Chapter Three
She heard a key in the lock, followed by the twisting of the doorknob, several hours later. Emily’s eyes reflexively darted to the small chrome clock, which read 6:00, still not knowing whether it was a.m. or p.m. She slid into a sitting position on the bed and was in the process of gaining her feet when the door opened. He stepped inside as she stood up.
For several seconds, he stared at her. His eyes moved over her face, down her body and back to her eyes again. She shivered under the scrutiny and crossed her arms over her chest. Emily’s voice remained locked in her throat, smothered by fear.
He walked toward her, moving with such inherent grace he appeared to be floating. His body was fluid perfection, with each muscle visibly contracting under his pale, smooth skin—at least the sections showing around the black silk shirt unbuttoned to his waist. Unlike when he had taken her in the funhouse, his skin bore no flush. Instead, he was pale. On anyone else, the pallor would have made the person seem ill, but it only added to his captivating appearance.
When he stopped before her, almost within touching, Emily took a step back. Her leg collided with a nightstand, and she winced when the sharp edge gouged her skin through the denim pants.
His lips curved into a smile. His eyes gleamed seductively. “Welcome, Emily.” The words sounded like velvet given a voice. “I trust you slept well.”
Was there a hint of mocking to his tone? Her eyes narrowed, and she was able to summon her voice. “What have you done to me? Why am I here? Who are you?” The questions tumbled from her in a rush.
“All answers will come in good time.” He took another step forward, reaching out to touch her hand.
She jerked her arm away and stared up at him with frightened eyes. “Why me?”
His expression grew troubled, and his eyes clouded. He turned his head from her to avoid her gaze. He wore a brooding expression. “The dreams will give you all the answers, beloved. You know some of it already. Who I am and what you are. Don’t you, Emily?”
She shook her head, denying the truth. “It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know anything.”
He snorted softly. “Resist if you must. The memories will open your eyes soon enough.”
“Please, let me go home.” She hated the weak, pleading tone in her voice, but couldn’t force a defiance she was far from feeling. She longed only to return to her own room and her boring family. Emily would give anything to hear her father complain about changes in the tax code or her mother prattle on about her friends. Even her butthead little brother’s practical jokes would be welcome.
He shook his head. “You are home. It isn’t Vallsade Manor, but we make do.”
She blinked at the familiar reference. “How did you—”
His head dipped lower, placing his mouth near her ear. “Memories have become dreams. You’ve had them all your life, haven’t you?”
Refusing to meet his eyes, she jerked her head away. “Just dreams. Nothing more.”
“Dreams of other times, other lives. Dreams of another you. Dreams of me, perhaps?”
Emily shook her head. “Never of you. A shadowy man sometimes, but he has no face.” She shuddered, remembering snatches of the dreams that had haunted her since childhood. “Such power and danger.”
His lips curved into a smile, flashing his fangs. “Me.”
“No. I don’t believe it.”
He sighed. “You will accept the truth as the dreams become more vivid.”
Her eyes widened. “More vivid?”
“Like the dream of Emma.” He touched her face, ignoring the way she stiffened. “The memory of your former self.”
Emily shook her head again. “I don’t believe in that junk.”
“Reincarnation?”
“It’s nonsense.”
He shrugged. “You will learn, beloved.”
Her shoulders tightened. “Stop calling me that.”
A bittersweet smile curved his lips. “You once lived to hear the words fall from my lips.” He chuckled. “Now you have died to do so.”
She stepped away from him, placing several feet between them before turning around. “I don’t know you. Why won’t you believe that?”
His expression hardened. “You do know me, but you’ve forgotten. You will know me again. This time forever.”
Emily’s eyes connected with his. A frisson of terror slithered down her spine at his words. “You’re obviously some kind of nut job.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Sweet Emily. Ever the brave one.”
Before she could blink, he stood beside her. Emily turned her head, finding her face inches from his chest. “How did you move like that?”
“It is natural now. One day, you’ll know how too.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Please, please, please. Just let me go home. I won’t tell anyone about this. I swear.”
His dark eyes grew cold. “As I have said, you are home. You belong to me, Emily. Get used to the idea. Your life as Emily Swesso is over. She’s dead.”
She clapped her hands over her ears. “No.”
He dragged down her hands, holding them locked in a vise-like grip at her sides. “I killed her. The new Emily was born in a rush of death and pain.” His expression became tender. “My Emily.”
A sob broke free when she tried to wrench away from him. A cry tore from her lips as pain shot up her arms, and she failed to escape his hold. “I don’t belong to you. I’m Emily Swesso—twenty, just finishing my last year of junior college with a 3.9 GPA and transferring to NYU next fall. I hang out with my friends, and just got a new car after earning the down payment working at the grocery store. None of this is real.” Her voice had continued to rise, and she shouted, “You aren’t real!”
He slapped her. Not hard enough to bruise or even make her fall, but the sting of his palm against her cheek quieted her. “Your stubbornness will get you nowhere. Aren’t you hungry, Emily?”
At his words, her stomach twisted and convulsed, as if tying itself in knots. Sweat streamed off her body, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears—no, not her heartbeat. Rather, the heartbeat of the entire city. The dark thoughts that visited her earlier returned in crashing waves. Her legs trembled, and she nodded, too weak to speak.
“Show me you’re beginning to remember who you are, and I’ll let you feed.”
She bit her lip, wincing as a sharp tooth slid through the skin. He must have splintered it during the kidnapping. She stared up at him with confusion. Her need battled her will. Although aching for food, she couldn’t give into his deluded fantasy. If she played along, she would be lost forever. “I am Emily Swesso,” she said in a clear, strong voice. “I’m not Emma, or whomever you want me to be. You probably drugged me, which caused the crazy dream.”
His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “Why must you resist?” he whispered. Then he ran a hand through his long black hair. “I will return to you in a while to see if you have accepted the truth.” He moved away from her, heading toward the door.
Emily rushed past him, throwing herself at the door. She reached for the handle and twisted it. A sharp pain shot up her arm from her hand, and she looked down. In place of the doorknob, she held a fat black snake in her hand. Its skin was scaly, but not slimy. It had buried its teeth in the back of her hand. With a scream, she tried to cast it away from her. The tenacious snake’s fangs stayed buried in her hand.
She shook it, trying to dislodge the serpent. Emily looked down, and another scream ripped from her throat. An oozing mass of snakes slithered around the door. Green, brown, red and multicolored skins blended in a riotous display. Short, thin snakes oozed over fatter, slower snakes. Several of the larger ones were dining on their smaller compatriots, and Emily could smell the coppery stench of their blood fill the room. The faint bitterness tainting the odor curbed her hunger. Several of the snakes hissed at her when her eyes fell on them, as if warning her away. She heard the rattle of a rattlesnake and turned to run.
Emily collided with him. He stood behind her, with his arms crossed. He looked calmly at the snake attached to her hand, then at the snakes slithering around the room. His expression didn’t change.
She whimpered when one crawled across her bare foot. Looking down, she saw a blood-red snake with a black face squirming over her foot. It opened its mouth to hiss at her, and she saw glistening drops of clear fluid drip from the snake’s wickedly sharp fangs. Was it venom? “Please.”
“Please, what?” He sounded bored.
“Make them go away.” Emily cried out when the snake struck without warning, burying its fangs in her ankle. Her head started spinning as pain coursed up her leg in throbbing waves simpatico with those issuing from her hand. The red snake continued on its way after tasting her, moving far from the path of the man in front of her.
He lifted her hand and grasped the snake by the back of the head. He squeezed so hard blood oozed around his fingers, accompanied by a small cracking sound. The snake went limp, and the fangs slid from her flesh. He held up the dead snake to show her the crushed skull. “So easy.” His voice was a husky whisper. “Such a fragile thing, and so easily crushed.” His eyes locked with hers. “Imagine the pain.”
It was as if a hand grasped her skull and squeezed. Emily gasped and reached up with both hands, trying to pry away the invisible forceps. Her body became one mass of agony, between her head, hand and ankle. She cried out and fell to her knees. The snakes surrounded her, crawling over her legs and feet. She wanted to brush them away, but most of her attention remained focused on the crushing pain in her head. “Stop,” she forced out through gritted teeth.
“What is my name?”
The question was unexpected, and her mouth fell open. She took a deep breath, trying to combat the anguish he inflicted. “I don’t know.” Her voice was a reedy whisper, completely lacking the conviction she planned to interject.
The pain grew sharper, and pressure filled her skull. Emily’s eyes bulged outward, and she vomited on the carpet. A scream rose in her throat, but she had no voice to give it life. Once more, she heaved, disgorging the remainder of the meager contents in her stomach. A fresh wave of nausea swept through her when she saw the red-black color of her vomit. It looked like blood.
He knelt before her, brushing aside the snakes casually. “Say my name, and the pain will end.”
She whimpered and tried to fight back the word hovering on her tongue. Uttering it gave his insanity validation. She was determined not to give in, but the name forced its way through her locked teeth, as if she were not in control of her own tongue. “N-nich-nicholas.”
The pain eased immediately. She dropped her hands from her head to support herself and touched soft carpet. When she looked down, all the snakes were gone. Only the vomit remained. She looked at the back of her hand and saw the wound close before her eyes. By the time she leaned back and brought her ankle up for inspection, the skin was smooth and unmarred—as if the bite mark had never been there. Was it all an illusion?
Her eyes were wide, and she felt a phantom pounding in her ears, though she could barely hear her own heartbeat thumping faintly. “Where did the snakes go?” Her voice emerged as a rasp.
Nicholas pushed the hair off her face and smiled at her. He didn’t answer her question. “Obey me, and there will be no more need for unpleasantness.”
She swallowed back a protest at the quaint description of unpleasantness. The last few minutes had been torture and terror, but nothing so easy as unpleasantness. “Never.”
He sighed, but his anger didn’t appear to return. “Never is a long time, my beloved. Rest now and dream. When I return, I may allow you to feed.” With one last caress of her cheek, he got to his feet and walked to the door.
Emily reached out for him, but her hand missed his leg. “I’m so hungry.”
He opened the door, not giving any indication of having heard.
“You can’t do this to me. You can’t starve me to death. What kind of monster are you?”
He half-turned to look over his shoulder. “Enough,” he said impatiently. “Sleep.”
“I’m not—” Even as the protest formed, Emily’s eyes grew heavy. Her body relaxed, and she slumped forward. She was vaguely aware of him returning to lift and carry her to the bed, but was unable to pull away from him. Within seconds of her head touching the feather pillow, she was asleep.
1511, San Juan Bautista (Puerto Rico)
He didn’t seem to be like the Spaniards. The differences went deeper than his pale skin and dark hair, or his name of Nicholas, which sounded nothing like the others’. There was darkness in his eyes that drew her in. They seemed to watch her every move since his arrival at Boriken—or San Juan Bautista as the foreigners called the island—a few days ago.
Erukán’s eyes were just as quick to follow him. Something about the man drew her to him. She had seen many foreigners in her fifteen years. The Spaniards invaded her home just a few years before her birth, so she had never known the glorious times when the Taíno were free, or when her father’s status of Cacique still meant something. All she had known was the casual cruelty of the men who had invaded her home. Her knowledge of glory days came from tribal elders.
He was different. He didn’t assume he could have any woman near him, and he had not beaten anyone in the days she had watched him. He kept strange hours, often sleeping through the afternoon, but when disturbed from his slumber, he might be impatient, but never violent.