Striding across the plank, he stepped off of it and onto the deck of Merle's ship. He finally turned to watch his ship pull away from the dock. The wind ruffled his hair, the seagulls screamed above him as he stood and watched the last little piece of his humanity sail away. The emptiness within him felt all-consuming when he turned away from watching the ship sail into the horizon.
His uncle Nyles stepped off of the plank and onto the deck of Merle's ship. Fine lines of anger were still etched around his pinched mouth and furrowed brows. He'd been in a frenzy when it was discovered that his brother had also been killed in the raid by the humans.
Atticus smiled inwardly as he recalled the look in his father's eyes before he had tossed the torch onto the rushes. Outwardly, he continued to display the appropriate amount of rage and grief that would have been expected of him over his father's murder. He simply had to think of Genny in order to do so.
"Driven from our homes by humans," his uncle muttered and straightened his tunic.
"It seems to be the way of things," Atticus murmured. "They have a fair amount of control over us."
"Too much," his uncle's eyes glimmered as they met Atticus's gaze. "Far too much."
Atticus debated pushing it further but he bit his tongue, sowing the seeds of discontent would take time. To push it now, and too forcefully, could alienate those he needed on his side and cause suspicion to fall on his ultimate agenda.
"We should do something about that," his uncle continued as the ropes mooring the ship to the dock were tossed onto the deck.
Atticus fought back a smile. He turned away and strode down the steps to the hall below. Merle was heading for the stairs just as he descended. "I disposed of all the blood we had stored onboard," Merle said in a low voice when he reached him. "I didn't want to take the chance that my father would find it. There's no reason for him to know what we had planned."
Atticus's teeth clenched at the reminder of the completely different journey this was supposed to have been. "You're right."
He could feel Merle's eyes burning into his back as he walked down the hall to the small room he'd been assigned while on board. Closing the door, he threw the locks into place and leaned against it. His gaze fell on the small wooden trunk in the corner; he took a few minutes to steady himself before walking over and pulling it away from the wall. He hadn't dared open it until now.
Though he tried to control them, his hands were trembling as he lifted the lid. The scent of Genny assailed him immediately. He almost slammed the lid closed again but the scent of asters and the memories contained within this box ensnared him. That's all they were though, memories, and it's all it was, a box.
He gently pulled out the clothing still tucked within, Camille had taken some things but she'd left a few behind for him. With extreme care, he removed the thick bundle of parchment tucked within the bottom of the trunk. Leaning his back against the wall, he drew his legs up and propped the documents on his knees. His fingers traced over the small, neat handwriting so lovingly inscribed upon the pages before him. The date on the first one was from ten years ago, she would have been only twelve years old.
He immersed himself in her words, smiling sometimes, becoming angry at others, as he experienced the ups, downs, and plans of her life. She'd written nearly every day for the past ten years, sometimes just a sentence or two and sometimes detailed paragraphs of what she'd experienced.
Then she had discovered him and though there was still some unhappiness within those pages, there was so much love and laughter that for the first time since the night he'd found her lifeless body, he felt tears streaking down his face again. This was her last gift to him, one that he could revisit often. One that would serve as a reminder of the woman he'd loved and lost, and would allow him to experience the love she'd had for him over and over again through her eyes.
When he was done reading, he wanted to hug the parchments against his chest but it was far too precious to him to risk harming it in some way. Placing them carefully back in the chest, he removed the blank parchment, ink, and quill tucked inside before settling the bottom back into place and returning the clothing. Slipping her ribbons from his pocket, he ran his fingers over them one more time and inhaled her sweet scent before placing them on top of the tunics. If he continued to keep them with him, they would only get ruined and that was something he refused to have happen.
Now that he was alone, he slipped the gold band from the pocket inside his tunic and slid it onto his finger where it belonged. His uncle could never know about it though, or anyone else outside of himself, Merle, and Camille, but he would keep the ring with him whenever he could. Rising to his feet, he walked over to the small table in the corner and placed the writing materials on top of it. Settling into the chair, he stared at the blank parchment before him for a few minutes before leaning forward and beginning to write…
September 1, 1050
My dearest Genny,
I said goodbye to Camille today. I suspect you would have preferred for us to stay together, to heal together, but there is no healing for me and it would be best for her if she wasn't around me. You see, I'm not me anymore…
- CHAPTER 25 -
"Atticus." He didn't turn to look at Merle. He'd known his cousin was there before he had spoken, he'd just been hoping that he would go away. They'd been back in Italy for nearly a week now, the meetings with The Council were well underway. It had been an endless day of pretending to be sane, pretending to be something that he wasn't and he was exhausted.
"What is it?" he inquired without turning away from the night.
He could hear the ocean crashing against the rocks of the cliff just below his villa but he didn't bother to look down at the water. The night appeared as bleak as he felt as he lifted the goblet to his mouth. He didn't bother with wine anymore, the alcohol may have helped to ease him the last time that he'd been separated from Genny, but she'd still been alive then. Now he needed a clear head. Though he had tried to lose himself to the alcohol while onboard the ship one night, he'd discovered that no matter how much of it he consumed, the wine did nothing for him anymore and he was unable to taste it.
Now the viscous liquid that pooled down his throat was blood from the human servant he had bled for it earlier. A part of him knew that Genny wouldn't approve of what he was becoming even if he had managed to refrain from killing the woman, but he had no control over the part of himself that needed the blood anymore.
Time was supposed to heal, he found himself being sucked deeper into the dreary abyss of nothing that had become his soul. The gaping hole within him was growing; the madness ate at his mind as relentlessly as the waves battered the rocks on shore. Blood was the only thing that helped to ease it even a little; vengeance was the only thing that he craved.
"Silas has sent a messenger," Merle replied.
He lifted the goblet and took another long swallow. Blood was the only thing he could taste anymore and though it wasn't sweet or even spicy like he remembered it tasting before, the acrid taste of it was at least something. Just being able to taste anything made him feel a little more like the man he'd once been.
"What does he say?" Atticus inquired.
"He'd like to know if you wish to postpone the wedding, given the death of your father."
"No."
He listened as Merle stepped into the room and closed the door. "This may be your chance to get out of this marriage now."
"Why would I want to do that?"
Before Merle could approach his chair, Atticus finally turned to look at him. His cousin's blue eyes were filled with concern as he held his hands helplessly before him. "It's clear to me that you're still grieving Genny. I know this marriage was never what you wanted."
"It is now," Atticus said flatly.
Merle frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"It is a good match."
His cousin stared at him before shaking his head. He dropped it down to run his hand through his disheveled hair. "Are
you sure about this?"
"The alliance is a strong one." And one he would need in the future. "I'd be a fool to turn it down."
Merle hesitated before shaking his head. "Put it off Atticus; give yourself time to move on…"
"I will never move on, Merle." It was the first time he'd admitted that to his cousin, and he immediately regretted the words but annoyance festered inside of him at Merle's insistent words. "I will fulfill my duties and be done with it." It was a lie but that was best kept to himself.
He turned in the chair and drank down the rest of the blood within the goblet. Merle stood behind him for a minute more before finally leaving the room again. By not postponing the wedding, he would be wed again at the end of next week. Only, to him, this one wouldn't count.
***
October 1, 1050
My dearest Genny,
Yesterday I married a woman that I want nothing to do with, but I forced myself through the ceremony. I didn't cringe or walk away when I kissed her and though my stomach turned when I inhaled her lilac scent, I kept my hand on her arm when we turned to face the small crowd. She's nothing like you Genny, that is a good thing though. If she reminded me of you in any way I'm not sure I could do what must be done.
Atticus put the quill down and stared around the room he had shared with Anna last night. She was still in the bed, buried beneath the mound of blankets. The most beautiful woman in the world was lying in his bed and yet it did nothing to arouse him. He simply sat and stared at her, wishing that she was someone else entirely, and that he had rethought his decision to walk out of the fire that had killed his father.
His thoughts drifted back to last night, when they had finally retreated from the celebration to this room. Anna's apprehension and shyness had been evident and though she was only a stepping-stone in his plans, he wasn't about to force himself on her, mainly because the idea of having sex with her was entirely repulsive to him. There had been no other women since Genny and if he'd been able to, he would have preferred to keep it that way for the rest of his life. That wasn't going to be possible though, not if he was going to have children, not if he was going to rise in power.
Anna stared at him last night as if he were about to launch himself at her, but he didn't even bother to touch her as she stood ringing her hands and trembling by the bed. Her dread was the exact opposite of Genny's fervor for him; he had to fight the urge to sneer at her as she watched him pour himself some blood. He kept that disgusted part of himself suppressed though, he was growing increasingly capable of wearing a mask that the rest of the world thought was his true face.
"I've never done this…" she began to stammer.
"I understand," he interrupted briskly and downed the blood. He truly wished that alcohol still did something for him, he would be nearly passed out by now if it did. The last thing he wanted to be was completely sober when he touched her, but he no longer had that choice.
Placing the goblet down, he turned back to her. She'd taken her hair down so that the golden tresses curled around her sensuous face. The candlelight caused the chemise she wore to be see through in some areas but his gaze didn't stay on her.
He focused on the wall behind her head. "This doesn't have to happen tonight."
"It doesn't?" she squeaked eagerly.
Even the sound of her voice grated on his nerves but he managed to smile at her. The smile felt forced to him but he'd worn it often lately and they all seemed to fall for it as they always smiled back at him. "No. We can get to know each other better first."
Her shoulders slumped; relief filled her features as for the first time she smiled at him. "I would like that very much."
He wondered if it was because he was handsome that he was able to put her at ease so quickly. His pretty face hid the worms of insanity within his mind; she would have run screaming from him if she knew his inner workings. Instead, she only smiled brighter as she sat on the bed.
"I didn't know what to expect from tonight," she admitted. "Jane told me that it would hurt but that it would be over quickly."
Was she really trying to talk to him? He wondered as he poured himself some more blood. He thought he might prefer to fornicate with her rather than listen to her. There was something about her voice…
It wasn't Genny's and that was all there was to say about it, he admitted to himself. He would have felt sorry for the girl, she was merely a pawn, but there was no sympathy left within him. Not even for the innocent bystander sitting on his bed.
"I suppose you could look at it that way," he finally responded.
"I was sorry to hear about your father."
His hand tightened around the goblet, a shudder ran through him. His fangs lengthened, bloodlust stabbed through him at the reminder of his father. She couldn't know that she was poking the savage beast within, but if she continued to do so he didn't know if he could keep himself under control.
"Thank you," he managed to get out in a somewhat normal tone.
"Are we going to be staying in Italy for awhile? I've never been here before and it's beautiful."
"I think we will," he confirmed. He finished the blood and shrugged off his outer tunic. He dropped it over the back of the chair and blew out the candle on the desk before walking over to the bed. "I'd like to get some sleep; it's been a long day."
"Yes of course," she murmured.
He laid down on the bed and waited for her to settle in beside him. The scent of lilacs caused his nose to wrinkle but he kept his face impassive when she laid down beside him. She tentatively rested her hand upon his chest. Revulsion slid over his skin but he didn't shove her away like he wanted to, instead a small part of him died even more as he wrapped his hand around hers.
It's only for tonight, he reminded himself. Tomorrow she would return to the bedroom that adjoined his, and he would never have to share his bed with her again.
***
Over the next few months, he continued to play nice with his bride. He bought her presents and sat with her every night. He pretended to be interested in her conversation topics even though most of her talk of fashion and gossip amongst their peers bored him to death. It was all she knew though, this world of aristocrats, backstabbing, whispers and wealth that allowed her to lounge about during the day and dance and laugh away the night. She had no knowledge of anything outside of their world and wasn't overly concerned about anyone or anything outside of the aristocratic class.
It didn't make her a bad woman, it did make her about as interesting as a toad though.
At night, they continued to keep their distance. It was an arrangement he was more than content with and that she seemed exceptionally happy with also.
Merle married Jane a month after he married Anna. They had been sent to live in Spain by The Council to keep an eye over the vampire village there. Due to the fact that Germany and now England were off limits to vampires, the villages in the other countries had increased in size. Which also increased the vampires' risks of being discovered. The Council had ordered a higher number of nobles to keep watch and enforce the rules in these areas. They were there to make sure that another raid didn't occur, especially since no one could figure out what had triggered the humans in England.
It was the first time, since Merle had been born, that they'd been separated for more than a week. At one point he would have dreaded it, now it was a relief. He hated the way Merle watched him now, hated the sympathy and understanding he saw in his cousin's gaze. He was glad Merle was gone; it was much easier to get through the day without the constant presence of someone that had known how happy he'd been with Genny. Though his cousin thought him merely a heartbroken fool, if anyone could figure out the truth it would be Merle. If that happened, terror would replace the pity in his cousin's gaze.
Atticus took off his mantle and dropped it over the chair beside his desk table. His gaze drifted to the quill and parchment sitting there, waiting for him. This was the only time of the day when he actually felt any kind of
excitement, the only time he looked forward to. When he sat down to write it was almost as if he were talking to Genny again. Almost as if she was standing behind him, with her hands on his shoulders and laughing as he kept his words hidden from her, just as she had done to him.
Before he wrote though, he read over her words again. Not all of them at once, like he had on the ship. Now he liked to savor them, to read over her life one week at a time, especially the laughter and happiness at the end of her life. His hand fell to the pocket he'd had sewn inside all of his inner tunics. He pressed the ring against his chest, where his heart would have beat if he'd been human. The press of the cool metal gave him a brief moment of relief from the suffering and turmoil that he lived with every day.
The scent of lilacs assailed him; annoyance shimmered through him as his head turned toward where Anna stood in the doorway. This was his time with Genny and she was intruding upon it. His teeth ground together so fiercely that he thought they might shatter. It took everything he had not to storm over to her, shove her out of the room and slam the door in her face.
Instead, he forced a smile to his face, one that seemed grim to him but she returned it. "I want to thank you… for these months," she elaborated when he remained immobile before her.
"You're welcome."
"I've enjoyed getting to know you better." He didn't know where this was going but a queasy feeling began to churn in his stomach. "And I think… I think I am ready now."
Fire burned in her cheeks before she ducked her head away. Atticus became as still as stone while he stared at her. She was even more beautiful when she was blushing, any man in the world would have been falling all over themselves to get at her. Instead of being turned on, he was as repulsed as he would have been if a thousand maggots were crawling over his flesh.