Genny's belly already turned in disgust and apprehension before she'd even arrived at the open, sagging wood door. "Go straight to our room," she said to Camille before stepping through the door.
"You're late!" The words were barked at her from the direction of the fireplace and caused her lip to curl into a sneer. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of stale ale and body odor that permeated the small house. Marie's newest find, and her worst by far, was the cause of most of the stench as he sat in the corner in the only rickety chair left in the house. Furniture never lasted more than a couple of weeks in this hovel.
"Good to see you too, Felix," she muttered and pushed Camille toward their room in the back.
Camille gave her a sympathetic look and tried to linger but Genny continued to usher her forward. Camille had just closed the door to their room when a large hand wrapped around her neck and jerked her backward. A startled cry almost escaped her but she kept it suppressed by biting on her bottom lip. If she cried out now Camille would come out of their room to try and help her and she couldn't allow that to happen. She was stronger than Camille was; she could withstand this better than her sister ever could.
"Where's my money?" Felix growled at her.
Genny fumbled to free the purse she had tucked inside of her tunic. He snatched it from her hands but she knew it wouldn't be enough to stop what was coming; it never was when he was in this kind of a state. Genny bit her tongue and closed her eyes as the first of his many blows rained down upon her.
***
The sun had faded from the sky when Camille opened the door to their bedroom and poked her head out. Genny didn't bother to lift her head to look at her, she could barely move it as it was. "Is he gone?" Camille asked in a squeaky voice.
"He is," Genny confirmed.
"Did he hurt you badly?"
"Nothing I can't handle," Genny told her and tried to force a smile but her split lip wouldn't allow it to happen.
"You should have let me stay, I could have helped…"
"He would have hurt you more than me. I can handle it," Genny assured her.
Though the main reason she tried to keep her sister from Felix was because she hated the way that he watched Camille. Genny recognized the lustful look in his eyes from the way that men had looked at Marie over the years. She could withstand a beating, but what Felix wanted to do to Camille was something that her sister would never recover from.
"Where is Marie?" Camille asked nervously.
"Who knows and who cares," Genny muttered as she rose to her feet. She winced as one of her cracked ribs grated against her flesh and her bruised legs protested the effort to hold her upright. She would feel better once she'd fed and by tomorrow most of the bruises would be gone and her ribs would be healed.
"I don't understand why he does this," Camille muttered.
"Because he can!" she spat. "Because Marie allows it so that she doesn't have to deal with it."
"I know we can't count on her but maybe Marie will find a good man again before we're ready to leave for France. Maybe we'll be able to escape this place," Camille said hopefully.
Genny grit her teeth and fisted her hands at her sister's words. "All she has to rely on is men, and in case you haven't realized it yet, all men leave."
She forced the image of green eyes out of her mind as her own eyes burned with unreasonable tears. She hadn't cried from the beating Felix had laid upon her. She'd grown so accustomed to his assaults over the past six months, that she handled it with far more ease than the first time he'd come at her. In the beginning, it was their mother who had been the focus of his attacks. Once Marie had realized that there was no rhyme or reason to when the beatings would occur, she'd stopped showing up before the middle of the night. Marie would creep in late tonight and crawl into bed beside the man who had turned to using his fists on her daughter in her absence.
Genny had decided to attempt coming home late with Camille one night too, in order to try and avoid a possible rampage. Felix had been passed out in a drunken stupor when they'd snuck in and crawled onto their small straw pallet. It had been the last time she'd ever tried to avoid him as she'd been ripped out of bed the next morning by her hair and beaten to within an inch of her life while Marie looked on impassively. After that day Genny had always come back before Felix became too drunk, she had no other choice. There was nowhere else for her to go, not while Camille was still so young and vulnerable.
Her sister's beauty was considered by many to be a blessing; Genny sometimes considered it a curse. If she hadn't been so beautiful, Genny would have taken Camille and left this place after the first beating. But there was no way she would be able to get Camille out of here, and keep her safe, while Camille was still so young and her abilities were still so underdeveloped. Even after Camille stopped aging they would still be vulnerable when they left this place, but nowhere near as much as they would be if they left now.
The day that Camille stopped aging would be the last day they ever saw this hut, the hideous man that lived here, or their pathetic excuse of a mother.
Genny continued to move sluggishly around the house as she attempted to work out the knots in her muscles. Her body was already beginning to repair itself but she had to feed. "Camille…"
"I'll get you something," her sister offered as she bounced to her feet. She tugged on her cloak, pulled the hood up and tucked her hair underneath it.
"Stay close," Genny told her but the door was already closing behind her.
Genny limped toward the door and pulled it open. Camille had already disappeared into the encroaching shadows of the night. A few fires burned in the night, the huts closest to them were dark, but then they usually were as their neighbors often went to the club at night. She savored in the fresh air as the breeze caressed her bruised and swollen face.
Turning away, she left the door open to let some of the stale ale scent out of the hut. She hobbled over to the small room she shared with Camille. It was barely big enough to hold the two of them lying down together on their straw pallet, and their two trunks, but at least they had a room separate from Felix and Marie.
Opening her small trunk that was shoved against the wall, she carefully pulled out the clothing tucked neatly inside. Over the years Marie had taken many lovers, some of them had been better off than others. From time to time those men had bought her and her sister some finer pieces of clothing. Most of those clothes were years old now, but Genny took good care of them in order to ensure they would last as long as possible. There was no extra money to spend on clothes.
At the bottom of the trunk was a fake bottom she had created years ago. She removed the bottom and set it aside before taking out the parchment she kept hidden beneath. Then she gathered her quill and a small bottle of ink also hidden beneath the secret bottom. The parchment was the one thing she allowed herself the extravagance of purchasing, but writing was the only escape she'd ever had from the world. The ink she made on her own by collecting and crushing the berries from the woods.
With a moan she rose to her feet, closed the lid on the chest and settled herself in front of it. The only other vampire that knew about what she kept in the trunk was Camille, and her sister would take the secret to the grave with her.
Her mother had gone through more men then Genny had gone through blood over the years, but when she was twelve there had been one that had taken a special interest in her. He'd been a scribe for an aristocrat in China before traveling to England with the nobleman and encountering her mother. Genny would watch in astonishment while he spent hours bent over his desk going about his duties.
She'd never known what it was that he'd seen in her to make him decide to take her under his wing. Maybe it was her silent presence in the room, or maybe he had simply felt sorry for her, but no matter what his motivation he'd decided to teach her how to read and write. She'd spent hours with him going over the documents and putting the quill to paper. In those numerous hours she'd come to understand what had dri
ven him to become a scribe. There was magic within the words that could unfold on a page, and in those words she knew she had found something all her own, something that made her special.
With meticulous care, she placed the fake bottom on her knees to use as her writing table. She placed the parchment on top of it, dipped her quill into the ink and began to write. Writing about her days was the only thing that made them any better and it helped to keep her sane. There was so much uncertainty in her life that the outlet she found in writing was the only constant she had. Her words were the only things that were solely hers.
Though she started out to write about the events of this day, after placing the date in the top corner, she found herself only writing about the events that had taken place within the forest. Sitting back, she stared down at the parchment for a minute. She felt there was something more that she should say, but she didn't know what that could possibly be. She waved her hand over the drying ink before lifting the lid of her trunk. She hid the inkwell and quill back inside before rising to her feet.
She didn't hide the parchment away yet, she had to let it dry first, and the only one that would be returning before midnight was Camille. The minute she thought of her sister, she appeared in the open doorway and stepped into the main room with a fox in her hand. "I brought you something," she whispered.
"Thank you," Genny said and took hold of the small creature.
She would have much preferred a human but it had been months since she'd fed from a human. When Camille finally became an adult vampire their plan was to travel to the continent. Years ago, before either of them were even born, Marie had fled France when she'd been discovered stealing from a man she'd been sleeping with at the time. Marie had barely escaped with her life and had refused to return to the continent since then.
Genny and Camille had agreed that the best place for them to escape Marie was France. There were vampire villages there, and they could integrate into one of them, but it would be safer for the both of them if they were able to sustain themselves on animal blood. Until they were safe somewhere she wasn't going to take any chance of being uncovered by humans. Marie would never follow them to France, or at least Genny didn't think she would, but she wasn't willing to take the chance that she might if she needed someone to take care of her. No matter what it took, Genny was going to do everything in her power to keep herself and Camille away from her mother's poisonous clutches.
- CHAPTER 3 -
Atticus slung the heavy wool cloak around his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head as he stepped out of the manor and into the rain. The sound of the rainfall echoed in his ears as the mud from the dirt lane splashed up to stain the bottom of his boots. He didn't hate the English weather as much as Merle but even he was getting tired of this incessant rain and the mud that accompanied it.
He made his way toward the stable and threw back the hood of his cloak to shake the rain from it. The stable was nearly empty except for the young vampire boy feeding the horses. "I'd like to have my horse saddled."
The boy's eyes shot past him to the driving rain beyond the stable doors. "Yes milord."
Atticus turned to watch the rain as it beat against the ground and splashed water out of the puddles forming. It was crazy of him to go out in this weather but he couldn't bring himself to stay inside the manor for one more minute. Mainly because he was tired of listening to his father and his noble cohorts fight over who would rule next. What was making it exceedingly difficult to decide was that none of them seemed to covet the position of king, not anymore.
Merle had slipped away an hour ago with a serving girl and as soon as Atticus had found his chance, he'd also disappeared from the main hall. The stable boy led his horse over to him and handed him the reins. "Your horse milord."
Atticus took the reins from him, placed his foot into the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. He pulled the hood back over his head and nudged Drago into the rain. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't feel the cold drops of water against his skin as he led the animal down the road and into the woods. He had no idea where he was going, only that he had to get as far from his father and his politics as he could. His head had begun to pound as he'd listened to all of those men talk about who was the strongest, how much power they each had, and squabble about the possibility that they might have even a smidgen of that power taken away.
They're determination not to be the next king only increased his certainty that at least some, if not all of them, had gotten together to kill the last king. He wasn't entirely sure what the point of that would have been if none of them were vying for the throne now, but he had a feeling he'd find out over the next couple of weeks, hopefully not months. By then he'd be a prune if this rain continued and Merle might actually attempt to swim back to Italy if he was forced to keep his ship moored at the dock.
Merle already spent most of his nights on his ship, preferring to sleep on the vessel than at his father's manor. All he would need was the word to go and Merle would be throwing the lines off and sailing from here as quickly as possible. Atticus knew exactly how he felt, but he wasn't given the choice on where he could sleep. As his father liked to constantly remind him, even when there was a king on the throne, because of his pure bloodline Atticus was considered a prince amongst their kind, and princes didn't sleep on ships when they had newly built manors to reside in.
There were times he thoroughly enjoyed what his position in life offered him. He had plenty of money, lots of power and a bevy of women at his service. There were other times, like when his life choices were taken away from him, that he despised his social status and cursed his position. Being forced back to England and into the manor was one of those times.
He'd been so focused on his thoughts that he hadn't realized where he was until he entered the clearing where just yesterday he had met Genevieve and her sister. Pulling the hood back from his head, he wiped away the rain that had beaded across his brow and looked around the clearing. The trees glistened with water, the air held a misty quality to it as fog crept through the underbrush and stole across the ground like spirits drifting through a graveyard.
With the fog came the scent of mint and aster on the air. This wasn't where he had intended to come when he'd left the manor but something had drawn him here, or rather someone. He kicked his foot free of the stirrup and dismounted Drago as she stepped around the same large elm as yesterday. The hood of the deep red cloak she wore was pulled over her head but he could still make out her pale skin and the black hair that framed her face.
"Are you lost?" she inquired.
"Sometimes I think I am." Those weren't the words he'd meant to say, in fact he'd meant to laugh off her question, but now that the words were out of his mouth he realized just how true they actually were.
Her raven eyes flickered over his clothes as her forehead furrowed. He didn't know what he was expecting as a response, something terse and indifferent, maybe even no response at all, but when she spoke she didn't respond in either of those ways. "Sometimes we are all lost, at one point in time or another in our lives."
He found himself entranced by her peculiar insight. "I suppose we are. What happens if we are never found though?"
"Well." She stepped away from the tree and climbed gracefully down a couple of rocks so that she was level with him. "I like to believe that there's always something, or someone, that will help us find our way."
"And what happens if we don't recognize the help when we find that something or someone?"
"Then fate hits us over the head until it wakes us up."
He chuckled at her answer but he had to force himself to keep his hands down by his side as the urge to push the hood back from her face took hold of him. "And what happens if we find it but then lose it again?"
Her smile slid away as she frowned thoughtfully. "Well I suppose that would be a sad life then wouldn't it? To be forever lost."
"I suppose it would," he agreed, but lately he felt like he would be los
t forever.
He didn't belong amongst the vampires, or at least not where his father thought he belonged. The idea of sitting in a room and arguing with a bunch of powerful, greedy old vampires made him consider running as far as he could, but he knew that would never be possible. If something were to happen to his father, he would have to step forward to take his place. Immortals weren't immortal, not when they were climbing over top of one another, killing kings, and stabbing each other in the back in order to gain more power.
As much as he didn't want to take his father's place, it was a fact that he had resigned himself to years ago. Rogue vampires were hunted as it was, if he were to ever try and shirk his duties by disappearing, he would be pursued relentlessly.
There were far more pleasant things to think about now though, he realized as she shifted before him. His gaze flickered past her but he didn't detect the aroma of roses amongst the trees. "Where is your sister?" he inquired.
Her shoulders went back, her jaw clenched as her hands folded before her. "She is not with me today, milord."
The use of the word milord and the terse tone of her voice surprised him. He didn't know what he had done to provoke her. He would have thought that perhaps she was jealous of her sister and his question had pricked that jealousy. That wasn't the impression he got from her though as she shifted her stance to a position that was more protective and her hands unfolded to fall before her.
"Where is she?" It probably would have been better to change the topic but he liked the fire in her eyes as she stood before him. Most were so afraid of him and his heritage that they didn't dare defy him or glare at him as if they were about to slap him, she was doing exactly that and he found her amusing.
"In the village. I'll give her your regards."
She went to step away from him but his hand shot out before he could stop it. His fingers touched together as they encircled her bicep. Through the thick material of the clothing she wore, he could feel the tightening of muscle beneath his touch. Her mouth parted, her eyes reminded him of those of a cornered deer when they flew up to his. She remained rigid in his grasp but she didn't try to pull away from him. Her gaze fell briefly to his lips before flying back up to meet his.