Darelles Trinity

Chapter Four

“Merde!” Lascaux swore for the thousandth time as he paced the cool earthen floor of the castle’s catacombs. Torchlight glimmered off the stone walls of the tiny chamber, apart from the larger space where his servants and undead knights spent the daylight hours.

The injustice of the situation galled him. To think that this lowly shepherdess, undead for a mere few hours, was not only a Coeur Eternel, but the priestess of their clan.

“What is this sudden obsession with some peasant girl?”

Lascaux turned at Serge’s voice. His lover scowled at him, jealousy burning in his almond-shaped blue eyes. Guilt stabbed Lascaux’s chest. He didn’t want to hurt Serge, yet couldn’t control the mad lust raging through him for Darelle. He stopped pacing. “I don’t know.”

Serge huffed and pushed away from the wall. “There’s a good answer. Well thought out and absolutely sufficient.” He sliced a hand through the dank air. “You actually thralled her. I can’t believe it! When I was mortal, you never thralled me.”

Lascaux sighed, suppressing a sudden grin. “I never had to, did I?” Indeed, Serge, a young handsome nobleman nearly two centuries earlier, had pursued Lascaux relentlessly, first to become his lover, and then, to make him eternal so that they’d never be parted.

Serge glared at him. “So, Valmont, I no longer please you, is that it?” He folded his arms across his chest.

Lascaux almost winced at the pain in his lover’s voice. “Of course you please me.” He looked away and resumed pacing, his mind unable to keep away from thoughts of Darelle.

“Would she have replaced me in your bed?” Serge’s voice was insistent, not letting Lascaux concentrate.

Lascaux’s gaze flew to Serge’s. Those blue eyes rested on him, full of pain. Guilt made Lascaux snap. “What if she would have? You’re magnificent. You wouldn’t go long without someone else.”

Serge’s lips parted and he stared. Without another word, he whirled around and stalked from the room, leaving Lascaux alone.

Lascaux almost followed him. He owed Serge at least that much for his lover’s unequalled devotion. But he couldn’t. His obsession with Darelle consumed him, the source of it—a mystery. He could think only of how to get her back.

Apparently, capturing her and pleasuring her was one thing. Keeping her and winning her submission was another. One thing he knew for sure was that if he didn’t succeed in capturing her before she mated with her guardians, he would have a very long wait, indeed. He would have to work hard and fast as soon as the sun set.

Lascaux stopped his pacing and sank into a velvet-cushioned chair, allowing the stillness of the catacombs to envelop him. Unfortunately, he would have to be patient. Her guardians were rather old themselves and were formidable opponents. Getting her away from them would take a great deal of reflection. And power. Even more than he had now.

In the meantime, he would wait and watch, learn of any weaknesses Darelle and her guardians may have, for every vampire had at least one. Finding Darelle had taken several thousand years. He would wait and plan for another several thousand if he needed to.

As long as she was his in the end.

* * * * *

A woman’s desperate cries cut through the hazy warmth of the green countryside.

Darelle had been walking between Kane and Gareth for hours when the sounds carried through the air to their ears. Darelle halted, as did her guardians, scanning the area for the source of the pleas.

“Over there.” Kane pointed in the direction of a meadow. Apparently, being much taller than she, he could see over the rise of land that obstructed her view. “There’s a cottage. The voice is coming from inside.”

“A woman’s in trouble.” Darelle looked at Kane, hearing the plea in her own voice. “We must help her.”

Kane started to move but Gareth lunged forward and stayed him with a large hand on his arm.

“What if this is a trick of Lascaux’s?” Gareth growled. “You wish to risk our lady’s safety with your impulsiveness?”

Kane shrugged his arm off. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. Lascaux can do nothing until darkness falls.”

“What of the Soldiers?”

Darelle looked at him. “Soldiers?”

“I’ll explain later, my lady.”

“I know how to handle them,” Kane said.

Gareth narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Your arrogance will be your undoing.” He scowled and broke into a run in the direction of the cottage. Kane followed and Darelle went as fast as she could, lifting the skirts of her gown so as not to trip. She saw Gareth push on the door, finding it locked. He kicked it open and disappeared inside. Kane was close on his heels.

Darelle reached the threshold and froze. Kane and Gareth had hold of a large man and were dragging him off a woman.

Her face was smeared with dirt and tears and she was holding the ripped bodice of her dress over her breasts. She sagged against the wall, watching her rescuers pull away her attacker.

Darelle went to her and as soon as she touched her, the woman turned and collapsed in her arms, her face buried in the hollow of Darelle’s shoulder.

The man, dirty and ragged, struggled in vain to free himself of his captors’ grip. He let loose a string of filthy curses, including derogatory words for the woman in Darelle’s arms.

“She owes me!”

Kane and Gareth yanked simultaneously on his arms, hard, making him yowl.

“No woman owes you her favors,” Gareth growled.

“I don’t need to explain to you—”

“Ta gueule!”

At Kane’s barked order, the man shut up, glaring at him.

Darelle helped the woman to a chair and kneeled before her, holding her hands.

“I want to die faithful to my husband,” the woman sobbed. “My husband and children are gone. La peste has taken them all.”

Darelle removed Gareth’s cloak and covered her.

“What do you wish us to do with this dog, my lady?” Gareth asked.

Darelle looked up in the direction of his voice and turned her attention on the man.

He glared at her and struggled again, as if to free himself to attack her. His demeanor reminded her of Lascaux, igniting a vein of molten anger inside her. Heat burned in her eyes at his sudden look of panic and fear.

“What are you?” he breathed. “A demon!” His eyes widened, his arrogance replaced with terror.

Darelle realized her eyes must be glowing, as had Lascaux’s when he’d brought her across. Rising to her feet, she moved slowly toward him, feeling her own fangs emerge and push into her lips.

“Non!” the man cried. He struggled now with desperation to escape.

“What should I do with you, monsieur?” Darelle hissed, reveling in her new power and strength. The stench of the man’s fear mingled in the air with the reek of his sweat and filth.

“Let me go. I beg you. I won’t touch her, even though she’s a whore.”

Darelle’s hand shot out and grasped him around his neck. In spite of his thickness, Darelle found strong purchase on his flesh. Gareth and Kane released the man’s arms, yet she found she kept the man in place as easily as if they still held him. She stared into the man’s bloodshot brown eyes.

Sweat poured from his forehead and he trembled like a child. “Don’t hurt me, I beg you.”

Looking deeper into his eyes, Darelle saw the first signs of the plague in his system. He would suffer enough in the next few days, without her help. She moved toward the front door, forcing him along with her, his neck in her grip.

Kane opened the door for her and she shoved the man through as hard as she could and hissed at him. His eyes widened like saucers as he hit the ground on his bottom and scrambled to his feet. He turned and bolted, disappearing into a copse of nearby trees.

“Mon Dieu!” Darelle heard the woman whisper behind her. Her soft voice broke the spell and the heat receded from Darelle’s eyes, as did her fangs.

Darelle began to tremble as the realization of what she’d just done sank in. She turned around to find the woman staring at her, wide-eyed, pulling the cloak tightly around her as Darelle approached her.

“Who are you?” In the shadowy light of the cottage, the woman’s eyes reflected both wonder and fear.

“We are Coeurs É,” Darelle answered softly. “We won’t hurt you, I promise.” She ushered the woman back into a chair and seated herself.

The woman’s lower lip trembled. “Whoever you are, you saved me from Gachon. He was exacting his p*****t for burying my dead.” She shook her head as fresh tears spilled from her green eyes. Her sobs escalated to wails and she put her head down on her arms, her back heaving violently with grief.

Darelle’s heart ached for the woman and she put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Madame,” she began softly, sensing the woman could hear her. “I share your pain. I buried my own family only hours ago.”

The woman slowly lifted her head and looked at Darelle. “Forgive me.” Her lip trembled again and she swiped at her eyes with the heel of one hand.

In the background, Darelle heard movement and the sound of something being dipped in water. In the next moment, Kane was handing her a damp rag. She accepted it and gently wiped at the woman’s dirty, tearstained cheeks, and under her nose, surprised at how obediently the woman allowed her to tend to her.

Darelle finished and put the rag aside on the table. “What is your name, Madame?”

“Christine.”

A pang shot through her heart. “That was my sister’s name.”

Christine stared at her through bloodshot eyes, her plump face lined with grief. “Doesn’t it make you want to die with them?” she whispered.

Darelle nodded. “I did feel that way. But I cannot die.”

Fat tears pooled in Christine’s eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “I want to die,” she said. Her eyes widened suddenly. “Please help me. I saw what you did to Gachon. Certainly you can put me out of my misery.”

Darelle jerked back as if struck on the cheek. “Madame, I cannot hurt you.”

The woman’s hand shot out and grasped Darelle’s. “Je vous en prie! I am infected with la peste. My death will come soon, painfully and tortuously. Please!”

Horrified at the woman’s request, Darelle swung around to Gareth and Kane who stood behind her chair. “How can I do such a thing, my lords? She is asking me to…to…”

“Have mercy on her,” Gareth finished. He knelt down by Darelle’s chair, his large, strong hands gently grasping her shoulders. “Darelle,” he said softly, “this is the only time we feed; in a time such as this. As an act of mercy.”

Tears crowded Darelle’s eyes and she stared into the dark brown pools of his. Gareth’s gaze shone with compassion for her. She glanced at Christine who watched her hopefully, fresh tears glistening on her cheeks. Her gaze went to Christine’s neck, the prospect of feeding arousing her hunger. The desire enflamed her senses and the sudden craving for the coppery smell and taste of blood assaulted her. Gareth’s handsome face blurred behind her tears.

Gareth looked at her. A small muscle in his jaw clenched and his fingers tightened on her shoulders. He leaned forward and pressed his lips into her forehead. A moment later, he ended the kiss and released her.

Darelle knew what she had to do. Turning to Christine, she covered her hand with hers. “You understand what you ask of me, Madame?”

Christine nodded. “Oui. My heart and soul are already dead. I wish only for my body to follow.” A dreamy look came over her eyes. “I will be once again with my Bernard and my children.”

Darelle took a deep breath. The tiny cottage thrummed with the sound of Christine’s blood pumping through her body. The beat of her heart crashed in Darelle’s ears, arousing her bloodlust. “Very well, Madame Christine. I will do as you ask.”

Christine grabbed Darelle’s hands between her own and held them to her cheek. “I cannot thank you enough. May God bless you.”

With her own heart crashing in her chest, Darelle rose from her chair and stood by Christine. Gently, she pulled her hands from Christine’s and pushed back the woman’s blonde hair, which had escaped her cap in her struggle with Gachon. The sight of her tanned skin made Darelle’s fangs itch. In one swift motion, Darelle bent over her and sank them into the tiny plateau of soft flesh.

Christine released a soft cry followed by a sigh of pleasure and Darelle withdrew her teeth and began to feed, suckling the blood that seeped from the punctures. The blood, sweet and coppery, slid down Darelle’s throat, slowly quelling the rapacious hunger inside her.

“Darelle, be careful not to bring her across.” Gareth’s voice cut through her haze of bloodlust. “Make certain that you drink until her heart stops completely.”

The woman moaned softly, the way Darelle had sounded when she’d pleasured herself in the river.

Christine’s body quivered and sagged in the chair. “Bernard,” she whispered. “Bernard.” Finally, she stopped moving and went limp.

Her hunger satisfied, Darelle lifted her face from Christine’s neck and looked at her guardians. For a few brief moments, she had forgotten their presence. She wiped some blood from her lips with her fingertips, her gaze trapped by the glowing gazes of the men in front of her, their hunger palpable. She stood aside to let them feed.

Kane lightly grasped the hand she’d used to wipe her lips and lifted it to his lips. He parted them and suckled the blood off her fingertips, his eyes glowing like burning suns as Gareth bent over Christine’s body.

She watched him and Kane each bend over Christine in turn and feed. Her emotions churned at the sight of her guardians drinking the woman’s blood.

When they’d finished, Kane picked up Christine’s body and laid her gently on the bed. “I will dig her grave,” he told them.

When Darelle and Gareth were alone, she looked up at him. “I’m ashamed,” she murmured.

Gareth’s eyes had resumed their normal, velvety brown appearance. He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Never be ashamed of an act of mercy, my lady.” His tone was soothing and kind. “Is it not God acting through you to have relieved the poor woman of her misery? It is only what she wanted.” He pulled Darelle into an embrace and caressed her hair. “I’ve killed many men, both as a mortal and a vampire, both for mercy and for bloodlust, and I can promise you I’ve struggled for centuries with my conscience. You gave her pleasure and mercy in her last hours when she felt most abandoned and alone. That is all.”

Darelle closed her eyes, letting her body sag against her guardian. Her emotions drained from her with the relief his words granted her, and for the first time in what seemed forever, she felt at peace. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered.

Gareth cradled the back of her head in his hand. “You are most welcome, my lady.”

In a little while, the door to the cottage opened. Kane’s broad physique filled the doorway. “The grave is ready.”

Gareth nodded. He released Darelle and went to Christine, removing the cloak, which he handed to Darelle before picking up the body.

Darelle threw the cloak around her own shoulders and followed him outside. She stood silently by, watching her guardians bury Christine by the three other graves and prayed for the woman’s soul just as the sun began to disappear behind the horizon.

“It’s nearly night,” Gareth said when they had turned from the graves. “There is no more time to travel this day.”

“There’s a small barn.” Kane pointed to a structure beyond the cottage, at the edge of the forest. “It’s empty but for a pile of hay.”

Gareth nodded. “That will suffice.” With a hand on Darelle’s shoulder, he ushered her toward the barn and Kane took his place at her other side.

In spite of everything that had happened, or maybe because of it, Darelle found herself grateful, frightened and thrilled all at once about the prospect of spending the night with two handsome men.