses. The riderless horses cantered on, some dragging their riders caught in the stirrups.

The bandregas languished on the path, dead or dying. With death, they reverted to their demon-like features, their bodies littering the countryside.

Every one of them dead.

* * * *

“Goddess!” A farmer who lived along the road gazed at the scene the next morning.

His son stood beside him, both men shaking with fear. They made the sign of warding off evil. Thumb and forefinger touching, they flicked their right hand over their left shoulder.

“Bandregas!” the father cried. “And we thought they had disappeared from the country long ago.” He retreated several steps, his body trembling. Sweat drenched his clothes.

The son turned a confused face to his father. “But Papa, where have they been all this time?”

The farmer scratched his head. “Don’t know, but we gotta get rid of the bodies.”

It was the same story all along the road. Stunned and bewildered, the people had to accept the evil that had dwelt among them. They feared to leave the bodies where they languished, but they couldn’t bear to touch them, either.

Much later, the farmers gathered together and developed a plan. They lifted the bodies with shovels, two men working together. After dumping the bodies into wagons, they had to take them far from any human habitation.

“Where shall we bury them?” they asked one another.

Magh Eamhainn was the answer. “The place is already cursed.”

Chapter Eighteen

“It’s done!” Returned to Moytura, Fianna joined Moreen at the bottom of the grassy knoll that led up to the cave. Clouds hid the moon and stars, and the air smelled of rain. Shuddering in the cold night air, she drew her cloak closer about her. Her long hair rippled in the wind, her dress molded against her body. Eager to tell the other woman about the well, Fianna could think only of Gaderian. The tall grass tossed in the wind, the scent of wild gorse filling the air.

Wary hesitation crept into her voice. “Before I tell you about my mission, I must ask how is Gaderian?”

Moreen’s swept her silvery hair from her shoulders. “Completely recovered, and asking about you every night.” Her eyebrows rose. “Now, you say it’s done?”

“Yes. I poisoned the well water!” Overjoyed for the successful completion of her task, she was even happier to hear Gaderian was well again. “I can hardly wait to see him!” Holding the horse by the reins, she walked the mare for several minutes as Moreen strolled with her. Strands of hair blew across her face, and she brushed the hair away and tucked the strands behind her ears. She led the horse to the stream to let it drink to its heart’s content.

“But I’ll wager you want to rest, too.” Moreen flashed her an apologetic smile. “I fear I’m rushing you.”

“Not at all. I had a bite to eat and water from the stream a few miles back. Just seeing Gaderian again is enough for me.”

Both women stopped while the horse drank from the stream and slurped up the water. After it had its fill, it snorted and shook the drops from its mouth.

“Gaderian is ready to move into his house,” Moreen said as Fianna led the horse up the rocky hill to join Moreen’s mare, which was lazily munching on the grass. “But we thought it best for you to meet me here, as we had arranged. You don’t know where his house is, and we have more privacy here.”

“Yes. It doesn’t matter to me where I see him, as long as I see him.” Moreen walked alongside her until they reached the top. Fianna watched in fascination as the woman said a magic spell that would keep the horse safe from harm or thievery. It joined Moreen’s mare, that one apparently already protected.

Her heart beat fast, every thought on Gaderian, counting the minutes--like hour--until she would see his face again, hear his voice, feel his touch. The vampiress led her by the hand through the cool corridors of the cavern, the twists and turns Fianna thought she should know by heart.

“Fianna!” Gaderian rose as they entered the passage he’d claimed as his own, the torchlight flickering on the wall.

She rushed to meet him, reveling in his arms around her, the touch of his fingers, his deep voice that rumbled in his chest.

“Ah, sweetheart, you’re back, safe and sound. I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been!”

Lost in the joy of his embrace, Fianna choked, unable to say a word. This is what she had wanted, what she had dreamed of all these lonely days and nights away from the man she loved more than life. She gloried in his faint aroma of cloves, the feel of his arms around her, the pressure of his chest against her breasts. Reluctant to leave his embrace, she knew their love must wait for a private time together. From the corner of her eye, she saw Moreen, seemingly fascinated with the delicate beauty of the rock drapery in shades of white, yellow, and pink.

Fianna drew back and settled on the floor, the others following. She laughed a little to hide her feelings, and clasped Gaderian’s hand. “First of all, I succeeded in poisoning the well water. On the way back to Moytura, I may have passed bandregas riding in the opposite direction, toward the well. I veered off the road whenever I saw other riders approaching, and I couldn’t see their faces clearly at night.” She smiled in self-satisfaction. “So it’s done. They should all be dead by now. But I haven’t told you my other news--”

”What?” Gaderian and Moreen asked in unison.

“I killed Stilo.” Divergent emotions clashed inside her as she uttered the words. Sorrow at killing another creature she had known so well still haunted her, yet she accepted the fact that she had no choice. It was kill or be killed. She related the circumstances that led to her plunging the dagger into Stilo’s side and concealing the body. She wasn’t proud of what she had done, only recognizing its necessity.

“Time will tell how successful I was,” she finished, “whether or not all the bandregas are, indeed, dead.” She changed position, stretching both legs out. The torchlight cast wavy shadows on Gaderian’s and Moreen’s faces, and she heard water dripping close by. “If, as we have assumed, they all gather at the well when each moonphase begins, then there should be no more bandregas in Avador.”

“Which still leaves the other countries on the continent.” Gaderian, too, changed position, drawing one leg up. “From what I’ve heard, they exist in Fomoria, at least. I don’t know about elsewhere.”

For the first time, Moreen spoke up. “For now, we shall have to leave the problem to the other countries to handle as they will. The people of these other places are quite primitive. Our country is far more advanced than Fomoria and Partholonia. Galdina and Elegia are similar to Avador in culture, but even they are slightly backward. If these countries do have their own bandregas, are the creatures still primitive, too, as ours were long ago? Do the bandregas have their own sacred wells in these countries?” She opened her arms wide. “Who knows? But I don’t think so. Possibly the situation elsewhere is as it was in Avador so many years ago--the bandregas keep to themselves, with no magical way to look human.”

Gaderian took up the thread of the conversation, his gaze shifting to Moreen. “We must discuss all this at the next meeting of the undead, next moonphase. If the bandregas of Avador are all dead--Goddess, let it be so--then there will be no more killings of humans. They will be safe, and we will be safe from their accusations.” He sighed. “Let us hope and pray that there will be no more rewards for turning in the undead.” He frowned. “And we must see about having our people released from prison, those few who were arrested.” His frown deepened. “Not an easy job, but we shall see. For now, let us speak of other things.” He hugged Fianna close. “And maybe we can continue with our lives, without fear of arrest.”

* * * *

Back at the Snow Leopard, Fianna returned the smiles and greetings of the men and women. She often circulated among the patrons before heading for the scrying room, a little socializing she enjoyed, talking to the patrons--men and women--and learning of their families. Some who tried to grab her earned disapproving looks from Cedric. The owner, too, managed to circulate among the customers when he wasn’t serving ale at the counter.

Easing away from one persistent admirer, Fianna headed for her room to fetch her mirror and coin box, then made her way across the hall to the scrying room.

As her first customer sat down across from her, she found it difficult to concentrate on her fortune-telling, for all she wanted to think about was Gaderian, this man who had come into her life and given her so much happiness. He had asked her to join him for a while when she finished tonight, and her body warmed at the prospect, her imagination running wild. She felt his arms around her, tasted his kisses.

“Ma’am?” The man who sat across from her gave her a puzzled look. “I’m waiting.”

“Ah, yes.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on her task. “Ah, here’s what I see....”

Despite her anticipation at seeing Gaderian again, a dark shadow menaced this night. Angus Kendall. He was bound to come to this tavern again, sooner or later. Surely word would reach him that she had returned. She would face him alone when she met him again and tell him she was not going back to Ros Creda with him. She knew Gaderian would back her. It pleased her to know she had a champion who would defend her and protect her, if need be. But she also knew she could take care of herself. It needed only the will to tell him she had no intention of returning to Ros Creda with him, much less accepting him as her husband.

After her customer dropped the copper coins in the box, he left the room, looking satisfied. She waited for the next customer, but Angus haunted her mind. She shuddered, not wanting to even think of his arms around her or his kisses, which would surely be cruel and demanding.

Hours later, her night’s work done, she deposited her mirror and money in her room and grabbed her cloak from a hook on the wall. Her eyes searched the room for Gaderian as she edged past the few remaining customers, some of whom touched her hand as she walked past, but that was the only familiarity they were permitted--no ribald remarks, no obscene gestures. Cedric treated her as if she were his own daughter. Trying to hide her eagerness, she looked all over the room, from one side to another, but didn’t see Gaderian. Disappointment crushed her. This was her first night back; surely he’d want to be with her. Well, she’d go outside for a breath of fresh air before heading for her pallet.

She pushed the heavy oaken door open to step outside and--Gaderian! Happiness flowed through her, around her and over her, a smile on her lips and a song in her heart. She rushed into his arms, never so ecstatic as she was now, this very moment, to be held in his arms again, to know that he was completely recovered, and he was hers! Her heart beat fast, every sense wonderfully alive at his presence.

He stood back and looked long and lovingly into her eyes, as if seeing her for the first time. The wind whipped at her cloak and tousled her hair, and she drew her cloak closer around her. The sign above them proclaiming the Snow Leopard banged back and forth in the wind. With gentle fingers, he eased the strands of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheeks. He drew her into his arms and kissed her again, heart to heart, as if they were part of the same whole. Clad in a long-sleeved tunic and trousers, a wide leather belt circling his waist, and a plaid cloak over his shoulders, he was as handsome as ever, his smile a welcome sight, something she could never get enough of. The familiar faint aroma of cloves wafted around him, blending with the scent of cool air, of manliness and sexuality. Just being with him now made up for all the time away from him, days and nights when she’d worried about him, agonizing that he might not get better.

“Are you cold, sweetheart?” he asked in his husky voice. “It’s difficult for me to remember how mortals react to the temperature, something that doesn’t affect my kind.” He gestured toward his clothes. “The only reason I’m dressed like this is so I don’t arouse suspicion, when everyone else is dressed for the cool weather.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m fine. Just being with you makes me warm.” In spite of her pleasure at his nearness, memories of her mother and brother clutched at her heart. Would she ever see them again? Yes, she could, she lamented in brittle desperation. Go back to Ros Creda with Angus Kendall. Then she’d see her loved ones again.

The streets were deserted at this hour of the night, only a stray dog padding along on the cobblestones. The wind soon slackened, the air not so cool. Dead oak leaves littered the cobblestones, the street lamp giving a faint illumination to the street.

“Shall we go to the meadow?” he asked with that endearing smile she would always remember. “Or would you rather sit on the bench for a while?”

“Let’s go for a walk. I need to stretch my legs after being cooped up inside the tavern.”

They headed for the meadow, past the other taverns and inns, the silversmith’s shop and other stores. They passed a pastry shop, where the fragrance of baking bread and sweets blended with the cool night air, for this was the bakers’ busiest time as they prepared for the new day’s trade. Ahead of them on Aventina’s Way, the spire of Talmora’s Temple reached to the sky. They neared the Treasury of Knowledge, hospital, and other important buildings in this, the cultural center of the city.

Doubts about the future grappled with present enchantment. Did they have a future together? She wondered if he would love her for the rest of her life, while she grew old and gray, and he stayed young. She pushed her misgivings aside, living only for the moment.

They reached Aventina’s Way, its grandiose buildings lit by street lamps. Oaks and earthberry bushes lined both sides of the street, their branches whispering in the wind.

His voice jarred her from her thoughts. “Although I’ve never met Angus Kendall, I think I would recognize a new customer at the Snow Leopard. I’ve come to recognize all the customers there, if only from seeing them on the nights they frequent the place. I assume he has money, so he’ll be well-dressed. So far, I’ve seen none such.” He looked her way. “Can you describe him?”

She thought a moment. “Dark brown hair to his shoulders, brown eyes. Not quite as tall as you. And yes, he always dresses well.” She didn’t want to think about him. “I’m not worried about him. He can’t make me go back with him.”

He frowned. “Well, I’m worried. What will you do if he tries to force you to go back with him? At night, I can stand outside the Snow Leopard and guard you, and believe me, I intend to, every night. But during the day, that’s a different matter.” His look was harsh. “I will not permit him to take you back, not if I can help it.”

“And I won’t go. Please try to understand. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He looked down at her, his frown remaining. “Are you?”

“Yes! I’m my own woman. I have rights. He can’t force me to do something I don’t want to do.” Indignation stirred inside her.

He sighed. “Don’t underestimate him, Fianna. I have moved into my home now.” He stopped by an oak tree and gave her a look of desperate entreaty. “Please move in with me, where you will be safe.”

She loved him, wanted to be near him all the time. So why not reside with him? Because she was her own woman and wanted to depend on no one but herself.

“Fianna?” He looked at her closely.

She waved her hand. “Please, let’s let it go for now. Later, we’ll see what happens. For now, I can manage on my own.” They continued walking, the meadow in sight.

“Can you really? I’d hate to put your certainty to the test. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will happen to me.” By this time, they’d reached the meadow and the Nantosuelta, its waters shimmering in the moonlight. She smiled shyly. “Let’s not waste our time together.”

Without a word, he drew her close in his embrace and together they sank onto the grass, reaching for each other.

“Fianna!” His mouth descended on hers, his lips touching, probing. This was where she wanted to be, and this man the only one she wanted, to be held in his arms, feel his lips on hers, and know that his passion equaled hers. Caught in a floodtide of heat, she wrapped her arms across his back and returned kiss for kiss, straining her body against his. His lips touched her cheeks and throat, then traveled back to her mouth again, his body pressing against hers with a hungry insistence. Bracing himself with his elbow, his other hand moved across her body, his fingers caressing her breast, moving to the juncture at her thighs, his movements slow and deliberate.

Ah! She feared she’d go mad with longing, would die if he didn’t take her now.

As if to taunt her, he buried his face against her breasts, and feathered kisses on her neck and throat. She drew him closer, closer, longing to be one with him, and she knew--could never doubt--that he wanted to join his body with hers, wanted to be inside her. Goddess, how she longed for him! Now! She wanted him now! Desire pulsed through her, hot and deep, a craving inside her that begged for satisfaction. Her most secret part ached and throbbed, such a desperate longing like nothing she’d ever known, not even in her wildest dreams.

With a newfound daring, she caressed him where she knew he wanted her touch and reveled in his gasps of pleasure. Moaning, he drew her ever closer, his fingers pursuing a path from her back to her thigh, pressing her against him. She felt his maleness and knew they were both at the breaking point. White hot desire burgeoned inside her, a yearning that brooked no refusal.

A fairy fluttered its wings above her and winked, then flew onto the limb of an oak tree. A horse neighed in the distance. Reality hit her like a thunderbolt. How could she give herself to a man who’d made no commitment, who wanted her to live with him but nothing more? Who’d never suggested marriage? Gently, with every bit of willpower, she eased away.

He pulled aside. “Fianna?” His face and eyes revealed his despair, with the fulfillment denied him.

She sighed. “Gaderian....”

“Yes.” He lay flat on the ground, one arm across his forehead. He breathed deeply as silent moments passed. Turning toward her, he gave her a look of remorseful frustration. “Sorry, I forgot myself.”

She leaned over him and placed her hand on his chest. “Me, too. Don’t blame yourself.”

His fingers curled around hers, and a myriad of regrets taunted her, an emptiness that gnawed at her very essence, a desire she feared would never be satisfied. If reality hadn’t stopped her . . .

Although she knew their parting was for the best, she wanted to weep. Had they not stopped, she would have been his!

He kissed her. “It’s late,” he said huskily. “I’d better take you back.”

“Yes.” She sighed. So many words were stuck in her throat, so much she feared would forever remain unspoken. An agony of might-have-beens haunted her, and she wondered if he felt the same. Surely he did.

He rose and held his hand out to her. Back on their feet, he kissed her once more, as if wanting to make love again, to bring their love to fulfillment. If they had consummated their love, would anything be different for them? Would they share a commitment to each other, a promise of a life spent together?

With a burning need still deep inside her, thoughts of Angus Kendall intervened to spoil these special moments with Gaderian as they walked back. Maybe he had returned to Ros Creda, she mused, with only the slim chance that such might be the case. No, Angus never gave up easily, a fact Gaderian certainly must realize. She had to remain ever vigilant and never go for a walk by herself. Oh, she’d been brave enough when she’d spoken to Gaderian about resisting him, but Angus had wealth and power behind him, factors that counted for much. And influence? What if he persuaded the authorities of Moytura that she was his estranged wife, or that as his fiancée she had left him on the eve of their wedding?

Outside the entrance to the Snow Leopard, Gaderian drew her into his arms again, giving her a lingering kiss. Passion stirred inside her, a longing that refused to die. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kisses, wanting him beside her for all time.

All too soon, he released her. He smiled down at her, his fingers caressing her face. “See you tomorrow night,” he whispered. Noting that the door was locked, she handed him her key, one Cedric had given her shortly after she started working there. He unlocked the door for her and, with one last quick kiss, left her. Her body still heavy with passion, she stepped into the darkened room, the tables all empty.

Not quite! A man emerged from the shadows. Angus!

His voice was low and menacing. “You’re coming with me.”

Chapter Nineteen

Fianna froze in the doorway, unable to speak or move. Her heart pounded like a hammer in her chest. Gathering her wits, she spun toward the door.

Not fast enough!

Angus reached the door first and blocked her exit. “I fear you didn’t hear me, Fianna. You are coming with me.” He enunciated each syllable, speaking in his confident way. Even in the dark, she saw the smug look on his face.

“And I fear you don’t understand.” She tried to match his firmness, but inwardly, she shook all over. “I am not going with you. I will not marry you. As a matter of fact, I want nothing to do with you.”

He laughed, a dry, brittle sound. “Tell me, my dear, what are you going to do about it? How do you propose to defy me?”

Talmora, she wished she had her dagger now. She’d slice it right through him. Seeking serenity, she would not let him see the effect he had on her. “This is a free country, and I’m a free woman. You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” But he can, her head whispered to her heart. “You can’t force me to do what I don’t want to do.”

“You think not?” His words echoed her fears. “A simple matter, Fianna. You are coming with me, and that’s all there is to it. I’m stronger than you, so don’t fight me. If you scream, who will hear you? Even if someone does hear you, I’ll tell them that you’re my wife and that I caught you with another man.” He nodded with assurance. “They’ll believe me.”

She lifted her chin. “If you’re going to take me, you’ll have to drag me out of here. I’ll not go willingly. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”

He sighed with mock exasperation. “Must you be so dramatic? You’ll make it much easier for both of us if you come obediently, like a good little girl.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going.” Her heart pounded faster, faster. Fear iced her stomach. She knew she was no match for him.

“Then it looks as if I’ll have to use a little persuasion,” he said, grabbing her arm.

She tried to shake him off, but he held tight.

“You are coming with me.” His nails dug into her skin, his fingers squeezing her arm. “You are trying my patience. We are both riding back to Ros Creda tonight, if I have to tie your hands.”

She jerked her arm. “Get your Goddess-damned hand off of me! I hate you! Just get away from me!”

“Tsk, tsk. Such unladylike language. What would your mother say?” He dragged her to the door and opened it. “Let’s go now.”

“No!”

“Didn’t you hear the lady? She said ‘no.’ ” Gaderian stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

At the sound of Gaderian’s voice, Fianna twisted around. Relief poured over her, like a flood of cool water on a hot, arid day. She gazed at the face she could never tire of, his tall, erect body, everything that meant the world to her.

Angus gave him a look, half quizzical, half angry. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man who loves Fianna, and I will not permit you to take her against her will.”

Angus laughed. “That’s rich. I’m the man she’s pledged to marry, and she’s going back with me.” Although shorter than Gaderian, he waved his hand, as if chasing away a fly. “Now, if you’ll just move out of the way--”

”I don’t think so. Release Fianna, or I may have to use a little force.” He took one step forward. “You didn’t hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you, all right. But you and Fianna must both suffer from the same disability, whether of the ears or the brain, I’m not sure. You both appear to have trouble understanding--”

”Enough! Let her go!”

Angus spat at him.

“Why, you scum.” A look of fury crossed Gaderian’s face. He twisted Angus’s arm behind his back until the man whimpered with pain. Angus released her, and Fianna stepped back into the shadows, breathing a long sigh of relief. She sensed Gaderian was strong, far stronger than any mortal man. With one hand, he grabbed Angus by the shoulders and with the other, opened the door, then shoved him out onto the street. He fell with a hard thud, his head banging back on the cobblestones. Grimacing, he attempted to raise himself, then sank back down and closed his eyes.

Fianna stepped outside with Gaderian. “You killed him!”

“No, he will revive later, and by that time we’ll be gone.”

We will? Another question came first. “How did you know to come back for me?”

“I didn’t. I was about halfway to the stable when it occurred to me that you would be here by yourself. So far as I know, you’ve never been out this late before, after everyone else has gone, everyone but your would-be fiancé.” He gave her a questioning look. “Did you see him earlier in the evening?”

“No, of course not.” If she had, she would have shunned him like all the demons of hell.

He looked thoughtful. “He must have come here after we left, and hidden somewhere in the shadows after everyone else had gone home. Apparently the barkeeper locked the door, knowing you had the key to get back in. He obviously didn’t realize that Kendall had remained.” His gaze covered the room. “Plenty of places to hide. “He looked back at her. “We’ve wasted enough time. I want to take you away from here, as I’ve asked you before. There’s nothing to keep him--” He nodded toward the street, “--from coming back. Please, dear, get your things and let’s leave.”

Fianna thought quickly; she didn’t have much choice. She wasn’t safe here as long as Angus remained in the city, and who knew when--or if--he would depart? “What about Cedric? He’ll lose money when I leave.” With these words, she realized she was close to accepting Gaderian’s suggestion, and knew it was no longer a question of if she left, but when. And “when” was this night. She thought of all the friends she’d made here, of her livelihood which meant so much to her. Cedric’s wife was due to give birth very soon, and she’d miss that event.

“I’ll pay Cedric ample compensation. I’ll talk to him tomorrow--this evening.” He tapped her arm. “Now, darling, please get your things and come with me.”

“Very well. I suppose that’s best.”

“It is, best for you and for me.”

“Very well.” Feeling her way in the dark, she wove her way among the tables and rushed back to her room. After unlocking the door, she grabbed her few clothes and stuffed them in the satchel that waited by her dresser. She added her scrying mirror, careful to tuck it between her clothes, and added her dagger and toiletries, her few other possessions. She sighed as she looked around the bare room. There went her independence, her plans for living on her own. She swallowed, forced to admit that Gaderian was right; she could no longer stay here, at Angus’s mercy.

She snapped her satchel shut and left the room, then retraced her steps in the dark, almost bumping into a table as she headed in Gaderian’s direction. He took her satchel from her and opened the door, and together they walked out into the cold night. Angus still sprawled on the street where they’d left him, and she didn’t know whether to be alarmed or relieved, for she wondered if Gaderian had killed him, despite his denial.

A short walk took them to the main city stable, where Gaderian kept his own horse and hired one for her. After a few minutes of saddling and adjusting the stirrups, Fianna hitched her skirt up to ride astride, as she had always done. They were on their way to a place Fianna had never seen up close, but only from a distance. Leaving shops and warehouses behind them, it took them but a short while to reach the homes on the southern edge of the city, where three-story mansions graced the scenic landscape of trees and bushes, like a string of pearls on a beautiful woman. Fianna never tired of seeing this familiar view, the towering oaks and earthberry bushes, the lovely homes with their spacious lawns, some with iron fences, and their terra-cotta roofs. The wide dirt road twisted and turned, a slight elevation to the land as they rode south. A cluster of dark clouds drifted in front of a half-moon, casting the road in darkness.

“There it is,” Gaderian said as his house came into view. And what a lovely mansion it was, as grand as any she’d seen.

A long graveled driveway led up to Gaderian’s house, a three-story gray stone residence set on a vast acreage where oak trees and weeping willows dotted the land, and flower beds edged the grounds. Little else was visible in the dark, but early morning dew glittered on the grass. She looked forward to springtime, when the flower blossoms would burst forth in their glory. She caught her breath, unsure if she’d still live here in the coming spring. Possibly Gaderian would tire of her, and that thought alone settled like a cold lump in her stomach.

Gaderian stopped by the steps at the mansion’s entrance and dismounted, setting her satchel on the ground, then came around to her side and helped her dismount. “Wait here,” he said, then led the horses along another graveled path to a stable at the far end of the property, a stone structure barely visible in the early morning light. He returned a few minutes later. “We’ll stable your horse for you,” he explained, “and one of my men will ride it back to the city stable tomorrow.” With a worried look, he glanced up at the sky, now more blue than gray. “Let’s get you settled in your own bedchamber.”

Quietly, she proceeded up the stone steps with him, a hundred questions in her mind, but one foremost. “What will the servants think when they see a strange woman in your house?” And do you always bring strange women to your house? she wanted to ask.

“I’ll leave a note before I seek my own sleeping quarters and explain that you’re my guest.” A wave of his hand opened the front door, and they stepped inside. Unable to see much in the dim light, she glimpsed enough to get the impression of wealth and opulence.

Beyond the entrance hall, winding stairs led them to the second floor, where Gaderian guided her down a long hallway and opened a door on the right. Preceding her into the room, he set her satchel on top of a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. The fragrance of fresh linens and potpourri scented the bedchamber.

He held her lightly by the arms. “Make yourself at home, dearest. I apologize that I will not be able to introduce you to my housekeeper, but I hope you understand my need for haste.” He nodded toward the window, where a pink glow lit the west. “No doubt you will want to sleep now. As I said, I’ll leave a note for my housekeeper, and by the time you rise, she’ll have breakfast for you.” He kissed her quickly. “I’ll see you this evening.”

She looked around the bedchamber, able to see now in the early morning light. A large canopied bed dominated the room, its bedspread a deep red velvet, and draperies to match. A large chest of drawers stood at the opposite wall of the spacious room, with a large mirror above it and a glass bowl of potpourri atop a lace doily. Overwhelmed by all of the night’s events, she sank down on an upholstered bench that sat to the side of the wide window. She sighed, surrendering to her exhaustion, to the strangeness of her new home, and she wished Gaderian were with her now to share the time and the bed with her. But of course, she understood; he mustn’t let the sunlight catch him. Where did he sleep? she wondered. In the cellar, no doubt.

For now, she was too tired to think, to do anything but sleep. She slipped off her shoes, then stood to draw her dress over her head. Clad in her linen shift, she pushed the bedspread back and crawled into bed. Time enough later to ask Gaderian all the questions that taunted her.

* * * *

Hours later, Fianna awoke, disoriented as her gaze darted around the room. The events of the previous night came back in a rush: Angus’s attempted capture of her, Gaderian’s rescue, then their journey back to his home. Unsure of the time, she glanced around the room and saw an hour glass resting on the bedside table. Early afternoon; she’d had a long sleep. Shivering in the chill air, she pushed the bedspread aside and stepped out of bed, then opened her satchel to don her only woolen dress. After buttoning her dress, she stepped into her shoes and left to go downstairs.

There, she saw what she had missed in the early morning darkness. A splendid living room stood to her left and to her right appeared to be another such room, this one not quite so formal. The hall stretched the length of the first floor, and some other time, she’d love to see what rooms lay behind her, but for now, her stomach growled, her hunger getting the best of her. She stood in shy indecisiveness and saw nothing to do but go in search of food.

An older woman emerged from down the long hallway. “Ah, there you are. Mr. Wade wrote me a note, telling me to expect you to wake up sometime this afternoon, so I’ve been checking the stairs every now and then.” She smiled. “I’m Birgit, the housekeeper, and I’ll wager you’re hungry.” A short, plump woman clad in black, with gray hair, she had a friendly face, immediately relieving Fianna’s mind, for if this was to be her new home, she needed a friend.

She swallowed. “Hungry, yes, madam, uh, Birgit.”

“Well, then,” Birgit said briskly, “follow me.” She led her down the hall, past a large dining room on one side and a Treasury of Knowledge across from it. A few more steps took them to a smaller dining room. Birgit pulled out a chair for her. “Mr. Wade mentioned that you would want breakfast when you awoke, but I’m wondering if you’d rather have a late lunch, considering the hour.”

Fianna sat down and drew the chair closer to the table. “Whatever is easier. A late lunch sounds fine, something simple.” Her gaze took in the magnificence of the room and indeed, of the whole house. And this was the smaller dining room! A spicy fragrance scented the air, a pleasant surprise this time of the year.

“Very well. I’ll be right back.” She hustled off with no-nonsense, quick steps.

The highly-polished table held a place setting for one, with brass candelabras in the middle of the table, and a brass bell at her right. The soft, light green sheepskin rug, so thick her feet sank into them, matched the draperies at the wide window. Beneath the window stood a long table, a glass bowl of potpourri in the center, the source of the lovely spicy fragrance. The wooden walls of the room gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight, but the sun was sinking fast, since it was autumn. A large bronze plaque graced one wall, its curvilinear design barely visible at this hour, the only ornament she saw in the room. Within a couple moonphases, complete darkness would descend on the country at this hour. Two oil lamps dangled from the ceiling, casting a warm glow on walls and furniture.

The housekeeper returned with a steaming bowl of soup on a tray, along with a basket of warm bread and a glass of red wine. She set Fianna’s lunch before her and stepped back, a questioning look on her face.

“If this isn’t enough, you must let me know.” She indicated the bronze bell. “Just ring the bell and I’ll come.”

“Thank you, Birgit, this looks fine, and I’m sure it’s quite adequate.” She caught the tantalizing scent of aromatic onion soup, and her stomach growled again.

“Well, then, if you’re sure ... I’ll be back later to get your things when you’re finished.”

“Thank you.” She dipped her bronze spoon into the bowl and took a tentative taste of the soup as the housekeeper left. The aroma and taste of bay leaves was another pleasant surprise, the best soup she’d had in a long time, or perhaps her hunger made it seem so. She reached into the covered basket and broke off a piece from the warm, fragrant loaf of oat bread, strong with the scent of yeast. She sighed with bliss; she didn’t know what awaited her in this strange house or what her future held, but at least she would eat well, than the Goddess for small blessings. She sipped her wine, the best elderberry wine she’d ever tasted, and assumed it was homemade. As she ate and drank, the shadows in the room darkened, a chill in the air.

Finished with her repast a short while later, she left the dining room and trod up the winding stairs to fetch her shawl. In her bedchamber, she saw someone had been in her room while she’d eaten, for an oil lamp glowed beside her bed. Reaching into her satchel, she found it empty. She opened the dresser drawer behind her and found her clothes--the few that she had--neatly put away. They must think I’m a pauper, she mused, retrieving her shawl from the drawer and wrapping it around her shoulders.

She stood in silent reflection for a few moments as she absorbed the full force of her situation. She was living in a strange house with a man she knew little of, no matter how much she loved him. A vampire. In the name of all the gods and goddesses, how could she adjust her life to his, and would he try to reconcile his life to hers? No, of course not; how could he? A hundred questions sprouted in her brain, problems for which she had no ready answer. She wondered what the servants thought of Gaderian. Did they realize he was a vampire? Surely they must, if they never saw him during the day, and he emerged from the cellar at night. And what did the servants think of her? No matter what they thought of her or Gaderian, they obviously respected him, for she had seen no evidence of surliness or poor service in the little she’d seen of the employees so far.

Tightening the shawl around her, she headed down the long hallway and on downstairs, both hallway and downstairs rooms lit by oil lamps, for complete darkness had settled over the land. She wondered what lay in store for her, living with Gaderian. Something told her she would soon find out.

She stepped outside to wander around the grounds but saw little in the darkness, nor did she see anyone. First thing tomorrow morning, she’d go for a long walk to see the other houses nearby, get a feel for the area. A cold wind swept across the land, and trees and bushes tossed their leaves to the ground. Seeing little in the dark, she mounted the steps and headed back inside.

* * * *

“I don’t want you to go outside unless I can accompany you,” Gaderian said later that evening, as if he’d known she’d stepped out earlier in the day. They sat in the small dining room--the same in which she’d had her late lunch--with Gaderian at the head of the table and she at his right. A plate of roasted chicken stuffed with almonds sat before her place, while Gaderian sipped white wine.

“What?” Her face warmed. For one stunned moment, she remained speechless, but then her indignation caught up with her mouth. “That means I can’t go outside at all during the day! Am I to be a prisoner here?” Before he could reply, she went on, “What is the reason for this prohibition?”

He spoke calmly, as if unaware of her pique, or possibly too well aware. “I doubt if we’ve seen the last of Angus Kendall. There is nothing to stop him from discovering where I live, and he may well hunt you down here. No matter how loyal the undead are to me--and some of them remain a question--there are far too many of them who can’t keep a secret. Gold talks, you know.” He sipped his wine and set the glass down, giving her a look of stern remonstrance. “I can’t take a chance on having something happen to you.” He reached over and clasped her hand. “You mean too much to me.”

She squeezed his hand in return but remained unmollified. She swallowed. “I was looking forward to going for long walks, seeing the other houses and the countryside. I can’t stand being cooped up.” The chicken, tender and juicy, broke off easily with her spoon, and she raised a bite to her mouth. No matter how upset she was at his pronouncement, it would do no good for her to starve herself.

He spoke with a sympathetic but firm voice. “Believe me, I understand how you feel. I’d feel the same. Let us hope that Kendall will soon tire of his pursuit. But his kind doesn’t give up easily, one thing I’ve learned in my life. Possibly I should have used stronger persuasion when I evicted him from the tavern.”

She reached for her wine glass. “ ‘Stronger persuasion’? Like what?”

He raised his glass to his mouth and smiled above the rim. “Roughed him up a little.”

“Are you sure you didn’t kill him?”

“Positive. The man is no doubt prowling the streets of Moytura now, trying to discover where you are.”

She nodded, fearing she had no choice but to follow his suggestion about staying inside. “Very well, then. I stay inside. What shall I do, help the servants clean the house?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“Hardly that, but I have quite an extensive Treasury of Knowledge. Didn’t you see it earlier?”

“Not closely.”

“Well, I think you will find that there is plenty of extensive reading material there.” He paused, fingering his glass. “This one concession I will make. You can go riding as long as you have a groom with you.”

Relief infused her. “Thank the Goddess for that! I’ve missed riding so much. The last few times I rode--to see you when you were sick, and to Magh Eamhainn--were not exactly pleasure trips. I would love to ride just for the sheer joy of it.” She ate with more gusto now, chewing on the almonds and dipping her spoon into the steamed broccoli.

He drained his wine glass. “Very well, I’ll make arrangements with my most trusted groom, but only south of here. I don’t want you riding in the direction of Moytura.”

She sighed, already missing the sights and sounds of the capital but accepting Gaderian’s admonitions. Hungrier than she’d thought possible, she cleaned her plate. If she didn’t watch out, she’d gain weight during her residence here. Residence. The word taunted her. Was her time in Gaderian’s home to be only temporary? Would he soon tire of her and ask her to move out? No, she knew Gaderian better than that, knew he was sincere in asking her to live with him. Yet she still questioned her chance for a happy future with a man who lived by night and slept by day.

He glanced at her plate. “Dessert, if you like.”

She placed her hand on her stomach. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough of a very good meal.”

He shoved his chair back and rose to hold hers, then drew her into his arms. His strong arms felt so good around her, his love an anchor and a lifeline for the troubles that surely stretched ahead.

“I must leave you for a while,” he whispered against her cheek.

“Already?” She looked up into his face and saw all the dear features that meant so much to her, his straight nose and firm mouth, those dark eyes whose gaze held such love for her. Questions still swirled around in her mind, of what lay in store for her, living with him, of what kind of agreement they could ever reach, if he wanted her as his wife.

“Must see Cedric to explain your absence and compensate him for the loss of your service.” He ran his tongue along his lower lip. “Also, need to see what--if anything--I can find out about Angus Kendall. Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet,” he said when he saw her frown. “But we need to know.”

“Yes, of course, I should have realized you’d need to talk to Cedric.” She wrapped her arms around his back and rested her cheeks against his shoulder, then leaned back to stare into his eyes, wishing she could read his mind, fathom the secrets hidden there.

Gentle fingers caressed her cheeks, easing strands of hair from her face. He looked long and fully into her eyes, as if he could never get his fill of her. He held her ever closer, their bodies molded as one, leaving her with no doubt of the passion that lurked within him, a passion that matched hers. His kiss was long and hard, his arms tight bands of steel. Ah, she wished the kiss would go on and on, that he didn’t have to leave her this night. She wanted more than just his kisses and caresses, ached to have him inside her. Let him think she was a wanton; she didn’t care.

He cupped her buttocks and held her against him until she thought she couldn’t take another moment of this sweet torture, a torment that sent a rush of heat to every nerve ending in her body. She feathered kisses on his mouth and cheeks, then up to his forehead, and down to his mouth again.

“My darling!” He drew away and stood still for silent moments, his eyes closed, breathing deeply. Then he opened his eyes and looked down at her. “If I stay any longer, I’ll never be able to ride to Moytura.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll be back later,” he murmured in his husky voice. “Wait up for me, if you can.”

“I’ll count the minutes.”

He was gone then, leaving her alone and throbbing for more.

* * * *

Later that night, Fianna sat at her dresser, brushing her hair until it shone. Clad in her white cotton long-sleeved nightgown, she wondered when Gaderian would return, for he had been gone for hours. She’d spent the intervening time exploring the house, especially the Treasury of Knowledge, looking forward to the next day, when she would have enough light for reading. The two oil lamps emitted insufficient light.

A light tapping on the door jarred her from her musings. She set her brush down and turned toward the door, her heart beating faster, an anticipation of she knew not what.

Gaderian stepped inside, a hesitant look on his face. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be awake.” He wore a crimson silk tunic with a silver chain belt, and black trousers, with leather boots just past his ankles. His dark hair tousled, he was as handsome as ever, with his regular features, those dark eyes, and his sinewy, athletic build. Shoulders thrown back, he came toward her in that confident walk of his.

“Waiting for you,” she said breathlessly, yet shyness colored her voice. She had no idea what to expect; she’d never lived with an unmarried man before. She eased the stool aside and went to him, her heart pounding each step of the way. Warmth rushed to her face and spread down to her toes.

He drew her hand to his chest and bent low to kiss her palm, a look of wonder and adoration on his face. She gloried in his love, his devotion, for she had never known such a feeling as this, a sure knowledge that she would love this man until she died. But would he always love her?

Heat grew inside her, a yearning that suffused every part of her body and settled in her most private part, a sensation so new and overwhelming she feared her legs would give out under her.

He released her hand and stepped back. “I paid Cedric an ample amount.” She wondered if his shyness matched hers, but surely not. He must be used to women, she thought, a handsome man such as he, who has known many women throughout the centuries. “Cedric misses you. Everyone at the tavern does.”

“And I miss them, not that I regret coming here,” she said hastily when she saw the question in his eyes. She wondered why they were discussing such mundane things, for surely he wanted her as much as she wanted him. “And Angus?” She held her breath.

“Haven’t seen him, which doesn’t mean he’s gone. No, I don’t expect him to give up so easily.” He made an impatient sound and crushed her to him. “Ah, Fianna, do you have any idea how much I want you?”

“Um, I think I do,” she said teasingly. She feathered kisses on his neck and earlobe and on to his cheeks. Their lips met in a long, lingering kiss, her arms around his neck, her body enclosed in his tight embrace.

Releasing her, he indicated a long bench that sat beneath her window. “We must talk,” he said in his deep voice. His arm around her waist, he led her to the bench, where they sat down, side by side.

He turned away for a moment, resting his hands on his thighs, then turned toward her again. “There’s something I’ve thought about for a long time, far longer than you know.” He paused.

“Yes?” If her heart pounded any harder, she feared it would burst from her body.

He spoke in a rush. “Surely you know I want to marry you.”

“You do?” Pure happiness engulfed her, a never-ending cascade of dreams and wishes, of deep desires and things she could only imagine.

He slipped his arm around her waist, his fingers playing across her back. He looked deeply into her eyes, as if trying to read all the secrets of her soul. “But do you want to join your life with one such as I, who lives by night and sleeps by day? Who must gain sustenance from the blood of others? These are factors we must discuss.”

There were so many things she wanted to say, so many questions she needed to ask. But one question remained foremost, one she feared to ask but knew she must. “Do you--” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Do you kill others for sustenance?” This enigma had taunted her for a long time, for longer than she cared to admit.

“No!” He shook his head vehemently. “Never have. That is the way of all the vampires of Avador, or should be.” He frowned. “There may be one or two who don’t follow the rules we established centuries ago.”

He went on to explain how the vampires had always protected the mortals from the bandregas, the bandregas’ knowledge of magic and the sacred well, which enabled them to have human features. “The well that you poisoned,” he concluded, “and we can only hope that is the end of those creatures.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But why are we talking about these demons, who are no more? What I want to know is, will you marry me?” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. “You must think carefully, dearest. It will be a different life or you, far different from what you’re accustomed to. Until we know what Kendall will do, I fear you must depend on me.” He smiled ruefully. “I know how much your independence means to you.” He stopped talking and looked at her inquiringly. “So...?”

She smoothed her fingers over his hand, loving the feel of his cool skin as she sorted out her words. “But I have a question for you. Will you still love me while I grow old and gray, and you remain eternally young?”

He wrapped his fingers around her hand. “Never doubt it. I will always love you. Do you think I care for you because of your youth and good looks--and you are beautiful, you know.” He shook his head. “I love you for your very self, for everything that makes you the person you are, for your goodness and spunk, and yes, your independence. My love for you will never change.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling his hard muscles against her cheek, so overcome with happiness she couldn’t say a word. A drumbeat of temptation throbbed inside her, a longing to lie in bed with him, to make love that left them both breathless.

His husky voice enticed her back. “Fianna, will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

“Sweetheart!” He crushed her to him and kissed her until she thought they would both go out of their minds. She could never get enough of the taste of his lips, the pressure of his arms around her, the faint scent of cloves that always clung to him. His hand slid down to her breast, his fingers cupping the soft mound, his movements slow and deliberate. She bit her lip, at the point of bursting with passion.

He stood and drew her toward the bed, lifting her and easing her onto the velvet bedspread. Returning to the bench, he pulled his boots off, then slipped out of his tunic, trousers, and under-tunic. As he stood, she gazed at his body by the flickering oil lamp, and she could tell, ah, she could tell, he wanted her. Joining her on the bed, he raised himself and looked long and fully into her eyes, as if to ensure himself of her love and to assure her of his love for her.

Expectancy stirred within her, a sweet anticipation of what was to come, a nebulous something she had only dreamed about.

He nuzzled her neck and murmured against her skin. “We will wait until we marry before we truly seal our love. For now, let us pleasure each other.” Placing soft kisses from her mouth to her cheeks and on to her throat, his hands moved lightly, seductively, over her body. A pressing need taunted her, a languid heat that spread over her body. She raised herself and drew her nightgown off, then tossed it onto the floor. His fingers skimmed up her thigh, light as air against her bare skin. He slid his hand between her legs and knew where to touch her at her most sensitive spot. Lightly, he caressed the tender nub; slick and wet, she was ready for him. Unconsciously, she held her breath for she knew not what was to come. She let her breath out in a slow sigh as he raised himself atop her. Whispering of his love, he made rhythmic movements, his engorged shaft lightly sliding over her. Ah, his lovemaking was more than she’d ever imagined, a sweet torment of wanting him. She made little whimpering sounds as her fingers dug into his back, and she tossed and turned, his movements unbearably tantalizing, her body begging for fulfillment. A slow heat blossomed inside her, a craving for satisfaction.

“Oh, oh, oh!” She gasped and bucked as spasms of rapture rippled through her, a pleasure like nothing she’d ever known. She thrashed on the bed, lost in a glorious relief that flowed on and on. All too soon, the spasms slowed and stopped, and she thought she would die with happiness.

Gaderian kissed her on the lips, and she loved him all the more for letting her take her pleasure before him, for waiting until she was spent.

He moved from her, and she gave him a questioning look. “But you...?”

Without a word, he guided her hand to his full member, showing her how to caress him. Ah, she’d never known she could give and receive such pleasure. She fondled him with slow, steady movements, quickening her speed as he indicated, and saw the emotions that played across his face.

“Ah!” Gasping and moaning, he found fulfillment too, as she kept her hand wrapped around him.

For a long time afterward, she lay within his arm, neither saying a word, lost in the glory of their love and in their happiness with each other. Time stood still, the only sound in the room their breathing.

He leaned over and kissed her, his fingers skimming over her face. “We’ll have to marry soon,” he whispered. “I can’t wait much longer before we truly belong to each other.”

Through eyes drowsy with contentment, she looked his way. “Tomorrow?”

“How I wish. But I must talk to one of the druids at the temple. And no doubt, you will want a special dress.”

Warmly satiated, she cuddled closer to him. “All I need is you.”

“Just the same, I will see about getting you a dress. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green, goes with my coloring.” She stretched her arm across his hard chest, feeling the light matting of hair there. She wished they could make love again, but drowsiness dragged her down, a need for sleep after her interrupted slumber of the previous night.

“Green, then that is what I will get you.” He rolled off the bed and stood, looking down at her. “Now I’ll let you get your sleep. And within a couple evenings or so I’ll see about having one of the druids come here to marry us.” She saw his smile in the semi-darkness. “A couple nights from now--is that too soon for you?”

She shook her head. “Now would not be too soon.”

“Very well, then. The sooner you are my wife, the better.” His face hardened. “Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of Angus Kendall.”

Chapter Twenty

Inside the spacious library of Gaderian’s mansion, Fianna stood next to him before the temple druid who would perform the wedding ceremony. Suffused with happiness, she reveled in Gaderian’s nearness, in the knowledge that she would soon by his wife. The apple green silk dress he’d bought for her shimmered by the light of the room’s oil lamps, and the gold chain--also a gift from her soon-to-be husband--glimmered around her neck. Besides the eight servants that comprised the mansion’s household staff, Moreen and Egan were the only other guests, Egan having recently returned from Uisnech, far to the north.

A trace of sadness tainted her joy. She wished her mother were with her, this dear woman she missed every day. And her brother. Some day, some way, she would have to get in touch with both of them. Too many moonphases had passed with no communication between them. Her heart beat fast with joy but anxiety, too, for a score of emotions that lurked within her head, but more than anything, for recognition of this happy day, when she and Gaderian would belong to each other.

Book-lined shelves filled the room from floor to ceiling, more volumes than she would ever have time to read, although she knew she’d have plenty of time for reading. Deep blue velvet draperies graced the room’s lone window, one that stretched almost the length of one wall, and a soft sheepskin rug warmed the flagstone floor. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall, with a plaque of bronze above it, the plaque’s surface engraved with a fascinating curvilinear pattern. Bottles of wine and crystal glasses stood on a far table, waiting to be served to the guests after the ceremony. Someone in a corner--a servant, perhaps--softly played the lute, a sweet melody often performed at weddings.

The druid, tall and skeletal, with a bushy beard and long gray hair past his shoulders, indicated for her and Gaderian to join him at the front of the room, while the guests viewed the proceedings from chairs grouped around the library. Since no flowers blossomed this late in the year, the servants had placed bowls of potpourri throughout the room, and their spicy aroma added a festive touch to the occasion. Outside, complete darkness covered the countryside, with tree branches and bushes rippling in a light breeze. A warm spell had settled over the land, rendering a shawl unnecessary, for which Fianna was grateful. She wouldn’t want to conceal any part of the lovely silk dress with its delicate embroidery at the sleeves and neckline. She wore her hair in an upswept style, with pearl-tipped pins, a gift from the housekeeper, holding the locks in place.

Light, excited chatter filled the air, the guests apparently happy for her and Gaderian. Once more, Fianna realized the esteem in which Gaderian’s servants held him, prompting her to wonder if they actually knew of his true essence. Surely they did.

In his white, flowing robe, Druid Gareth raised his hands, his sleeves falling back to reveal his thin, almost emaciated arms. The room quieted, all attention focused on the bridal couple.

“Gaderian Wade wishes to take Fianna Murtaugh as his wife,” intoned the solemn druid, “for as long as they both shall live.” Obviously, mused Fianna, the druid didn’t know that Gaderian was a vampire, for the undead were still feared in Avador. When would the indictment against the vampires ever be lifted? she agonized, another worry that she pushed aside for this night of joy.

Druid Gareth indicated for Gaderian to raise his right hand and for her to raise her left. From a table beside him, he fetched a green ribbon, for green was the color of matrimony and a symbol of fertility. Another trace of sadness colored her mood, since she and Gaderian would never have a child. She smiled, shoving all misgivings aside, for Gaderian and he alone was all that mattered.

The druid tied the green ribbon around their joined wrists. “Let the tying of this knot symbolize the love between this man and woman, and the hoped-for longevity of their marriage.” He gestured for both of them to bow their heads, and, reaching from one of the bowls, sprinkled potpourri on their heads. After she and Gaderian stood straight again, Druid Gareth looked out over the assembled group. “And let this man and this woman share happiness and good fortune. May the sun always shine on them.” At these last words, Fianna slanted a glance at Gaderian, for the sun would never shine on him. The druid ended the ceremony by untying the ribbon that bound their wrists. “Gaderian and Fianna, you are now man and wife.” A tight smile twisted the druid’s lips, as if even that expression was too much of an effort. “Gaderian., you may kiss your bride.”

Gaderian drew her into his arms and placed a soft kiss on her lips, the light in his eyes promising so much more. The expression in his gaze seemed to pledge that he would make her happy, despite the vast differences between them. Or was that only her imagination, spawned by the wish that they might find joy together as man and wife? Silently, she vowed she would try to give him happiness in every way possible.

He released her, and the two of them smiled at the assembled group, her own eyes misting. Everyone else rose from their chairs and beamed at them as Birgit headed for the wine table to pour drinks for the guests, including the servants.

Egan, followed by Moreen, approached them. A slinky black satin dress molded Moreen’s body, the vampiress as beautiful as ever. A spurt of jealousy stabbed Fianna, an emotion she quickly suppressed, for Gaderian loved only her now, his new wife. Besides, she considered Moreen a dear friend, one who had contributed to the defeat of the bandregas.

Egan smiled broadly. “Well, Gaderian, never thought I’d see the day you’d embrace marital felicity. Not that the bride isn’t worth it,” he added with an apologetic smile in Fianna’s direction. He caught Gaderian’s warning look and coughed. “I mean the ladies all liked you.”

“Egan, why don’t you stop talking?” Moreen suggested at his side. “You’ve said enough already.” She smiled to take the sting from her words.

“Yes.” Egan grinned at them. “I just want to say I’m so happy for both of you.” He winked at Moreen. “Perhaps I should marry one of these days.”

“Goddess help the woman who marries you.” Moreen jabbed his elbow. “Just teasing.”

Shortly after, Egan and Moreen departed, going their separate ways, and after drinking their wine, the servants and the druids left, the servants to go back to their rooms, Druid Gareth to the temple in Moytura. Fianna stood alone with her new husband, an awkward silence settling on them.

Shyness overcame her, the sure knowledge that they would consummate their marriage this night, the ultimate intimacy she had dreamed of so often.

Gaderian eased her into his arms and kissed her forehead, then wrapped his arm around her waist. “Shall we go upstairs now?” he whispered in his deep voice.

“Yes.” Her heart thudded against her ribs as they headed down the long hallway to the stairs that stood at the mansion’s entrance. Her dress swirled around her ankles, her gold chain twinkling in the faint light of the oil lamps the servants had kept burning.

She fingered the clingy material of her gown as they mounted the stairs, arm-in-arm. “A lovely dress you bought me. I’m afraid I didn’t thank you enough earlier.” She looked down at her feet. “And my slippers.”

He smiled down at her. “That shade of green does become you. Goes so well with your chestnut hair. I can see why it’s your favorite color.”

Mindful that he surely meant their mundane talk to ease the shyness he sensed within her, they reached the second floor. She wondered if he felt as awkward as she. Had he never made love to a virgin before?

They entered her bedchamber, where one oil lamp bestowed a soft glow on the bed and furnishings. The now familiar fragrance of potpourri imbued a pleasant ambience to the room.

She stood by her dresser to remove her pins, setting them in a white porcelain dish. With one quick movement, she shook her hair, letting it cascade down her back. Gaderian came to stand behind her, fingering the silky locks.

“Such beautiful hair,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist. He placed a light kiss on her shoulder, moving his hands upward to cup her breasts. He pressed his body against her buttocks, his need so obvious it made her catch her breath. They stood that way for several moments, as his hands and fingers worked magic on her body. Without a word, he turned her around to face him, drawing her ever closer, his body moving rhythmically against hers. She was sinking, drowning in her desire for him, a longing so desperate she wondered how long they both could wait before they made love. She locked her arms behind his head, covering his face with kisses, thrusting her hips against him, her breath coming faster, a heat kindling within her.

“Ah, Fianna, I’ve wanted you like this for so long, ached for you,” he whispered in her ear. “But we had better go more slowly now, or neither one of us will be able to wait. I fear we are both taking this too fast.”

First shoving the bedspread aside, Gaderian lifted her and set her gently on the bed, then stretched out beside her, his eyes heavy with passion. With the silky sheets beneath them, he drew her close to him, and she went willingly into his embrace. He spoke in his low, husky voice, a voice meant to reassure her, for her reticence was as evident as the gold chain around her neck.

“No doubt you would have liked to have your mother with you for the ceremony.”

She nodded in the semi-darkness. “My mother, yes, and my brother. Not my stepfather.” How little they knew of each other, she acknowledged with a jolting clarity, for she wondered if he realized the depth of her hostility toward Kelvin Connor.

He patted her arm. “We must learn more of each other,” he murmured in the quiet room, as if he had read her thoughts. “We have the rest of our lives together.”

“The rest of my life,” she replied, as always aware of the vast differences between them.

“It will be a pleasant and exciting experience,” he said, “getting to know each other.” He murmured in her ear, “One thing we already know--how much we love each other.”

“Ah, yes, my husband. Never doubt my love for you.”

“Enough talk.” He eased out from her and sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. His tunic, trousers, and under-tunic followed, then he lay down beside her again. She took in the magnificence of his body, his broad chest with its sprinkling of curly hairs, his lithe, sinewy body. Her gaze rested on that most private part of him, and she knew he was ready for her. A trace of uneasiness touched her mind, for he was so big, she wondered how he’d ever fit inside her.

Emboldened by his need for her and their love for each other, she stood to raise her dress over her head and tossed it onto an end table, followed by her linen shift. She stepped out of her slippers and shoved them aside. Her heart pounded with excitement, but trepidation, too, as she settled next to him again. He gathered her into his arms, his hard shaft pressed against her thigh.

“I love you so much, my dear wife,” he murmured in her ear. He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her long and fully. He teased her mouth open, his tongue exploring all the pleasures she so willingly offered. His fingers skimmed over her arms, then over her belly and her breast, his hand caressing her with steady, rhythmic motions, building a fire within her.

She returned touch for touch, kiss for kiss, reveling in the firm muscles beneath her fingers, his cool skin. Ever bolder, she let her hand slide down to his hard member, but he eased her hand away.

“Not yet. I can hardly wait now.” He bent his head to kiss her nipple, his tongue darting over the tiny mound, licking, sucking, driving her out of her mind with wanting him. She needed him inside her, now, this minute, a need that left her aching for more.

“Ah, sweetheart!” Raising himself atop her, he murmured. “This time may hurt a little, but only this one time. I love you so much.”

Spreading her legs wide, she wrapped her arms across his back and clasped her to him. “The hurt won’t matter, darling. I want to know your love, all of it.”

He eased himself inside her and penetrated her with one quick movement. And yes, it did hurt a little, but the pain was worth it, to know she was giving him pleasure, and joy for herself, too. While he moved inside her and told her of his love, that wonderful warmth blossomed in her belly, that overwhelming expectancy of a crescendo that would leave her breathless.

He moved slowly at first, then faster, faster. When her climax came--ah, when it happened--the two of them shared this beautiful rapture, each of them throbbing in tandem, giving and receiving pleasure. He rested his head beside her, then kissed her again, a kiss that bound them in love.

When their spasms stopped, they lay in each other’s arms again, breathing in silent contentment. She knew that no matter what the future held, she would love this man until her dying day.

* * * *

“You’re going where?” In the late afternoon of the following day, when darkness had fallen and Fianna rested in Gaderian’s arms after making love, he had surprised her with his announcement. She couldn’t have been more stunned if he had told her he was really a mortal.

“To see the queen,” he said as he rose from the bed and drew on his clothes again. Within the faint glow of the room’s lamp, she studied his body and knew she would never tire of seeing him.

He dressed, then sat down to pull on his boots, speaking over his shoulder. “Once and for all, we must convince Queen Keriam that the vampires are innocent of killing mortals. Since the bandregas are no more--and Talmora, pray that it is so--there has been no more killing of the mortals.”

In the languid afterglow of their lovemaking, Fianna stretched her legs out. She didn’t want him to leave; she wanted to make love all night long.

“There are still several of the undead held in the magistrate’s dungeon.” He slipped his leather belt on and buckled it. “I’m surprised--but grateful--they weren’t put on trial long ago. I can only surmise there have been many other trials that have kept the druids busy.”

“The druids?” She pulled the velvet bedspread over her, shivering in the chill of the room.

“The druids’ tribunal. They try all criminal cases.” He smiled in the dim light. “Recall they used to try witchcraft cases, too, when magic was forbidden in the kingdom. Don’t you remember when Queen Keriam herself was put on trial for witchcraft, while she was still a princess?”

“Ah, yes, when Midac Balor killed Queen Keriam’s father and usurped the throne. I’m not too young to remember that time.” She shivered, and not from the cold, pulling the bedspread up to her neck. “Those were terrible times, with much suffering.”

“Until an army under Roric Gamal defeated and killed Midac Balor in battle, when our princess gained the throne.” He sighed. “Too bad I couldn’t have seen the battle, but of course, it was fought during the day.”

“It took several days for news of the victory to reach our home in Ros Creda, but I remember my mother cried with happiness. And when our princess gained the throne as queen, our whole village celebrated for days.” She smiled in reminiscence. “And more celebrating when she married Roric Gamal and made him Prince Regent.” She giggled. “My brother got drunk for the first time, and the last, too, I believe.” She hesitated. “But won’t it take you several hours to ride to Emain Macha?”

He grinned. “I won’t ride to the palace. I have my own means of transportation.”

“Ah, yes, vampires have special powers.” She winked. “And they’re pretty good lovers, too.” She pushed the bedspread aside and quickly dressed, then stood beside him to slide her arms around his neck. “Or this vampire is a pretty good lover, at any rate.”

He drew her close, her breasts crushed to his chest, kissing her long and lingeringly. “Don’t know when I’ll be back. May be the middle of the night. Depends on when I get an audience with the queen ... or if I do.”

She stepped back, a question bursting in her head. “Shouldn’t Orrick be the one to talk to Queen Keriam? He does head the vampires, does he not?”

“Supposedly.” He scoffed. “But he does precious little for the undead. That’s why I’m going to see the queen, to ask to have the vampires released from the dungeon, not only for the sake of those innocents, but to influence the rest of the undead. Orrick has done nothing for them--for any of us--but spends most of his time with his mistresses.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared up at him. “How in the world did he ever become head of the vampires?”

He shrugged. “Bribery, threats. He wanted the position because of the prestige it brings, but has only brought contempt on himself.” He bent low and kissed her quickly, his hands on her upper arms. “Must leave you now. I’ll miss you every minute I’m away.”

“And I’ll miss you.” She could never tell him how much.

* * * *

“Rather late in the day for an audience, isn’t it?” Queen Keriam sat in a velvet-backed chair within the vast Hall of Petition, with her husband, Prince Roric, in a chair next to hers. Wearing a loose flowing blue silk gown, her pregnancy was obvious, this her second child due, for a son had been born two years ago. “We were told that the matter was urgent.”

Gaderian bowed to both of them. “Your Majesty, Prince Regent, please let me explain my presence here, so late in the day.” He paused, too well aware he was putting his life in jeopardy, for if he couldn’t convince them of the vampires’ innocence, he might well be thrown in the dungeon, too. Flickering torch lights in iron brackets bathed the room in dim shadows that undulated across the flagstone floor, in one moment lighting their faces, in the next, leaving them in darkness. A statue of the Goddess Talmora presided over one corner, and in another corner the turquoise and gold flag of Avador hung limply, its colors muted in the pale light.

“Sir, we are waiting.” A look of impatience crossed the queen’s face, the prince’s, too.

Gaderian spoke in a rush. “You see, Your Majesty, Prince Roric, I am a vampire.” The queen and her husband exchanged shocked glances, but fear seized their faces, too. The queen clenched her hands on the arms of her chair, her knuckles white.

“But we are innocent, madam, innocent of the charges against us,” he hurried on. “It was the bandregas--”

”Bandregas! They disappeared from the kingdom years ago, before my time.” Queen Keriam waved her hand dismissively.

“Madam, I beg leave to suggest otherwise. Please, I beg of you, let me explain.”

She inclined her head, but fear still colored her face, and that of the prince, too. “Very well.”

He gathered his thoughts. “Throughout the years, the bandregas developed a means of making themselves look human, and have mingled with the mortals for lo, these many years. It is only recently that we learned how they accomplished this metamorphosis--enabling themselves to look human. They had a sacred well at Magh Eamhainn--”

”Magh Eamhainn?” She scoffed. “Deserted for years. No one lives there anymore.”

“No mortals, madam. Their well water was poisoned years ago. But what poisoned the mortals was a magic elixir for the bandregas, giving them special powers and enabling them to look human. They traveled to the sacred well--at night--at the beginning of every moonphase, when their powers were weakest. After drinking from the magic well, they no longer looked like the demons they were, but human, handsome men and beautiful women. And of course, the children drank also.”

“This still doesn’t mean the bandregas have been killing the mortals. How can you prove the vampires are innocent?” Before he could frame a reply, she went on. “As a matter of fact, these vampires were caught in the act of drawing blood from the mortals.” She sat back, a satisfied look on her face. “Now, how do you explain that?”

“Madam, it’s no secret that the undead must drink the blood of humans to survive. But you must believe me, we do not kill them, and we drink only from criminals that we have caught in the act. Just recently, I drank from a man I found ravishing an innocent woman.” He faced them unflinchingly. “But I did not kill him.”

Queen Keriam exchanged a glance with Prince Roric, the two of them murmuring among themselves. Gaderian agonized if he was now doomed, destined to suffer in the dungeon, later to go on trial. The druids would find him guilty, of course, and sentence him to die with a stake through his heart. He suppressed a shudder, never wanting to reveal the fear that froze every cell in his body.

Queen Keriam’s voice jerked him back to the immediate problem. “Assuming that what you tell us is true--and mind, I’m not saying we believe you--what do you propose we should do about the bandregas? If they remain a menace to the mortals of Avador, how do you suggest we protect ourselves from them? Or shall we let them continue to mingle among the humans and kill them?” she said in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Madam, we have already rid the kingdom of the bandregas.” A shocked gasp from the queen and prince stopped him, but only for a moment. He explained about how the vampires, in turn, poisoned the sacred well. “It was a mortal who actually poisoned the well,” he said, telling them of Fianna’s journey to Magh Eamhainn. “Tell me something, madam, if I may be so bold as to ask. When is the last time a mortal has died from having the blood sucked from his body?”

Queen Keriam frowned in thought. “Why, I suppose about one moonphase ago.”

For the first time, Prince Roric spoke. “That still doesn’t prove the vampires’ innocence. It may be simply that one of your kind,” he said with disdain, “has not killed anyone recently.”

Gaderian struggled for composure. “Prince Roric, we never did kill anyone. My people have always protected the mortals from the bandregas, yet now we are being blamed for the deaths of the mortals. It was the bandregas who were killing humans all along.”

The prince bent close to the queen, the two of them conferring in low voices. For the first time since his metamorphosis as a vampire, Gaderian’s stomach knotted with fear. His knees stiffened, and fearing they would lock, he shifted from one foot to another.

Queen Keriam spoke again. “Gaderian Wade, this much I will do. At present, we have several vampires in the magistrate’s dungeon in the capital. They are due to go before the druids’ tribunal this moonphase--”

Alarm jabbed Gaderian.

“--but we will keep them as hostages for two more moonphases. If within that time, no mortals die from blood-sucking, they will be released.”

His shoulders slumped with relief, a sensation of overwhelming satisfaction. “Thank you, madam, Prince Roric, I promise you there will be no killings of mortals by my people.”

“And we will hold you to that promise. We know where you live and can find you should any such killings occur.” She nodded in dismissal. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, madam, and thank you again.”

Queen Keriam stood, signaling the end of the discussion.

Gaderian left the Hall of Petition, grateful beyond words and eager to return to Fianna. His wife. Even now, he ached for her, but perhaps, especially now, that he had this trouble behind him.

On the way back to Moytura, he planned his next move. Soon, another moonphase would begin, and he would call for a meeting of the undead, even if Orrick didn’t. He must see Orrick removed as leader of the undead and himself installed in that charlatan’s place, a task easier planned than done.

* * * *

Angus slumped over a table in the Snow Leopard, jerking upright every time someone opened the front door and stepped inside with a gust of cold air. Each rush of air sent the oil lamps swinging and shadows flickering across the room. He raised the mug of ale to his mouth and slid a glance around the room, his gaze focused on each patron of the tavern. Most of the tables were filled, men and women talking and laughing, some playing with dice or other games, the fools! So far, he’d been unable to discover anything about Fianna, nor that rogue who’d taken her away. Fierce anger heated his gut. Where had they gone? Goddess-damn this city and all of its inhabitants, these closemouthed sneaks who pretended not to know anything of Fianna, nor of the man who’d claimed her, not even for the five pieces of gold he’d offered as an inducement. No matter how long it took, she would be his. Once he made his mind up to have something--or someone--he never let anything get in his way. Patience was the key, he felt sure of that, and enough gold. He might increase the amount of gold as a reward, if he had to. Sooner or later, someone was bound to talk. Only a matter of time.

Chapter Twenty-one

“Have you ever thought about crossing over?”

In her woolen nightgown, Fianna twisted around from her dresser stool to give Gaderian a questioning look. He sat on the bench by the window, his gaze on her while she brushed her hair. “Crossing over?”

“I mean becoming one such as I. A vampire.” He rushed on, as if aware his question had caught her by surprise, which it did. “Just wondering, darling. It’s not as if you need to make any decision at all. I will always love you, no matter what. Haven’t I said so time and again? But being one of the undead does have its advantages. You live forever and can easily transport yourself from one place to another. The undead have many powers and abilities denied mortals. But I repeat, it was only a question.”

Fianna set her brush down as thoughts chased themselves in her head. To be a vampire--could she do that--undergo that transformation? To never see her mother or brother again, to be forever separated from everyone that she loved, except Gaderian? To live by night and sleep by day--could she exist like that?

Gaderian came to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Only the touch of his fingers told her he stood behind her, for she couldn’t see him in the mirror! He bent low to kiss the top of her head. “We don’t need to talk about it now, sweetheart. I can think of better things to do.” Gently, he eased her from the chair and turned her to face him. “My dear wife, have I ever told you how much I love you? I bless the day you came into my life.”

She smiled, her fingers lightly resting on his hard chest. “The day I came into your cave. It’s the same with me, my husband. My life was so empty until I met you.”

“Then let’s show our love for each other.” He reached down to draw her gown over her head as she raised her arms to make it easier for him. He tossed the gown aside, and naked, she stood before him, on fire with wanting him. Through eyes heavy with passion, she gazed at him as he settled himself on the edge of the bed and drew his boots off, followed by his clothes that he shoved aside. He rose and stood before her, his need so evident she sucked in her breath.

Love and desire swept over her, a firestorm of need deep within, a desperate craving that only he could satisfy. Ah, she would never tire of him, this husband of hers, this man she wanted to share eternity with. He gathered her into his embrace, her breasts crushed against his chest, his full member pressed to her belly. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they kissed again and again, as if for the first time, as though they hadn’t shared every love-filled night since their marriage almost one moonphase ago.

He drew her to the bed with him, where they kissed and caressed with a frenzied hunger. He touched her in every sensitive spot, those secret places he’d learned by heart. Caressing her breast, he licked her nipple, sucking gently on the pebbly mound. Pleasure sparked through her, a fiery heat, a need too great to be denied. Her fingers tangled in his dark locks and trailed down to his neck and shoulders, drawing him closer, closer to her. His lips traced a path from her breast to her belly, kissing, licking her skin as his finger moved over the hardened nub between her legs. His head followed the same path, gently kissing the core of her sex, his tongue licking, probing, darting over her until she all but screamed with joy. She was climbing, climbing, climbing to a pinnacle of rapture, aching with the pleasure-pain of wanting him. And dear Goddess, if she had to wait another second, she didn’t think she could bear it.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Please take me now.”

He lifted his head and smiled lightly, teasingly. “Ah, you want me inside you?”

“You know I do.” Her body throbbed for him, a need so great she thought she’d burst. Ah, please don’t make me wait any longer.

He raised himself up and across her, then pressed inside her slowly, taunting her to madness. He whispered in her ear, “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, yes!”

“You like to have me inside you, don’t you?” He nuzzled her neck.

“Yes!” She could barely speak and had to bite her lip to keep from reaching a climax too soon. This beautiful feeling was building within her, a liquid fire creeping over her, an overwhelming need for fulfillment.

“Am I big enough for you?”

“Ah, yes!”

He eased back and forth inside her. “And you like this, don’t you?”

“Please!” She was going out of her mind from wanting him.

Another thrust. “Does this feel good?”

“Please, love, don’t do this to me.”

He stopped, giving her a long, lazy look. “You don’t want me making love to you?”

“You know I do.” She couldn’t hold back much longer.

He moved inside her with deliberate slowness, as if to torment her. She moved against him, faster, faster, unable to wait any longer. He matched her movements, his breathing heavy as they both reached a crest of pleasure. Climbing higher, higher, reaching the top, she gasped and moaned as pure rapture erupted inside her, Gaderian’s and hers, together. Countless moments later, she sighed with an ecstasy she never wanted to end.

* * * *

The following evening, Gaderian dressed to ride into Moytura. “I’ve forced a meeting at Orrick’s apartment,” he explained after their lovemaking. “As usual, Orrick wanted to go his own way and ignore the rest of the undead.” He sat on the bench and pulled on his boots. “Well, the days of ignoring the rest of us are over. We need a strong leader, such as I.” He grinned with mock humility.

Naked, Fianna reached down to pull the bedspread over her and wondered if her husband would ever get used to a mortal’s sense of hot and cold. The temperature obviously remained the same for him, no matter the season. “But if you--we--have defeated the bandregas...?”

“More problems may arise ... do arise. Every now and then we may have a maverick vampire who doesn’t follow the rules, who kills a mortal. Not often, mind you, but even once is one time too many.” He stood to buckle on his belt, then raked his fingers through his hair. “Only a few moonphases ago, I had to reprimand such a one, a task Orrick should have performed, but didn’t. We must not, can not, have such problems, for therein lies trouble for all of us. I told you about my audience with Queen Keriam and Prince Roric. Several of the undead still languish in the magistrate’s dungeon, hostages until the queen is certain of our innocence. So the last thing we need is a new charge of guilt.”

Gaderian sat on the bed to kiss her, his hand roaming down her body, his fingers tracing every curve. He felt himself hardening, ready to make love again. “Doubtless it will be quite late when I return and seek my own slumber in the cellar.” He sighed deeply. “Ah, I will wait for better things tomorrow night.”

Dampening his passion, he rose from the bed and blew her a kiss before he opened the door. He walked down the long flagstone hallway, then on down the winding stairs. Outside, a fierce wind howled, the bare trees thrashing. Heading along the graveled path to the stable, he found the stable boy dozing on a bundle of hay. The boy jumped from his perch as soon as Gaderian entered. It seemed as if Brendan had a sixth sense that awakened him whenever Gaderian entered the stable.

Brendan saddled and bridled the horse, holding the reins while Gaderian placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted Bryce. “I may be quite late returning,” he said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Brendan nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Trotting the horse, Gaderian headed north to the capital, as always aware that he didn’t need a horse for traveling. But Bryce needed the exercise and he needed a chance to think, to plan his strategy for the meeting. As he increased his speed, he scarcely noticed the trees or landscape as he followed the twisting dirt road to Moytura, for he knew Orrick would not willingly surrender his position as head of the vampires.

Inside Orrick’s splendid apartment a short while later, Gaderian greeted the other fourteen representatives, knowing them all by name and wondering how many would back him in his attempt to oust the leader. Ensconced in chairs arranged around the room, some were dressed finely and others in plain garb, their faces revealing nothing of their thoughts or feelings as they chatted among themselves. He wondered if the realized the purpose of the meeting.

Gaderian found an empty chair and nodded at Orrick, who sat in a velvet-backed chair, a look of pained inquiry on his face. He knows what I have planned, Gaderian thought, but what will he do about it?

Orrick clapped his hands and the chatter stopped. His expression darkened as he looked Gaderian’s way. “Perhaps you will explain the reason for calling this meeting.”

“Ah, yes,” Gaderian replied, gathering his wits for the ordeal ahead. “In the first place, those of us who represent all of the undead in Avador are supposed to meet at the beginning of every moonphase. Or had you forgotten?” he asked sarcastically. Before Orrick could react, he went on, getting right to the main point, with no hesitation. “Secondly, I believe it is time you stepped down as our leader--”

Gasps and whistles met this pronouncement, which led Gaderian to wonder if surprise alone met this statement, or if he would have no supporters in his endeavor to supplant Orrick.

Orrick’s eyes bulged. “What is the meaning of this insolence,” he spat. “Who do you think you are to defy me?”

Gaderian crossed one leg over the other. “I am the one who discovered the secret of the bandregas. Correction! Moreen discovered their secret, but at my instigation. The bandregas are no longer threatening us, nor are they killing the mortals. They are all dead, or were you not aware of this?” he said in Orrick’s direction. “And how did they die? We poisoned their sacred well. And that is no secret. Moreen explained what happened at the gathering last moonphase.”

Orrick snickered. “Ah, yes, I remember. A mortal woman poisoned the well. What was the matter? Were you too afraid to do it your--?”

“I was too sick!” Gaderian struggled for calmness. “Bitten by a bandrega when I was weak and hungry. Sick for days afterward.” He softened his voice. “Believe me, I would have ridden to Magh Eamhainn and poisoned the well had I not been too weak to stand.” A stab of resentment erupted inside him. “Moreen told you this.”

A heavy silence followed, all eyes shifting from Gaderian to Orrick.

One of the undead whom Gaderian recognized as Killian cleared his throat. Tall and thin, he’d been a vampire for centuries, one Gaderian knew as a friend. “Gaderian has given us some very good arguments in his favor.” He looked at the others, his gaze flitting from one representative to another, then back to Orrick. “All these years that we have suffered at the hands of the bandregas, when we were blamed for the killing of the mortals--Orrick, what did you do about it?”

“How was I to know about their Goddess-damned sacred well or magic rings?” the leader sputtered. “The mortals weren’t even aware they still existed. The way they made themselves look human had been a secret for years.”

“A secret that Gaderian and Moreen uncovered.” Nola fixed the leader with a penetrating gaze, her black hair gleaming by the lamplight. “The problem cried out for leadership, yet you did nothing.” Others nodded in agreement, voices chiming in with their opinions, chatter that filled the room.

Orrick exploded. “Goddess-damn all of you! After all that I have done--”

”That’s just it,” Kearnan said. Only a hundred years old, still he’d shown intelligence and maturity in the time Gaderian had known him. “What have you done?” His gaze searched the others. “As a matter of fact, I don’t know why we put up with this situation for so long.”

“Why don’t we vote on it?” Ronan, another old vampire, asked.

“Never mind a vote!” Orrick’s face was beet red. He waved a beefy hand. “Just get out, all of you! Let Wade take over as leader of the undead, if that is what everyone wants, all of you ungrateful nightwalkers. Just get out! I don’t want to see you again!”

Without a word, the vampires rose from their chairs and filed out of the room, Gaderian leaving last. Once outside, they all began talking, congratulating him, making plans for the meeting the next moonphase. Immersed in mixed emotions, Gaderian smiled and made the correct rejoinders. He should be happy that he had replaced Orrick as leader, but his intuition told him he hadn’t heard the last from the former leader.

He feared he had made an enemy for life.

* * * *

Refusing to relinquish his search for Fianna, Angus brooded in the Snow Leopard. He knew Gaderian Wade frequented this tavern--or used to--this very place where Fianna had once been employed as a scryer. He scoffed to himself. Fianna--a fortune teller!

Men and women filled almost every table in the dining room, and voices swelled within the room, the usual laughter and chatter, sounds he was heartily sick of. After all this time, he’d learned nothing about Fianna or Wade, for the patrons remained tight-lipped, recognizing him as an outsider and protecting their own, for apparently they held Fianna in much esteem. Obviously, the bitch had moved in with Wade, but had she married him? He fingered the sheathed dagger at his waist. Goddess-damn her. If she had married him . . ..

Angus’s head snapped up as a newcomer stepped inside, a customer he hadn’t seen here before. Tall and beefy, the man took a table by himself, the only empty one left. A tangle of brown bushy hair augmented his fat head and fell to his shoulders. The stranger raised his thick fingers to get the waitress’s attention, then settled back in his chair to look around, a scowl fixed on his wrinkled face. Clad in a black woolen tunic and trousers, he unpinned the plaid cloak around his shoulders and tossed it over an empty chair. When the waitress returned with his drink, he raised the mug to his mouth and downed the drink with one gulp.

Angus’s gaze met that of the stranger, then Angus looked away, willing to bide his time. He had no idea what troubled the stranger, and he didn’t care, but he’d found throughout the years that people with anger in their gut--whatever the reason--could easily be persuaded to talk, if given an incentive. Angus had several gold pieces in his tunic pocket and more at this room at the inn. Maybe this man knew Gaderian Wade and maybe he didn’t. But it might be worth his while to find out.

* * * *

“Must go into Moytura this evening.” Gaderian held Fianna’s chair as they both rose from the dining room table, she finished with her evening meal and he with a glass of red wine.

“Again?” Disappointment grabbed Fianna. She never wanted him out of her sight, never tired of his lovemaking. She knew her attitude was selfish, but she loved him beyond reason. Afraid she sounded snappish, she smiled and placed a hand on his chest. “You know I’ll miss you.”

He kissed the top of her head. “It is the same with me. I wouldn’t make this journey were it not absolutely necessary. But there is one of the undead who recently crossed over, and he’s having difficulty adjusting to his new life.” A trace of reflection touched Gaderian’s face. “It is that way with many of us, I believe.” He embraced her and kissed her on the mouth. “Don’t know when I’ll be back. It may be quite late, but then again, I may accomplish this mission sooner than expected. Remember, stay in the house while I’m gone. Tomorrow we can go for a long ride before the evening meal. You enjoy that, don’t you? And after the evening meal, well, that’s something else you enjoy.”

She pretended embarrassment by pressing her head against his shoulder, yet even now, her body ached for him.

After he left, she headed for the library, there to finish a book she’d recently started. Since she had remarked to Gaderian how little light two oil lamps emitted, he’d instructed one of the maids to place two more lamps in the room, all of them using paraffin oil. If she sat close to the fireplace with its roaring fire, she’d have plenty of heat and light. Inside the spacious room, she drew her shawl closer about her shoulders and settled into a comfortable chair next to the fireplace, her book lying on a table beside her. Outside, crickets sang their nightly song, a melody she missed from home.

She picked up the book and found her place, then began reading a beautiful love story titled The Love of Geal about a woman of the fairie world who liked to play tricks on mortals.

But bitter irony! She fell in love with a mortal man, only to find he was playing tricks on her. An old book, the pages crackled as she turned them, the parchment yellowed with age, the binding loose. Almost to the end of the story, Fianna turned the pages carefully but quickly, hoping the romance would have a happy ending.

As enticing as the story was, her thoughts drifted back to Gaderian’s question about crossing over. To be a vampire--what would that be like? To live forever, to share eternity with Gaderian. But her mother and brother, she lamented--she would never see them again. After a few moments of silent thought, she returned to her book, telling herself it was a moot question.

Time passed, and she glanced at the hourglass on the table, wondering when Gaderian would arrive home. She sighed, missing him so much. She gazed around the room at all the books, volumes Gaderian must have collected for years, stacks that filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves, many of the books with gold binding and some she had glanced through had colorful illustrations.

Outside the closed library window, she heard kittens meowing. Only a few days ago, a servant had discovered one of the stray cats of the neighborhood had given birth to a litter of kittens, within the protection of a spreading earthberry bush, right below the window. As the meowing became louder, Fianna set her book down, unable to concentrate, worried that one of the kittens might be in trouble. The sound continued, and she sprang from her chair and rushed to the window to look outside. She saw nothing but darkness, the trees thrashing in the wind. The servants had long since sought their own sleeping quarters, so she had no one to call for help.

Don’t go outside. Gaderian’s warning reverberated inside her head, but she could no longer ignore the kittens’ plight, for the constant loud meowing told her that whatever the problem was, it involved more than just one kitten. Perhaps one of the kittens was injured, she agonized, and all of them howled in sympathy. She set her book down and rushed down the hallway, her heart beating frantically with every step. She turned the key at the front door and went outside, then dashed down the steps. Shivering in the chill air, she rushed to the side of the mansion, where the sound came from.

A loud screech from an oak tree drew her attention in that direction, even while the meowing persisted from the bush. Poor little thing, the kitten must have wandered away from its mother and climbed up the tree. Now it couldn’t get back down. She thought she saw a movement near another oak, but assumed it was only the wind brushing against the tree. She hesitated for only a moment, and then with purposeful strides, she hurried across the spacious lawn and looked up into the oak tree. Her eyes, now accustomed to the dark, saw that, sure enough, the kitten was stuck in one of the upper branches of the tree, its meowing enough to wake the dead. She wondered why the mother cat hadn’t ventured out from the earthberry bush to check on her offspring.

Fianna placed her foot on one of the lower branches and began to climb. “I’ll get you down, sweetheart.” She climbed higher and reached for the kitten, its claws scratching against her skin. “Poor little thing, you’re frightened, aren’t you? But I won’t hurt you,” she murmured as she clutched the bundle of fur to her chest and moved cautiously back down, branch by branch. Back on the ground, she carried the kitten to the bush, to hide it among its mother and siblings.

Now, that wasn’t so difficult, after all. Her teeth chattering in the night chill, Fianna headed for the mansion--

“Ah, I have you now!”

That harsh voice, she’d know it anywhere. No! Angus! Her heart pounded, her skin ice cold. No, no! She turned to flee, but he gripped her arm. Pain ripped through her as his hand tightened on her arm, as if to crush her bones.

“No use calling your lover. I saw him ride off a while ago.” He laughed, a harsh sound. “Ever since I found out where your lover lived, I’ve watched the house, night after night, waiting to find you by yourself. And wasn’t it clever how I lured you outside, putting that damned piece of vermin in the tree! Now you’re coming with me, and to hell with your lover!”

“My husband!” she cried. “Gaderian and I are married now.” Angus had to let her go now; why capture her when she was married to another man?

“Why, you bitch! You’re coming back to Ros Creda, no matter what. Who there will know you’re married to another man? No one, my dear. I intend to make you my wife.”

“I’ll tell them! They’ll believe me! And why do you want me as your wife, when you know I love another? When you know I can’t bear your touch?” Fianna’s pulse raced. She prayed harder than she’d ever prayed in her life. Gaderian, please come back to me.

He tried to drag her, but she wouldn’t budge. “Come now, Fianna, don’t make this so hard for both of us. I’ve two horses waiting on the road ahead. You are coming with me.”

“Damn it, no!” She jerked and pulled, but he held fast.

“Don’t you know by now that I always get what I want? I won’t let a stupid formality stop me from--”

”Stupid formality? A wedding ceremony! A binding ritual in which I became another man’s wife!” She realized now that he had lost his mind, that he was so blinded by his desire to own her that he’d let no impediment stand in his way. She thought she heard hoof beats in the distance but feared to hope. Please, let it be Gaderian. Either Angus didn’t hear the sound or he ignored it.

He jerked her arm. “Come now, we’ve wasted enough time. You are coming with me.”

“Must we go through this again?”

Fianna and Angus both looked toward the voice. Gaderian! Thank the Goddess! Relief dizzied her so she feared her knees would give out under her. He walked their way, the horse’s reins held in his hands. His gaze on them, he slapped the stallion’s reins to send it to the stable.

He approached Angus, his eyes burning with anger. “Release my wife.”

“Like hell! She’s coming back with me.”

Ready to bolt, Fianna looked from Angus to Gaderian. Apparently, Angus surmised her intention, because his grip on her hardened, his nails digging into her skin.

Angus drew a knife from a sheath at his belt. He held it aloft, the metal flashing in the moonlight. He looked Gaderian’s way. “You come one step closer and she gets this knife in her chest. Do I make myself clear?”

Gaderian stopped a few feet away, a look of angry frustration on his face. “Kendall, what can you possibly gain by stealing another man’s wife. If you take her back to Ros Creda--”

”Not Ros Creda, somewhere else where no one knows us.”

“And you would be happy, knowing she’s married to another man whom she loves?”

Angus snickered. “Who said anything about happiness? It’s a matter of pride, something you obviously don’t understand. She was pledged to me,” he said in a whining voice. “She broke her vow to me.”

“No!” Once more, Fianna tried to jerk away, but he held fast, holding her with her back to his chest. “The pledge was given without my consent. I never said I’d marry you. My stepfather gave that pledge.” Held in his tight grip, she breathed hard and fast, her heart pounding wildly. She eyed the knife, frightened out of her mind that he would use it.

Angus sighed heavily. “Mere semantics. We have wasted enough time.” He waved the knife in Gaderian’s direction. “Don’t try to stop me. If I can’t have her, no one will. She’ll get this knife through her heart.”

“No!” Gaderian rushed his way, raising his hand to grab the knife. But Angus was quicker. Gripping the knife, he stabbed the weapon into her chest.

Blinding pain throbbed through her as she crumpled to the ground. Goddess, no, I don’t want to die. Pain, pain, pain, like nothing she’d ever known, a blinding, searing pain clutched every cell of her body. She was weak, so weak, her life draining from her.

“You bastard!” Gaderian grabbed Angus, pushing his fingers against his windpipe, harder, harder, suffocating him.

“Ahh.” Angus staggered and fell to the ground, his face set in surprise. His eyes stared upward as his breathing stopped and his head lolled to the side.

Gaderian dashed toward Fianna and drew the dagger from her heart. Another flash of pain gripped her, an agony of torment. Through her agony, she felt the blood gushing from her body, knew she was dying. Still, she looked his way, her eyes hazed with pain as her life ebbed from her. “Gaderian, I love you so much,” she whispered, every word an effort.

“My darling, we’ll have eternity to tell each other of our love.” He sliced the knife across his wrist and held his wrist to her mouth. “Drink my blood, sweetheart.” She hesitated, even as all life drained from her.

“Please,” he urged. He pressed his wrist to her mouth and she began to suck, slowly at first, then faster. Colorful lights flickered around her as she sucked, images she wondered if she had only imagined. At the same time, he bent over her chest and drank her blood. While they consumed each other’s blood, she felt changes in her body, a new sensation inside her, of power and strength, of happiness beyond imagination. Moments passed, a time of never-ending bliss and then the transformation was complete. Yet still she didn’t understand the changes within her, failed to see she was no longer the same woman as had first emerged from the house this night.

She looked at him and blinked her eyes, a look of confusion on her face. “What happened?”

He clasped her hand and spoke in a voice low and comforting. “You are as I am now, my dearest. One of the undead. It was the only way to save you.”

Her eyes shone with love. “Ah, yes.” She looked up at the sky. “How beautiful the stars are, each one shining like the brightest diamond. And the trees! Do you hear the trees singing? The grass, it smells so lovely, the most exquisite perfume! Everything is so beautiful!”

“Yes, dear Fianna. And it will always be this way, for you and for me. For always.”

A worry made her frown. “My mother and brother...?”

“We can still visit them, but only at night. They will have to accept your explanation. Now that the vampires are no longer in danger of capture--we hope!--it should be safe to declare your essence.”

“What about him?” She raised herself on her elbow and glanced over at Angus.

“Dead, my darling. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the body, remove all evidence.”

He helped her rise from the ground and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist, knowing she would never tire of him. “Sweetheart, I love you so much.” She touched his hair and feathered her fingers down his face, this face she could never tire of, this man she would love forevermore. Ah, they had years, centuries! To spend with each other, time without end to share their love. She sighed and pressed her face to his chest, absorbing the very essence of him. “I love you,” she repeated.

“And I love you. We belong to each other, for all eternity.”

The End