Standing under the stone arch, she saw Marcus and Octavia seated at the long table bickering with each other. Octavia stood with a hiss as she caught her attention. Marcus appeared in front of her and grasped her by the throat, lifting her from the ground. He growled with rage when she didn't make a sound or alter her vacant expression. Throwing her clear across the room, she slammed into the wall, several ribs cracking. The pain hardly registered.
Ignoring the throbbing in her side, she rose to her full height and collided with Marcus as he lunged for her again. She wedged her shoulder against his chest and flipped him over her, flinging him upside down against the wall, landing face first against the stone floor. Octavia darted forward, but she was thrown back onto the table, splitting it in half.
Before either of the Romans could react, her fist had punctured Marcus' chest, the blue fire that had killed Titus, burning from inside out. He screamed as much in surprise as pain as he began to turn grey, his eyes bulging with the force of his death rattle. She let go and he fell heavily to the ground, convulsing violently before becoming still.
"No!" Octavia screamed, falling on her knees beside what was left of Marcus. The second it took for the vampire to gather her grief was all it took for her to be thrown across the room again.
Before the vampire could stand, she was held against the wall with an iron grip. Pulling the dagger from Octavia's belt, Aeriaya plunged it viciously into her stomach. As the Roman struggled, the dagger was twisted deeper, tormenting her to madness and she spat blood all over her face in defiance.
"Where are they!" she screamed at the vampire, disregarding the blood.
Octavia laughed, blood running from her mouth, dripping down her chin, "They're not here, witch. But they will come for you, once they find out what you've done. And they will make it slow."
"Not if I find them first," she snarled, the blue fire searing down her arm into the dagger. Octavia's scream chilled her blood as she began to turn a sickly grey, her eyes sinking back into her skull, finally turning to ash as the life left her.
She let the dagger go, Octavia's body slumping to the floor. Regarding the two desiccated Romans, she strolled calmly from the castle into the yard. Across the way, she saw a stone pit where a fire still burnt. She grabbed two torches and lit them in the unattended flame. With her fast vampire feet she darted through the castle, lighting every piece of fabric and furniture she could find, her body a blur. Lastly, she set ablaze the stables and even the main gate as she left.
Turning, she began to walk. The sun had set before she stopped at the base of a hill that rose from the green fields in a break from the forest. Numbly, she began to climb. When she could ascend no more, she sat upon the hilltop, watching the fierce glow of the still burning castle on the horizon. Arturius and his two brothers were still alive out there somewhere, so was the witch Katrin. They would be hunting her, even more now that she had destroyed the castle. The anguish at the loss of her self and the brutal murder of her family and friends was beginning to sink in and she felt a blind hate at the monster she had become.
What was she going to do now?
CHAPTER SIX
Sam was worried about a lot of things lately. Ever since Zac had woken up, he'd had to look over both their shoulders. Arturius was still lurking about doing god knows what, Zac was a hairs breadth away from snapping and he hadn't a clue what to do about any of it. The Roman had no reason to stay after he had ambushed Aya, but he lingered about, seemingly enjoying prodding his brother closer to the edge.
Liz had told him in confidence that Gabby said there was always a loophole, a way around a spell. But so far, they hadn't found one for the spell that had created the Romans. Hell, they didn't even know what the spell was. It was entirely possible that it had died along with Aya and Katrin. Alex had gone to call his sister, Isobel. Apparently she was an expert in this kind of thing. Ancient legends.
Sam stood by his bedroom window and looked down at his brother, who was sitting on the bench in the overgrown garden with his back to the house. His shoulders were hunched and he looked absolutely defeated. He had no idea what to do. He'd never seen this kind of reaction in Zac before, not even the lure of revenge and violence could draw him out. It was as if he'd just given up. And Zac never gave up.
"Just give him some time." Liz was behind him, gazing through the window. "He'll be okay."
Sam sighed, turning to embrace her. "I don't know Liz. I don't know if he's coming back this time."
"I can go talk to him if you want."
"Yeah," he whispered. "Nothing I say seems to get through to him. Maybe he'll listen to you."
She smiled, nodding as she crossed the room. He had no idea what she was going to say, but she'd better say something.
Zac stared across the yard, watching the distant grass blowing back and forth in the slight breeze. What was he meant to do now? What was he going to do before all of this happened? He had no idea. If you don't know, then you could do anything. Her words echoed in his memory and he pushed them aside.
He wasn't sure what it was about the garden that she had liked. She'd sit here for hours, doing whatever it was she did. The longer he sat there, the further away she seemed. He saw the silver haired woman from his dream, how at ease she had been in the forest, happy. His thoughts wandered to that night when they'd gone to the silo near Memphis, to free her from Caius. She had apologized to him, hallucinating that he was her long dead brother, she was sorry that she couldn't save him. There was no understanding it at the time, but now; he had seen her slaughtered family through her memories and felt her pain.
If he learned one thing in the army, it was how to whittle. Weighing the stake he held in his hand, he found it well balanced. Perfect for the job. It would be so easy, to plunge it through his heart, to stop the pain. He could die like he was meant to in 1865. It wasn't a bullet, but close enough.
If he learned one thing about being a vampire, it was how to kill one. He placed the stake between his ribs at an angle. The fastest way to his heart without any annoying bone to slow it down. It would only hurt for a second, then he could rest. He took a few sharp breaths through his teeth, the point of the stake pressing through the cotton of his shirt into flesh, drawing a few beads of blood. It would only take a second.
Suddenly, he was pushed backwards off the bench onto the ground, the stake torn from his grasp. He stared up at the sky, blinking in the sunlight. His face was cast in shadow as Liz stood above him, her expression dripping with anger. He was annoyed that she'd stopped him, but he remained silent, his expression blank.
"What the hell, Zac!" she yelled at him.
He sat up stiffly, perching on the bench again, elbows resting on his knees. Liz crouched in front of him, but he looked over her shoulder into empty space.
"What do you think you're doing?" She grabbed his wrists, staring up at him horrified.
He didn't know what to say, so he just shrugged.
"Don't do this. I know it hurts," she pleaded. "We need you, Zac."
"I don't know why," he said, focusing on her face for the first time. "I've never been well adjusted."
"Zac," she whispered, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "Give it some time. We'll be here for you. You're not alone in this."
Glaring at her, he pulled away abruptly. "Has anyone you loved died? A grandparent, a friend?"
"Sure, my grandparents are all passed…" she began.
"Well, then think of how much it hurt to lose them, then times that by a billion. Even then, you wouldn't be close."
Liz stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say to help him feel better. She wanted him back, even if it was the sarcastic ass he was before. Sitting beside him, she took his hand. When he didn't pull away she said, "Don't. Just don't do that again, okay?" She let the tears fall from her eyes.
"Fine," he spat, standing up. "I won't do myself in. But I'm not promising I won't let anyone else."
He stalked across the yard and was g
one so fast, whatever Liz was going to say dying on the breeze behind him.
Gabby had no desire to work today, but still sat at her desk staring blankly at the monitor that displayed an endless stream of emails. Her thoughts kept coming back to her predicament, despite trying to work through the massive to do list she'd compiled. The thing inside of her that was clamoring to get out.
"Gabby!" The excited squeal of the Real Estate's receptionist, Bianca filtered through the office, breaking through her melancholy.
Before Gabby could get up and go see what all the fuss was about, she caught sight of Bianca running down the hallway with a bunch of flowers. Not just any flowers; roses.
"Looks like you've got a secret admirer," Bianca trilled, setting them on Gabby's desk.
"Why do you say secret?" she asked, winking.
"You haven't got a boyfriend and if you had a date, you would have told me about it."
Gabby laughed, "How do you know me so well?"
"Woman's intuition," Bianca smiled, walking back out to reception.
Gabby sighed, picking up the flowers. Five red roses, all the color of blood.
They were a message that only she would know the significance of. Five was a scared witches number; the five points of a pentagram. The five elements. The five founding witches. Their abnormally deep red color was a dead give away and the fact that the thorns had been left on the stems. They could only have come from one person.
Opening the card, she snorted as she read the message. Love, Arturius. Ugh.
She leant back in her chair and rubbed her temples. Why the hell was that freak still hanging around? And why was he sending her flowers? She had to find a way to end him before it was too late. Whatever kind of game he thought he was playing, he could just play it by himself.
"Gabrielle."
Jumping at the sound of a familiar and unwelcome voice, she turned to find Arturius leaning against the partition around her desk.
"What the hell," she cursed, flinging the card into the trash.
His eyes narrowed slightly at the gesture, but his lips curved into a grin. "Do you like the flowers?"
"No, no I don't."
"I know how you witches are with your numbers." He lightly stroked the stem of one of the roses, ignoring her tone.
"I'm not a traditional witch, Arturius. I wasn't brought up that way."
"No, you weren't, were you?" he mused. "You thought you were normal."
"How did you get in here?" she hissed.
"You know exactly how," he stared at her with cool eyes.
Snorting, she knew he'd compelled everyone in the office to ignore his presence. She wished she could just ignore him. "Whatever you're trying to do, forget about it. Your flattery won't get anywhere with me."
Arturius laughed, and sat on the edge of her desk. "You're so spirited, Gabrielle. That's what I like about you."
"Eat shit, Arturius."
He smirked at her blatant, childish insult. "There's a prime example."
"I'm not going to help you."
"You don't even know why I'm here, love." He lent closer, making her inch backwards.
"I don't want to know," she sneered. "Aya was a friend. A friend that you killed in cold blood. Why would I even listen to you?"
Arturius scoffed, "You think she was your friend? She may have revealed her true self to you Gabrielle, but that was only out of necessity. Do you think she would have done it voluntarily?"
She glared at the Roman, knowing that he was probably right. But, Aya had tried to help her in her own way. She had been limited in the information she could let go of. She had attempted to push her into going to see her grandmother and Gabby wondered if she knew that their meeting would result in her finding her true powers. Knowing Aya now, that was entirely possible.
"Don't be so naive, love. A creature of power should never have been turned. It was my mistake to correct. And wouldn't you know? I'm a man of my word."
"Fuck off, Arturius."
To her annoyance, he ignored her and said, "I have access to something you want."
"And what might that be?" she sneered.
"Control."
She couldn't help it when her eyes widened slightly. How did he know?
"C'mon, Gabrielle," he laughed. "Give me a little credit. A witch with a power as natural and deep as yours needs help controlling it. You've been fumbling around in the dark and you know it."
She pursed her lips, waiting to see what else he was going to say.
"I'm offering my help."
"I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want, Gabrielle. My intentions are noble."
"You have something I want," she cocked her head to the side. "So, what do you want in return?"
Arturius smirked and looked at his watch. "Time flies, Gabrielle, love. Think about my offer. You'll know where to find me when you come round."
Zac wasn't sure how he found himself here of all places. Perched on the embankment that ran down to the mouth of the cave, he played with a stick, frowning at the boulder that blocked the entrance. His entire existence seemed like an endless joke and the joke was on him.
He had dreamed of Aya. Not once, but twice, her horrible end playing out in front of his eyes. Dropping the stick, he clutched his head in his hands and sobbed. She had never spoke about her past to any of them and he now knew why. There was no doubt now that the other dream he had was about her as well. He wished above all else that he could hold her in his arms and comfort her, but she was dead and gone.
She had told them her blood was poison to anyone who drank it. Was this the reason why? Those who drank it would learn her secrets? See her memories? He couldn't believe it, he refused to. It was too far fetched.
Aericura, Aeriaya, Aya. Who was she?
He was so engrossed in his melancholy, he didn't hear the approach he should have been aware of minutes before. A branch snapped behind him and he was on his feet in an instant, turning towards the forest. His breath caught at the sight of a familiar figure leaning against a tree.
"Morgan?"
"Hello, Zac," the woman said, a grin on her face. Tall, blonde and flawless, she looked like she had stepped right out of a 1940s wartime propaganda poster. Her clothes were different, but she was exactly as he remembered her. And she was the last person he'd ever expect to see out here of all places. In the middle of nothing.
"What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, of course," she grinned, walking towards him. Of course, she would have looked at the house first and followed him when he left Liz in the garden.
"You haven't changed one bit," he sighed.
"Except maybe the uniform." She embraced him, her familiar form strangely comforting.
"Nurse Knowles." He forced a smile.
"Man, you look strung out," she laughed. "I can see nothing's changed with you."
"I'm a hard case, you know that," he shook his head. "How did you find me?"
"When word reached me of the bloody demise of a werewolf pack down in Louisiana, I had to come and see for myself. And lo and behold," she gestured to him.
Zac snorted, turning away.
"I have been thinking about you a lot lately," she said, standing beside him. "Wondering how you were doing."
"I was doing fine."
"Was?" she cocked her head to the side. "Does it have anything to do with that huge old rock you're staring at?"
He grimaced, looking back towards the cave, "Yeah."
When he didn't continue, Morgan nudged him with an elbow. "And?"
"It's a long story."
"Then give me the Reader's Digest version."
Zac ran a hand over his face and shrugged, "I killed Victoria here. And Aya is buried in the cave."
"Who's Aya?" Morgan asked, her brow furrowing.
"The love of my pathetic afterlife," he snorted.
She sighed, turning her face away for a moment. When she looked at him again, she smiled wryly, "So, this i
s where you killed the psycho bitch that turned you?"
"Ironic, huh?"
"An unfortunate association," she shook her head.
Zac sighed, his head dipping. "I was going to die this morning."
"What do you mean?" Morgan grabbed his arm, turning him around to face her.
"I don't think I was really going to do it," he shrugged, looking at her, his expression empty. "Not really."
"You were going to kill yourself?" She was horrified and rightly so.
"I thought about it."
She raised her hand, running a thumb across his cheek, brushing away a tear that had escaped from the corner of his eye. "You must have loved her very much," she whispered.
"I do," he held her hand against his face, closing his eyes. "That's the problem."
"Come," Morgan coxed him to sit beside her.
"I-We're in a lot of trouble," he grimaced as he sat heavily beside her. "If you're going to stick around, you might be pulled into it whether you want to or not."
"So be it."
"Just warning you."
"Wait, we're in a lot of trouble? Who else is here?"
"My brother and some friends."
"Your brother, Sam?"
"Yes." He had told her a lot about Sam back when they had first met. But, he had never told anyone about Morgan. At the time, she was a part of his life that needed to stay buried.
"Does he know what you went through during the war?" she asked carefully.
"No, and I want it to stay that way. He trusted me, Morgan. If he knew how bad it really was it would tear him up. I've put him through enough lately without dragging up old shit. I never told him about you and I."
"Well, you know I've got your back," she placed an arm across his back. "What's been going on? Can I help?"
"Morgan," he rubbed his eyes. "It's bad. I can't ask you to help us."