“Did you hear her screams?” Malachi asked gruffly. The priest just laid there, his eyes nearly black with terror.
“Answer me. Did you hear her screams?” This time, he released a bit of the control he held over the man’s movement and watched as the man nodded.
A sad smile crooked Mal’s lips and he replied, “Good. It was an innocent woman you burned. No threat to anyone.” Alys, bless her gentle heart, had not ever hurt a soul out of malice, or even hunger. And Malachi knew firsthand how pleasurable her bite was. “Whatever you think she was, you are wrong. She was no threat. Now, I, on the other hand…”
He reached down and closed a hand over the old man’s feeble throat and squeezed, letting the priest feel the strength there. At the same time, he flashed his fangs. “I am the one you should have tried to slaughter. But since you did not, I will make you pay.”
The scent of urine grew strong on the air and Malachi curled his lip in disgust. He knew what the man was thinking, could even hear the disjointed thoughts. It was not a pleasant thing, but he could not turn it off, the cacophony of thoughts he picked up from others.
“Calm yourself, old man. I will not kill you.”
In good conscience, Malachi could not. Simply by feeling the thoughts of this old man, he knew the man had acted out of a need to protect his people. That was something Malachi could almost admire—if it had not cost him Alys, he would have even respected the old bastard for it. It had taken bravery for him to confront the demon that had been preying on his people—or what he thought was a demon.
No. Malachi could not kill him. The empty years of his life sprawled out in front of him and he wanted no more deaths haunting him while he slept.
But he did have to pay.
“You will hear those screams, old man, every time you close your eyes. And when you hear them, know this—she was harmless. It was like killing a lamb for fear the lamb would kill your shepherd,” Malachi said as he pushed deep inside the man’s mind, seeking out the place where thoughts lay hidden until sleep.
As the man slept, those thoughts would creep out to haunt him. He would know little peace, for what little time was left him.
And it was not much. Malachi could smell the death on him. His time was nearing.
It would come soon and then the old priest could greet whatever fate lay in store for him once he passed out of this world.
If the man Malachi had heard about all those years ago was truly a Messiah, then this priest would find a fitting judgment waiting him.
No God would smile upon the murder of a harmless woman.
* * * * *
Grief had him roaming restlessly through the woods for the rest of the night.
He had failed Alys.
Over the years, Malachi had come to accept he had a responsibility to Alys.
To care for her, to watch over her. As sweet and gentle as Alys had been, she had not always displayed a great amount of intelligence. She should have known better than to keep returning to the same place to feed, time after time.
“I should have watched you better. Should have protected you.”
Bitter guilt choked him and he wanted to rage as his memory taunted him with the flashing echoes of pain he had picked up from her. But he did nothing to try and block the memories. Was little enough punishment for his failure.
Dawn was coming as he perched on an outcropping of rocks over the river. He stared into the rushing white-capped waters broodingly, barely aware of the lightening skies.
It wasn’t until he felt his skin itching that he grew aware of how light it had become around him. Malachi lifted his face and found himself staring at the warm golden rays of the sun for the first time in decades.
He had nearly forgotten how pure the light of the sun was. How warm it felt.
The longer he stared at it, the more his skin itched. Some instinctive part of him wanted to cringe away from it, wanted to run. Alys had told him what would happen under the light of the sun.
Skin would begin to burn, and then blacken. Fire would erupt as though something from within had exploded. There would be pain as it charred his flesh from his bones.
And Malachi waited for it. Even welcomed it.
Alys had burned for his failures. Seemed only fitting that he burn as well.
But the only thing he felt was that mild itching. As the sun rose ever higher, his skin blushed a fair pink, but it did not redden with burns, did not blacken, and there was no true pain.
Rising, Malachi stood on the rock and glared into the fiery golden glory of the sun. Snarling, he leaped from the rock and began to pace. “Can not even death come to me easily?” he demanded.
But there was no answer. Just the distant sound the animals made in the woods and the rushing of the river.
Despair hung around him, weighing him down, as he finally turned away from the sun’s light and walked into the sheltering dark of the forest.
His simple home was gone. The priest had sent men to smoke it out and to watch and wait in case any more monsters lingered. Malachi could have dealt with them. But he wanted no more blood on his hands.
And living in the cave he had shared with Alys did not appeal to him.
But he found he could not sleep in the open. Even though it seemed the sun was little threat to him, he could not rest so exposed. He took his rest in an empty den, his arms wrapped around his chilled body.
It was a cold, miserable way to sleep.
When sleep came, he was prepared for the dreams. Dreams in which he would hear Alys’ screams while his imagination painted him a picture to go along with those horrible, pain-filled screams.
But he did not dream of Alys.
His dream lady came to him, and her voice was quiet and husky with tears.
I am sorry,
she told him, keeping her distance. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood facing away from him.
This is my fault.
Malachi felt a new chill settle inside his bones as he studied her. “You knew.”
I knew something awful was going to happen. But I did not know what it was.
If Malachi had thought he felt guilty before, it was nothing compared to what flooded him now. She had come to him yesterday to warn him and he had ignored it, seeking out the pleasures of her body instead. Had he listened, he could have saved Alys. He would have watched her better.
Instead, he had satisfied his physical needs and then lashed out at his lady in anger, chasing her away. Without her to bind him to the dream, Malachi had woken and whatever she could have told him that might have saved Alys was lost.
You are angry—I don’t blame you.
Malachi was silent, seething. His hands opened and closed into tight fists and he wanted to hit something. Anything.
You were right. I was jealous. She doesn’t just get to sleep with you. She was able to be with you, all the time,
she said and her voice broke a little.
But I want you to know that I would have never wished anything like this. I am so sorry.
Malachi closed his eyes, shaking his head. His voice was gritty as he replied, “You tried to tell me. It is my fault I did not listen.”
She inhaled softly and he heard her moving nearer. Spinning around, he held out a hand. “No. Do not come near now. Please—just go.”
And then he was alone, and that was when the torment started. Because now, not only did he hear Alys’ screams, he also heard his lady sobbing.
Chapter Five
She was there again.
Malachi came out of his sleep to feel the presence of that woman again. Her name was Rachel—and she was the first woman of
his
kind that he had seen since Alys.
How long had it been since he had lost Alys? Malachi did not know but it had been a very long time, long enough that even the memory of how she looked had faded.
Indeed, Malachi had not seen any men like him until recently. Men had come, like this woman, seeking him out. Telling him that he had a destiny, a calling. But he had to travel to the lands in the west. He did not wish to leave his mountains.
Vampyr.
That was what they said he was. Vampyr. And there were others, many others, like him. Some evil—Malachi still remembered the taint that had hung in the air around Jacob and he prayed the evil ones were not what normally emerged after the Change from human to—this.
It was the evil ones that they needed help with. Help from those like Malachi.
These people cannot hope to fight the darkness that waits in the night, not without us. Join us—help us.
That was what the first man who had come had said to Malachi. They had met in the forest, months ago. It had still been cold then and snow had drifted down around them as the man tried to convince Malachi to come with him.
His name had been Matthew. He had been nearly as tall as Malachi, and his skin had a golden hue that no lack of sun would ever change. Very compelling eyes. Malachi was even tempted.
Just not tempted enough. He had refused Matthew, and every other one that had come since.
But the woman was harder.
There was something very compelling about Rachel. It was not the strength he sensed in her. Although there was a great deal of that. Looking at her, he knew he was facing his equal. He had felt that when he stared down Matthew the first time.
The ones who had come between Matthew and Rachel had been lesser somehow. Malachi did not understand how he knew that, but he knew he was right. Most of them were not as strong as he was.
Just Matthew, and this gentle-looking, pretty woman.
Malachi saw an empathy in her soft brown eyes. A wisdom that did not seem to fit the smooth, young-looking lines of her face.
Standing at the mouth of the cave, he stared down into the valley. Arms crossed over his chest, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes, Malachi could feel the woman drawing nearer and nearer. “Go away,” he muttered, but there was no one there to hear him.
And she would not leave, so even if she had been close enough to hear him, Malachi was wasting his breath.
Turning away from the cave’s entrance, he stalked over to his bed, straw piled under a thick mat of fur. He flung his length down along it and stared broodingly at the ceiling far overhead.
She
had come in his dreams again, his dream lady. After Alys had died, the woman came to his dreams a little more often, but still, Malachi was always prepared for grim news when he saw her. Grim news and pleasure—sad, that. He began to associate sexual pleasure with bad tidings.
Very sad. This was what his life had become.
It is time for you to leave here, Malachi,
she had whispered as they lay wrapped in each others’ arms.
You have a destiny waiting for you, and it is not here.
I do not wish to go anywhere, unless you are waiting for me.
She had laughed. The low, husky chuckle felt like a caress along his skin and it made his blood heat.
You can’t leave me behind easily. If you go, then I will follow.
But you will not truly be there, will you, woman?
Even before he asked, he knew the answer.
He would not find her there. No matter how much he wished it.
It is not time for us yet.
That had been her only reply and it was cryptic, like much of what she told him.
She had been clear about one thing this time though. She felt he needed to go with Rachel.
But this had been home for so long. Leaving it to go elsewhere, someplace away from everything familiar, someplace far away. Malachi was reluctant to even consider it.
He did not wish to leave here.
Those warring tribes he had known as the
Pictii
had given rise to a new people, one that spanned across this wild land. Though still quite anxious for conquest, they had settled down a bit and he had watched generation after generation come into the world, and leave it.
He had watched their sons and daughters grow into a fierce, proud people he admired. They had a rich love for life, for family. They sang and laughed and
lived
.
Watching them actually brought him a bit of pleasure.
They even spoke of him. In low hushed tones over their fires at night, they told stories of the pale giant who roamed the mountains and dealt with the crueler men, those who would rape and kill.
Some said he was the devil, others said he was a creature of God sent to protect them.
Things had changed so much since he had first come here.
The people had not changed so much physically, although he could see some changes in the descendants. Once, many of these people had been blond and fair, but more and more he saw dark hair, darker skin, remnants from the slaves who had been brought back as spoils of war.
Clothing had changed a bit, but not terribly much. Warmer stuff, it seemed and a bit better made.
Many of the changes were not something that could truly be seen, though. The people did not fight as much among each other. A stronger sense of unity. And fewer followed the old ways of worshipping as the old priest who had killed Alys. Most followed the teachings of the Messiah and there were even priests who helped spread those teachings.
Malachi liked those teachings.
He liked the idea that there was indeed something after this life and that as dark as things were now, some place where pain did not happen sounded rather wondrous to him.
It went a bit deeper than that, though. It called to the part of him that remembered being enslaved, that remembered being forced to either take a life, or to be beaten.
And he suspected that the choice he had made was because of those teachings.
He would leave these lands and follow Rachel.
He was needed—he did not so much care for that, but the knowledge that there were people out there that needed help ate at him. So he would go to this
Brendain
Rachel spoke of and see what exactly they said he was needed for.
Perhaps
she
would be there.