"We put her in the cave by the lake," Sam said. "If you want..."
Zac turned his face away from his brother and nodded. He couldn't run this time. Not from her. Never from her.
Zac stood at the edge of the gulley that led down to the mouth of the cave. The last time he was here, he'd ripped the head off of the woman who made him. Victoria. Was Aya asleep in the cave as he killed here? He couldn't remember if the entrance had been blocked then or not. Revenge was the only thing in his mind at the time.
He wondered how different their lives could have been if he'd met her that night. He would still be a vampire, but perhaps Sam would have led the human life he was meant to. He would remember his dead older brother as a hero of the Civil War. A war they'd lost, but a hero nonetheless. He could have finished his studies, married, had children. He knew Sam would have been successful, continued the plantation in the new United States. Righted their parent’s wrongs.
Sam should have been the father theirs wasn't. The husband and the businessman. He wouldn't have tolerated the use of slaves like their father did. Sam would have taken the plantation to a whole new level. Employed people, not force them to work.
Sighing sharply, he cast his thoughts aside and stared at the rock that blocked the entrance to the cave. Could he go in there, knowing the woman he loved lay cold and dead inside?
He knew he wouldn't rest easy until he did. Walking forward, he grasped the heavy rock, Sam on the other side, and together they opened up the cave. His brother gestured for him to go. He would wait until he was done. Nodding, Zac made his way inside, his steps echoing off the close walls.
As he came into the large room of pure rock, he saw her lying on a slab of slate, covered with a dark colored blanket he assumed Sam had placed over her. Her hands were clasped on top of the fabric, her hair cascading over the side of the rock as if she were merely asleep, but her skin was an odd shade of grey.
Zac gazed down at her lifeless form, lingering at her chest, where under the blanket, he knew was a gaping hole. Taking in the features of her delicate face, he realized he'd never seen her look so tranquil before. Her gaze had always had an underlying motive about it, like she was aware of more than what her senses had revealed. Reaching down, he tentatively ran his finger down her lifeless hand, tracing the length of her index finger.
He wished she would wake up and say something sarcastic. Call him out for being an ass. He wished he could go back and change the fact that he had been cursed. If he hadn't of, maybe she'd still be alive.
So many people had been taken from him. His parents, the plantation workers he'd made friends with, the men he had commanded in the Confederate Army. They'd all been murdered or taken by vampires. The founders would pay for what they had done to her. They would all pay with their lives.
He turned abruptly and left the cave, emerging into the air with a fresh resolve for revenge. Sam placed a reassuring hand on his brothers shoulder and together, they sealed the cave for the last time.
The woman standing in the center of the clearing was strangely familiar. Her skin shimmered opalescent pearl, like the inside of an exotic shell. She stood out like a ray of starlight in the green forest, a beacon. As she turned, he saw her laughing smile illuminated by the sun through the treetops. Blue eyes as bright as a summers day, hair so white it was like a fine powder of snow cascading around her shoulders. Her smile faded slightly as she caught his eye and he suddenly felt like an intruder in a place he should never have seen.
Her eyes warmed and she raised her hand in greeting. Suddenly, from out of thin air, a dark figure emerged from the tree line and seized her about the waist, throwing her over a shoulder. The horror on her face was gut wrenching. He went to dash forward to help, but he was frozen to the spot. He cried out to her, but she was taken away, her cries growing fainter and the forest growing silent.
"Zac."
He turned sharply on his heel at the all too familiar sound of her voice. "Aya?"
The forest had become dark, but he could still make out her form in the shadows, her blue eyes sparkling despite the lack of moonlight. Deep down he knew this was a dream, but he didn't want it to end. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he let out a hiss as his fingers connected with the skin of her cheek. The crackle of electricity that shot into him as he pulled her close made his heart skip several beats. Burying his face into her hair, he choked back a sob.
"It's okay," she murmured into his ear.
Zac pulled back, his hands cupping her face and he looked into her eyes. And this time, he really looked. It was as if the whole universe lived inside of her. She was… He had hardly noticed that he was a hairs breadth away from her until he felt himself press his lips to hers, her cool skin against his. His tongue was in her mouth against hers and she kissed him back like her life depended on it. He couldn't help but let out a groan as her hands found their way under his shirt, skin on skin.
Finally, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers and let out a shaky breath. Aya's fingertips traced the edge of his jaw, finally coming to rest over his lips.
"Aya…" He wanted to say so many things. Where would he start? If this was in any way real, he wanted her to know the one thing he never got to say. "I love you."
She looked up at him, a sad smile on her lips. Why did it feel like she was saying goodbye?
Zac woke with a start. Sitting up gasping, he struggled to catch his breath. Shirtless, his torso glistened with sweat and he collapsed back into his pillow with a groan. He hadn't dreamed so vividly since… Well, since he was human and even that memory was fading. Rolling out of bed, he stumbled to the shower and turned the cold faucet as far as it would go. Stripping, he stepped into the icy water and washed the hot sticky sleep from his body, the memory of the dream refusing to leave his mind. He could still feel her lips on his.
As the water cascaded over his head and down his back he vaguely remembered dreaming of the silver-haired woman before. It was Aya, wasn't it? Was that who she really was? The day before he woke up. Another vampire had been there with her and somehow he thought he'd called himself Arturius, but he was still hazy, the details slipping through his mind into nothingness. He pushed the memory of the dreams away, refusing to think of them. It was a torture he didn't want to dwell on.
Outside, dawn was beginning to inch its fingers across the horizon. A new day meant a new problem and they still had the biggest problem of all to solve. How to kill one of the oldest surviving vampires of all time. Aya was gone and she had been their only hope, the only way to kill a founding vampire. If they'd been in trouble before, then they were well and truly screwed now.
Drying himself and dressing haphazardly, he wandered down the hall to his old bedroom, the one Sam had given to Aya when she first moved in, and opened the door. It was exactly as she'd left it of course. Bare, except for the furniture and a few items of clothing strewn on the dresser.
Zac sat numbly on her bed, staring into nothingness, his fingers absently clutching the book that was still under her pillow. It was the copy of Julius Caesar that Gabby had used to scry with when Caius had abducted her. He remembered the inscription in the cover and snorted. For Louis, Many happy returns on the day of your birth, Arthur Risom. He understood now that Arthur Risom was Arturius. He had been here before, manipulating the townspeople, his family. He was here to find Aya and the book was a message. He wondered if she had realized and that's why she went to ground. He had never asked the reason why she slept. Did it matter now?
He didn't know what he should do with the book. It reminded him of her. He had been so angry when he found out that she had it, but now it was a harsh reminder of her killer. He felt a burning rage well inside him and he threw the book across the room with all his strength. He felt so powerless. She had died while he was comatose. He couldn't protect her. It would have been a suicide attempt against a two thousand year old vampire, but he would have gladly died in her place if it meant she lived.
Standi
ng stiffly, he walked over and picked up the book and tucked it back under her pillow.
Later that night, Sam coaxed Zac into the parlor under the premise of a drink or ten. His older brother had downed almost three bottles so far and was already a little drunk, but he knew that he'd been at it since going to the cave the day before, trying to keep himself under control. Sam hoped it would curb his anger and make him talk at least a little, knowing his brother would hold it all inside until he exploded and that usually meant a lot of trouble. Well, more than usual.
Sam owed his life to his brother. All that time ago, despite what had happened, Zac had saved his life. He would argue against the point, but he'd taken to vampirism in a very different way than his older brother had. He was often told that he was all the good things about being a vampire. His turning was horrific, but his first days had shaped him in a way that Zac's hadn't and that was all thanks to him. Without his big brother, who knew what would have become of him?
Sam knew Zac was messed up and he would stay with him regardless. And all of those times he'd let him go off on his own… he trusted him. Of course he did, but it would be foolish to think that he hadn't gone off the deep end.
Zac stood with his back to the room, gazing out of the window into the blackness of the night outside, slightly swaying as the alcohol blurred his thoughts. "Do you remember the werewolf pack?"
"How could I forget," Sam laughed with a touch of sarcasm. How could he forget five mutilated werewolves? Walking into that alleyway and seeing the carnage that his brother had supposedly inflicted on them had been an eye opener. Zac had been moments from death and they had suspected that he'd blacked out and tore them apart himself. A frenzy. It wasn't unheard of and the circumstances were right.
"That was Aya," Zac said without a trace of emotion.
Sam whistled, "Well, that explains a lot. It's kind of reassuring, actually. Did she ever tell you why she did it?"
"No," he said. "I never got the chance to ask her. She compelled me to forget."
"Aya compelled you?"
"Yes."
"And you're only telling me this now because?"
"I only found out when Gabby cast that knowledge spell. It made me remember what I'd forgotten." He turned around, staggering slightly to the side.
"Was it only the once?"
Zac seemed to think about it for a moment and Sam wondered what else he was holding back. Finally, he shrugged and sat down, before he fell down. Grasping his head, he let out a strangled groan. "I don't know if I ever apologized."
"Apologized for what?" Sam asked, now curious as to what memory the alcohol had procured. Zac had a lot of things to apologize for.
"For what happened when… Victoria," he managed to get out.
"You don't need to apologize for that," Sam said firmly.
Sam knew it had been out of his brother’s control. Zac had said before that he felt responsible, that he felt ashamed that he wasn't fast enough to save him and his parents. Sam was sure he still felt responsible, even though he had told him again and again that he understood. That it wasn’t his fault. He had told him that for one hundred and forty eight years.
The vampire who had changed him had slaughtered his parents and turned him as a message to his brother. That he couldn't win against her.
Victoria.
The auburn haired woman who had pulled Zac from the brink of death into a new life. The monster that had manipulated and brainwashed his brother. If anyone was to blame, it was her.
"I'm sorry," Zac slurred as he slumped against him, unconscious.
Sighing, Sam laid him out on the sofa, stuffing a pillow under his head. He was worried about what Zac might do once he had time to process what had happened. He would go after Arturius without a second thought and he would be torn to pieces in under a minute. The only thing he could do was to be there for his brother and help the best he could.
Sam only hoped he could keep him alive long enough to do so.
CHAPTER THREE
Petersburg, Virginia
April, 1865
Zachary Degaud was twenty-three years old, born in Ashburton, Louisiana, recently raised to Captain in the Confederate Army. America was at war with itself and he was tasked with the only thing he was good at; fighting.
Much to the disgust of his father, his first born son had run off and enlisted in the army of his own free will. He had no mind for business and the society trappings the plantation came with. That was for his younger brother, Samuel, to pursue. He was of a much more logical approach, where as Zac; well, he was good with his hands.
His newly appointed infantry unit had been stationed in Virginia, along with ten others. It was a chance to see part of America that they had never laid eyes on before, and to do what they had been trained for. Killing Union soldiers in the name of the Glorious South.
Zac had made it through the entire Civil War until now. If they made it home in one piece, he was guaranteed to make Major and then, perhaps his parents would be proud of his accomplishments. When the Union had attacked Petersburg, it had landed them nine months in the god-forsaken trenches, until the General had ordered the retreat.
The Confederates had evacuated the entire city after the Union had overrun their defenses. All their routes were blocked save for one. Their last remaining option was to retreat west and that's what they had been commanded to do by General Lee himself. Zac thought it was a trap, but they had their orders and they would follow if they valued their lives.
They'd been dogged by the perusing army and had been engaged twice in Amelia County. Now, word had it that Union Cavalry blocked their route to their safe haven in Danville. Their food was gone and morale was almost nonexistent. He had to move his men as fast as they could before they were cut off. But, that's exactly what happened. It was late afternoon when they realized they had been separated from the bulk of their forces. Three quarters in front and clear, but the last remaining quarter behind. Boxed in and cut off.
The Union Calvary line was advancing through the woods and would be in their line of sight any second. All thirty-five men of Zac's unit scrambled to form a semblance of a line, half their number standing and the other half with one knee to the ground directly in front. Zac was in the front and center, one of the only Confederate Captains he knew that would stand and fight with his men. The rest he considered cowards not worthy of their ranks.
As the first of the Unions came into their line of sight, he shouted, "Fire!"
The crack was deafening as the thirty-six rifles went off, white smoke billowing in front of them, the reek of gunpowder in the air. The sharp cries of the men and horses in front of them signaled that at least some of their bullets had found their marks, but the line was still advancing. Their rifles were designed for long range shooting, not close range. Most of the shots had gone right over the Union soldiers heads.
"Reload, reload!" he shouted to his men, who hastily dropped the butts of their rifles into the ground, stuffing their next rounds as fast as they could.
"Arms at the ready! Aim low!" he shouted, as all thirty-five rifles were cocked and ready to fire. They had to split the cavalry’s advance so they could retreat. If they couldn't, then it would have to be hand-to-hand until someone was dead or captured.
"Fire!" The crack of their rifles split the air around them as men and horses fell. They were advancing too quickly for another round.
Dropping his rifle, he shouted, "Swords!" Steel rang as all thirty-five men drew without question.
"Legs!" He ordered, trusting his men to understand that they needed to cut down their enemies mounts if they had any chance. They spread out, swords at the ready for when the Unionists would break through their line.
They were thirty-five against a whole regiment of at least fifty, about fifteen had fallen in the wave of gunfire. As the first wave of Calvary came within range, Zac swung hard and true, hamstringing the mount that came up on his right side. The large bay horse fell to the ground be
hind him, barely missing his head. Its rider was flung headlong into a tree; a quick glance verified that his neck had been snapped.
The next line was seconds behind and this time Zac cut his blade to the left, nicking the horse’s knee, but not bringing it down. Cursing, he rose to engage a dismounted Unionist who swung his saber wildly, with no aptitude whatsoever. Zac took advantage and ducked low, bringing his elbow up hard into the mans gut. As he doubled over, he drove his sword through his back, directly into his heart. Not stopping for a moment, he turned to the next man, disposing of him as easily as the first two.
Affording himself a quick glance about, he knew that they were going to be overwhelmed. But they were from the South. All the men in his unit were. They would all fight to the end, even if that end meant death. In that moment, he thought about his parents and his brother Samuel. They meant to world to him, but he wasn't good at anything else. He was only good at killing, the army his life.
He'd dispatched of six more men before he felt the biting pain of the bullet that imbedded itself in his chest. But that was only the beginning of his problems. Falling back limply onto the bloodstained ground he gasped for air, the bullet having passed through a lung. Then his second, Bragg, was above him, his palm over the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. As he tried to speak, he saw his friend and comrade-in-arms' face shot off in a shower of blood and bone.
At some point Zac had passed out, but was brought around when he felt himself being dragged along the ground, none too gently, and heaved up onto something soft and lumpy. Weakly, he managed to turn his head, the blood that had begun to pool in his mouth running down his face. Then he realized two things. One; he was as good as dead and Two; he was in a pile of corpses that used to be his men. He didn't bother trying to figure out how he felt about that; he had maybe twenty minutes left and could probably spend his time pondering more favorable things. Like the beautiful lady he'd danced with at his parents ball the night before he left to come to Virginia. Raven haired with skin like milk, eyes like the bluest sky. He could ask a lady like that to marry him. He thought about his brother, Samuel. And his parents, even though they had discouraged him from joining the Confederacy in the first place. What were they doing now?