"What do you call this type, Drowan?
"A vrykolak, sire."
Vrykolak. Alaric frowned. "Bloodless…?"
"Yes, sire. For that is how he leaves his victims."
How appropriate. "Much like the Dhamphir, but Yanus is far more intelligent. And you are sure that he cannot somehow spread his affliction to others?" Alaric gave Drowan a stern glance. "I will not tolerate a contagion of these monsters."
"It is not possible, sire. I have engineered his functions to be impossible to infect others."
Drowan stepped forward toward the mouth of the tomb. "I know you can hear my voice, Yanus. Return to the world of mankind. I have need of your skills."
All was silent for a moment. Then laughter echoed up the walls, building to a crescendo of insane howls as though the spirit of madness was housed in the depths. When the resonance at last faded, a cold and menacing voice spoke in a voice like tangled serpents.
"I hear and I obey, my Master."
Chapter 35: Marcellus
Marcellus had chosen first watch to be away from the stares and whispers. Coming to the camp was a mistake. They could never understand.
He almost laughed. Understand? I barely understand what happened.
He had been altered. The memory was foggy, dreamlike, but what he remembered made him shudder. Whatever the Reaver was, it had only one mission: to destroy. The fact that the carnage was restricted to the akhkharu was the only gratifying part of the ordeal. Somehow their presence triggered his transformation. Once the Reaver ran out of targets, it surrendered control back to Marcellus. But he felt the Reaver somewhere deep within. It was a cauldron of darkness, bubbling over with hatred.
Marcellus shook his head. He was cursed. He didn't know if he was even human anymore. But he had his own battle to fight, and being around others would only put them in danger. Especially Nyori. He would leave soon. Maybe on the morrow. It was for the best.
He had not expected to see her again, especially not with the Huntsmen. Her fear of him shimmered in her eyes. He could not blame her after what she had witnessed. At least he did not have to worry about her wanting to stay close to him.
Still, it was good to see her.
A glimpse of movement caught his eye. He quietly nocked an arrow to his bow and waited in silent anticipation. His eyes narrowed as something moved in the distance. A black-cloaked, hooded figure strode silently through the brush.
Marcellus considered raising the alarm. Chances were the figure would be long gone by then. He decided to follow. Fear was no longer a sensation that bothered him. There was only the expectancy of the next kill.
Fear was what others felt when they saw the Reaver.
The night sky was clear, and the crescent moon shone brightly on the white surroundings, increasing visibility. He silently stalked the intruder, stepping lightly to balance his weight. The snow crunched under his boots, but the sound was hardly audible.
The figure moved quickly, staying just visible as they crept deeper into the forest. The glade had grown eerily silent. The surrounding trees became towering ancient monuments, as though he wandered through some lost and fallen kingdom of old.
The thick canopy opened into a clearing, where a waterfall fell from the cliffs into a wide stream. Heavy shadows made visibility difficult. Marcellus crouched behind a heavy oak and looked for signs of an ambush.
A vision of a great and terrible horse exploded in his head. She reared and blasted hissing steam from her nostrils. Marcellus shook his head.
No, Twilight. Not just yet.
The Night Mare dissipated. Marcellus was startled by the revelation. I didn't know I could do that. He returned his gaze to the cloaked figure, who knelt gracefully to touch the stream. Marcellus stared in bewilderment when the water steamed as if heated by coals. The stranger unfastened the brooch of the cloak and let it slide to the ground in silken folds.
Marcellus could not help but gasp. Standing there exposed and naked in the cold was a woman beyond any he had seen before. The sight was almost overwhelming even from his vantage point in the shadows. At that moment he understood with remarkable clarity the passion minstrels felt when they scribed their hymns of love and desire. Surely she was what a master artist saw at night when he dreamed of beauty.
Marcellus' senses exploded in the same moment. The slightest touch of the breeze sent shivers down his skin. His ears captured every rustle of grass, every flurry and creaking movement of the myriads of creeping insects. The entire clearing brightened in colors of burgundy and violet. The water became fluorescent blue, the moon a half orb of bright gold that gleamed in a lavender sky. His mind felt cleansed, all suspicion and wariness swept away.
He watched unabashedly as the water from the falls caressed the woman's nakedness.
She looked over her shoulder. He caught a glimpse of her luminous eyes, violet as the glimmering sky. Her voice was soft and soothing as the waters that bathed her.
"Are you going to just stare, or will you come to me?"
He did not hesitate. Something buzzed in his mind — was it silver hooves flashing across the ground? It didn't matter. He was free of concern. All that mattered was getting to her. His hands moved by themselves, tearing his clothes away as he waded into the spring and stood before her.
He took in the roundness of her breasts, her creamy skin, flawless cheekbones, the shimmering lilac-shaded tresses that rippled down her back. He stared forever, locked in shameless admiration.
She smiled as she stroked his face and traced the scars that crisscrossed his body. Never in his life had he felt so hideous, so unkempt and filthy. Yet her touch kissed his flesh, raising shivery goosebumps on his skin. Her smile took his breath away.
"My name is Serona. I have been looking for you. You were not hard to find. Leilavin's touch marks you from a mile away; your aura shines like a beacon to me. Are you not glad I have found you?"
"Yes, milady." His response was automatic, his every desire to please. It just felt…right.
"You have been through so much suffering. I feel it in every breath you draw. But I can take that burden from your shoulders and free you from a life of pain. Is that not what you want?" Her eyes pulled, her voice lapped over his consciousness like the waves of a gentle sea.
No more pain — was that not what he wanted? "Yes, milady."
"Then come to me."
She pulled his mouth to hers. The taste of her dizzied his mind as his hands stroked her satin skin. His head whirled from the intoxication; the water churned as their movements became more frantic. If not for the misty spray of the falls, he would have ignited in flames.
A horse screamed somewhere in his mind, but the beast of lust quickly devoured the vision as he lost himself in the feel and scent of Serona. Their bodies pressed together as if seeking to become one, knowing that was the only way to end the explosion of desire.
He nearly cried out when her hands tightened, clamping into his back like iron pinchers. Her eyes smoldered with lavender fires as a million icy hot needles stabbed him, tearing through flesh into his marrow. Arcs of electric fire scourged him, drained him of life as though his heart poured upon the ground. His scream was soundless, or merely drowned out by the roaring of his heart.
Lightning flickered. Thunder rumbled inside his head, and the winds of a heavy storm beat against him.