Aeonian Dreams (Zyanya Cycle Book 2) Read online

  Since you’re taking the long way home, Theron added, be sure to bring home something to eat.

  No doubt you’ll remind me if I forget, Mikhael responded acerbically. At least he had thought to bring food for Elisa when she woke. Rounding up food for himself and Theron, though, would not be a pleasant experience. He’d come to terms with the fact that he lived by taking the lives of others. Theron had quickly disabused him of the notion that he could kill himself through starvation. Along with the extreme power and enhancement of his senses came a sense of self-preservation, strong enough that he would kill and consume anything with blood if his body was desperate enough. Theron himself was proof of that.

  Mikhael looked at Elisa again. When they landed he would find someone to take with them to Theron and then he would see if the girl showed any mettle. He would tell her the truth of the matter, he decided. Then, if she wanted to stay with them, he would find a way to protect her. If not, he would return her to her home. Either way, he would have kept his promise.

  Elisa was still asleep as the sun rose the next morning and Mikhael began preparing her meager breakfast. I’ll need to provide food for her if she does stay, Mikhael realized. He liked the thought of providing for her, but what about Theron? I won’t be able to leave her with him ….

  “Miguel?” The soft voice broke into his thoughts. He liked the way she said his name, so much softer than the way Theron said it. It sounded right.

  “I’m here,” he replied, looking toward her. She beamed at him, the sunlight glinting off her rich blond hair.

  “Are you sure you’re not an angel?” Elisa asked, her voice as rich and golden as her hair.

  “I’m pretty sure.” Mikhael chuckled, glad for a reprieve from his dark thoughts. “But, if I am an angel, then I am not the kind you’re thinking of.”

  “I truly doubt that,” Elisa said, her stomach growling. “I suppose I must not be dead if I am hungry.” She heaved a mock sigh and held her hand out for the food that Mikhael had forgotten he was holding. As he passed it to her, her fingers brushed against his and, for a moment, the glorious warmth of her hand flowed up his arm until the contact was broken.

  It was a strange feeling. He’d touched living humans before, but had never had a reaction like that, sending warmth through his cold, stone-hard body. It was almost enough to touch the void in his chest where his heart lay still. He looked at his hand in wonder and saw that it appeared to have a gentle glow, as though lit from within. No wonder she thinks I’m an angel, he thought. Quickly he donned his hat and cloak, checking to make sure he had all his flesh out of the sunlight.

  “Why did you cover yourself?” Elisa asked between bites of food. “Does the light bother you?”

  “Not really,” Mikhael said, shaking his head, “I can see so much more clearly with the sun out; it can be distracting and sometimes a little overwhelming if I think about it too much. Theron, my master, insists that nothing good comes from being in the sunlight. Besides, he told me not to attract undue notice.”

  “Yes, I’m sure a shining, angelic sailor with a golden beauty would do that.” Elisa chuckled.

  “Nah. I imagine most sailors would think we were merely an apparition of some sort, but I’d rather not take chances.”

  “Why? What would happen?” Elisa asked.

  “I’m not really sure, but I’m not in the habit of ignoring the advice of people with more experience than me. I don’t have any intent to find out.”

  Elisa nodded and returned to her food. Mikhael decided he liked that about her — she didn’t push things. He was surprised she didn’t seem to be bothered by any of this … strangeness. She appeared to accept him as he was, oddities and all.

  “Tell me what happened to you. Why didn’t you return?” Elisa looked up at him with her large eyes.

  “I was captured and became … ill.”

  “How dreadful! What do you remember about it?” Elisa set her plate down which Mikhael retrieved and began to clean.

  “Not very much. It was just a fever. I’m better now, though.” But that was not true. The first thing he remembered clearly was the fire. He had been consumed by it, the pain going on and on, burning through even his bones. The burning had intensified with time, searing away all thought, all memory, all sense of self. When he had come to, everything was perfectly clear. Clear and blank. Out of the blankness Theron had emerged, filling his mind and — before Mikhael even realized what was happening — taking over his body. Mikhael was most definitely not better.

  “I see. Well tell me about being captured, then. That sounds exciting! How did you escape?”

  Mikhael barked a laugh. “Who said I escaped? Perhaps I died and am just a ghost, come to take you with me?”

  “Why did you come back for me then? After all this time …?”

  “The truth, Elisa, is this. I don’t remember much about my life before I became ill, before I was captured. I knew I had to return here for you, but I hadn’t expected to be able to. My master allowed me this unexpected trip, and ….” He trailed off and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s as though being here has unlocked scraps of hazy memories and bits of knowledge at every turn.”

  Elisa looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then turned her gaze to the sea.

  There was one thing, though, that he had not forgotten. He remembered as powerfully as he’d felt that burning fire that he had a wife to whom he needed to return at any cost. The need to do so had driven him like an angry taskmaster for the last year. It was this single, clear thought that he had clung to like a drowning man to a lifeline. That tenuous hold had been all that had allowed him to keep his grip on himself.

  At first Theron had nearly convinced Mikhael that he himself was nothing more than a thought, until a mistake had been made. The memory made Mikhael smile wryly as he checked the rigging. Theron’s curiosity about his new acquisition had gotten the better of him and he had tried rifling through Mikhael’s memories. The first he had come upon was that of a woman standing barefoot in the rainy darkness, her thin nightdress clinging to her body. The words “drowned rat” and “mangy dog” had been associated with the image, said with such tenderness and love that it had made even Theron stagger in Mikhael’s body. The intensity of the feelings, the intimacy of the moment, and the precious nature of the hazy memory had spurred Mikhael to action and he had risen up in his mind, slamming closed his memories.

  That is not for you! he snarled to the intruder in his mind, now as he had then.

  Temper, temper, Theron replied, coolly, brushing Mikhael’s mind lightly. Return to your rumination. I have more interesting things to attend to than listening to your short-sighted dreams. After all, we agreed: you don’t annoy me and I let you walk freely.

  I will free myself from you yet. Mikhael clenched his fist on the rope.

  Surely you don’t still maintain the delusion that you can escape me? I control you. For all that you ever need be concerned, I am you. We are the same. Theron loosened Mikhael’s hand on the rope.

  We are not the same!

  Come now, it’s not all bad, Theron taunted. Mikhael bristled at the continued intrusion. You must admit that, had you gone berserk and killed all of Sophus’s dear little pet women, he would never have suggested this little side trip to fetch your wife.

  I could have controlled myself, he snarled. It had been an interesting experience, visiting Sophus, the only other vampire Mikhael had met. His home was built into the rock of a cliff, a maze of tunnels and corridors and filled with living humans. It had nearly overwhelmed Mikhael to be near such flowing blood, pulsing through so many veins. Such a chorus of heartbeats, echoing through the maze-like stone halls Sophus had built in the mountain’s heart. Theron had immediately taken control of Mikhael’s body, and, despite his bravado, Mikhael had been grateful.

  He hadn’t doubted that he could hold off from killing the other vampire’s women, drinking their warm, delicious blood. Though the death of a mortal was occasionally
necessary, it wasn’t something Mikhael enjoyed. Not like Theron did. Mikhael shuddered.

  But there had been something else there. A scent had wafted down through the large, bright chamber of his host, wrapping itself around his mind, confusing him, pulling at him. It was a scent that sought to complete him, to draw him to it, begging him to join with it. It had taken the combined efforts of himself and Theron to keep his body standing firmly where it was as the elder vampires had discussed business. That scent had been the first and only thing that had overshadowed the memory of his wife, standing in the rain.

  You should be grateful, Theron cut in again. It was Sophus, after all, who convinced me to let you retrieve your wife.

  You are not that gregarious. This mission benefited Theron somehow, and was likely meant to break Mikhael down in some subtle way that he could not put his finger on.

  Everything else had gone smoothly. Theron had instructed him to go to Maracaibo, and as soon as the city had come into view Mikhael had begun to remember things, the first of which was the knowledge that this place had been his home, more so than any other ever had. Was it not always my home, then?

  He had been drawn to the docks first and would have been lost in staring out across the water if Theron, ever waiting in the wings of his mind, had not spurred him on. As Mikhael had turned back toward the city a memory came unbidden to his mind, a vision of four angels watching him and giggling. Suddenly he knew that one of them had become his wife.

  Mikhael had followed his feet from that point, thinking of the four young women, wondering how much of his life he had forgotten. At nearly every point along the way he had recalled something else, a thought, an impression, a word, a night-time chase on horseback, a necklace with a pink stone, a gunshot, a red dress. The memory of a beautiful smile.

  He turned from the rigging and looked toward the distant shore to the north.

  “What?” Elisa asked. “What do you see there?”

  “I don’t know. I feel as though something out there is waiting for me, searching for me. Almost calling to me,” Mikhael answered, oblivious that he had answered out loud.

  “Is that where we are going?” she asked as she came to stand beside him, looking in the same direction. He could feel the warmth from her body and looked down at her.

  “No,” he said after a moment and pointed northeast. “We’re headed over there. We’ll sail around the peninsula and then it is a little ways inland.”

  “Isn’t that all savage territory?” Elisa questioned, the first note of fear in her voice. When Mikhael nodded, she slipped her arm into his and looked up into his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be safe with you.”

  Mikhael found himself drawn into the large, light hazel eyes. They were framed with thick, long lashes that she managed to look through as she stared. She smelled nice, her blood a rich, enticing scent that the breeze blew away from him, replacing it with the salty smell of the sea, a smell Mikhael knew he’d always loved. He knew, too, that from this moment he’d never be able to disassociate the two, Elisa and the sea.

  For the moment he felt almost normal as he ran his fingers through her shining hair, drinking in her beauty. He leaned down toward her upturned face and caressed her neck with his hand. Her warm pulse raced beneath his fingers just under her skin and, like every other part of her, rich and sensuous. He pulled her close, and she leaned her soft body in against him. Her breath caught as his fingers traced down her neck and across her shoulder. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up, expecting.

  Abruptly, as though in anger, the wind changed directions, filling Mikhael with the scent of her. He crushed her to him, as the bloodlust pulsed through his body and his mouth watered with venom. All he knew was thirst, the dry fire in his throat and that he held the object of his desire before him, full of life, full of blood.

  “Miguel—!” Elisa cried out, struggling futilely against his vice-like hold.

  Laughter echoed through Mikhael’s head, bringing him forcefully back to himself. He froze, poised with his mouth just over the delicate skin of her throat, his teeth bared, ready to pierce the lovely flesh. He felt her breathing in his arms, heard her startled heart pumping in her chest and the soft, alluring sound of her blood as it raced through her.

  Scowling, Mikhael held his breath as he slowly and carefully disengaged himself from her, pushing her gently away from him. What was gentle for him, though, sent her crashing into the bow of the small boat. She shrank into the corner, pulling the blanket she had slept in over her, as if it could protect her from him.

  “Elisa,” he paused. What could he possibly say that would forgive almost killing her then throwing her across the boat? “I’m sorry,” he finished lamely and turned his attention to adjusting the sails. The gentle breeze had turned again, carrying Elisa’s scent out over the water. It was a long while before Elisa spoke.

  “What happened, Miguel? You’re different from what I remember.”

  Mikhael did not look at her, but instead kept his attention on the horizon and the rudder. “How so?”

  “Well, aside from the obvious physical attributes”—Mikhael snorted as Elisa continued, still huddled in her blankets—“you’re distant, unsure and cautious, and yet, you seem on the verge of losing control. You were never like that before.”

  Mikhael laughed ruefully. “Do you believe in magic, Elisa?” he asked, bringing his gaze back to his guest.

  “Yesterday I would have said no, but now … I’m not really sure what to believe.” Elisa shook her head then locked her gaze onto Mikhael’s. “I trust you, though. If you tell me, I will believe it.”

  Mikhael changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell me about the way you remember me?”

  “I suppose I remember you mostly as you were when we first met. I noticed you first, of course. You were coming off a ship with a cutlass at your side and a knapsack slung over your shoulder. You made a dashing figure, all dark and dangerous and sure of yourself. That certainly hasn’t changed much.”

  “I remember something about the four of you being angels ….” Mikhael added almost to himself, his gaze returning to the shore just off the horizon which slipped quickly and quietly past.

  “Three.”

  “Three?” Mikhael asked, confused.

  “The three of us, you mean,” Elisa said with certainty. “It was my sister, my cousin, and myself who you met there. My dear pet dog had died only the day before and you managed to cheer us up so quickly. It was amazing.” Elisa flashed him a smile as he digested the information. It fit with the scraps he had recalled before, especially the bit about the dog. Perhaps he had been mistaken about the fourth girl.

  Mikhael was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice the satisfaction of his ever-present observer watching from the back of his mind.

  Chapter 3

  “What a vision you are, Mariah,” Sophus cooed as he walked around her. “It has been many, many long years since I have seen the like.”

  “Come now, certainly I am more beautiful than any mere mortal,” Mariah said, goading him.

  “Indeed you are.” Sophus took her hand and guided her toward the center of the chamber and gestured to one of the couches. Mariah looked them over and knew which had been her favorite, sitting on it gracefully. “Now tell me, how do you feel? How was the change for you?”

  “It was … interesting, almost like a dream.”

  “Interesting has always been the word for you.” Sophus leaned forward. “Tell me, what made it so interesting?”

  “There was the burning, of course, though I’m sure I hardly need describe that to you. I don’t know that I will ever forget it.” Mariah shuddered and looked askance at the unlit torches lining the walls.

  “No, that is not something you will likely forget. There is little for an immortal to fear, if anything. But fire will always unsettle you.”

  Mariah nodded at his comment and continued. “It was strange. Though my body felt all this and felt it acutely, I found that I
just didn’t care. It was as though I were dreaming.”

  Sophus arched an eyebrow. “That is most unusual. Our kind does not sleep and so we cannot dream. This is the same dream that brought you to me?”

  “I think so.” Mariah looked at the floor, gathering her scattered thoughts. “I’m having difficulty remembering, but this dream was so vivid. I could see, hear, smell, and feel in it like never before. I felt every little thing, the wind on my skin, the weave of my clothes, the sun through the clouds with the same clarity as I do now. In the dream I was … home, standing in a field by the edge of the jungle. At first, I couldn’t remember even who I was, but it was as though the very wind wanted me to recall and whispered my name.” Mariah paused, not certain what to tell him and what not to. There were so many shadows, bits of memory and knowledge that appeared and then hid when she tried to look at them. Foremost was the knowledge that there was something that must not be shared, and the form of it was fading and the reasoning distant. Cautiously, she decided to continue.

  “I saw a man in the distance. I was able to move there with this … speed that I now possess.” Mariah demonstrated, moving her hand so quickly that it almost blurred before even her eyes. “It seems that I need only to think of where I want to be and I am there.” Mariah grinned. “It is rather thrilling.”

  “Ah, I remember that.” Sophus smiled in return, the silver in his tawny-red eyes sparkling. “I should warn you that that will wear off in time, though it will be replaced with strength. Enjoy it while it lasts. Was there anything else?”

  “No,” Mariah lied. “It was interesting, though, to feel lucid while dreaming. Like I said, I felt everything, knew every time I moved, and heard every scream, but my mind was simply busy elsewhere.”