ELDRA PLACED HERSELF between the two men her arms out-stretched. "Please put down the rock," She told Mathew, as the crimson in Vincent's eyes burned brighter.
Mathew dropped the rock to the ground where it landed with a loud thump, them held up his hands again.
Eldra turned to Vincent speaking to him in a soothing voice.
"My dark love, you don't want to do this. Please lower the shovel, I'm sure...," she asked the man his name over her shoulder.
"Mathew," he croaked.
She turned back to Vincent.
"I'm sure Mathew is no longer a threat. Please, my love, give me the shovel."
She reached out resting one hand upon the handle. Vincent lowered his gaze to hers as she spoke to him with quiet tenderness, the crimson fire in his eyes slowly beginning to fade.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What the hell is he?!" Mathew asked his voice rising.
"He is a good man." Eldra said emphatically. "That's all you need to know."
Vincent handed the shovel to Eldra, moving a short distance away in aid of getting the beast under control.
She studied the man's face, a glimmer of recognition dawning in her eyes.
"You're the smithy from the village, are you not?" she asked. "What brings you here?"
Mathew kept a wary eye on Vincent, watching him as one might a wild beast that, though seemingly tamed, could turn on its handler without warning.
He reluctantly turned his nervous gaze to Eldra.
"I came to warn you that Johnas has men searching the forest for you and... your friend." Mathew gestured cautiously toward Vincent, still not feeling entirely safe in his presence.
"Johnas has the villagers searching for us?" Eldra asked.
"No. Not the men from the village," Mathew replied. "These men are hired killers and King's Guards, led by a Nobleman called Mowbray. They're setting traps throughout the forest. They were searching the forest by the river when I arrived, but they'll be here soon enough."
He glanced anxiously toward the tree line.
"Ye and him need to run, and run now, if you hope to escape them." Eldra's breath caught in her throat at the mention of Mowbray's name. Mathew was right she and Vincent needed to make their escape before the Vampire Hunters found them. Found him. She walked to Vincent's side gently turning him to face her.
"Did you hear what Mathew said, my love? Mowbray is here in the village, in the forest. It's no longer safe for us to remain here. We need to leave tonight, before they discover the cottage," Eldra pleaded.
"No." Vincent's voice was quiet but resolute. "I am done running, my little raven. It ends here. I cannot ask you to stay and place yourself in danger, but I will not run away again. I cannot. Do you not understand?"
He cupped her cheek in his hand, searching her emerald eyes, silently pleading with her to understand.
Eldra cupped her hand gently over his, pressing her lips to his palm, kissing it.
"If you stay, I stay," she managed, a single tear slipping down her cheek beneath his hand. "We will face this together. I will not leave you, my dark love."
Mathew bid them farewell wishing them good luck, before beginning the long journey back to the village.
Though he believed they had made a grave mistake by choosing not to run, he knew the decision was theirs alone to make.
Before departing, he told Eldra that if she should ever require his help, all she had to do was send him word. Though how she might manage such a thing while hiding in the forest, he had no idea, but he meant the promise nonetheless.
* * *
Sitting on the floor before the hearth, Eldra leaned against Vincent, her head resting on his shoulder. Though they sat together in silence, each was lost in their own thoughts.
Eldra's mind was consumed by the fear that, should Mowbray's men come for Vincent, she would be powerless to save him as her dream had forewarned.
Her magic was growing stronger, but remained wild and unpredictable. Several times she had tried to bend it to her will, but every attempt had ended the same way, with her losing control, disaster following in its wake.
If the moment should come when Vincent needed her most, she feared her powers might prove as much a danger to him as to his enemies.
Without the book, which had been lost when the mountain collapsed, Eldra had little idea how to bring her magic to heel.
The more she struggled to control it, the more elusive it seemed to become, leaving her frightened of what might happen should she ever lose herself to it completely.
Once, while trying to kindle a small fire in the hearth, she had accidentally set the stack of logs beside it ablaze instead.
Eldra wished with all her soul that the woman in the white robes would appear to her again.
Perhaps, with her help, she could guide Eldra toward a fuller understanding of the powers stirring within her and teach her how to wield them.
How to control it, and how to live with it.
More than anything, Eldra longed to understand her place in this strange new world of magic and supernatural creatures. A world in which Vincent was only one of the many creatures, that up until now, Eldra had believed only existed in ancient legends.
Vincent had sat on the bench by the door for a long time, a look of determination on his face as he methodically sharpened his father's sword with a whetstone, using long, steady strokes, he honed the blade until it possessed a razor sharp edge.
If he was going to face the hunters who had slaughtered his kin, he intended to make sure they paid dearly for it, and should he fall in the battle to come, he was determined to make damn sure that many of them joined him in death.
Vincent was not afraid to die if it meant avenging his kin, by taking his revenge on Mowbray and his hired killers.
The only true fear he harbored was for the woman he loved, his little raven.
If she were to place herself in danger to protect him, as she had earlier that night by stepping between he and Mathew.
Vincent knew he would never forgive himself.
The mere thought of losing her was infinitely more heartrending than the prospect of facing his own death.
Vincent was determined to seek out Mathew once Eldra had fallen asleep, and if the worst should happen.
If he were captured or killed, he intended to ask Mathew to watch over her in his stead.
Though it pained him to entrust the safety of the woman he loved to another, he knew there was no one else he could trust but the giant smithy.
* * *
As Mowbray and his men made ready their traps, Johnas sat in his study, swilling whiskey, while Lady Mary, curled up in a chair by the fire, feigning interest in the book laying open on her lap, to avoid having to engage in casual conversation with the man who she knew had assaulted the innocent child, Lady Anne.
Johnas had always made Mary's blood run cold.
His eyes seemed to crawl over the women at court in a predatory fashion as they moved about the royal salon during court gatherings.
His fat pink tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his lips in a lascivious fashion. A shiver ran down Mary's back, despite the warmth from the fire. When she could not endure his company a moment longer, Mary made her excuses before quietly making her way upstairs to her bed.
As she sat before the vanity brushing her hair, a light tapping came at the door, the sound like a ring gently rapping against the wooden frame. Mary rose opening the door a fraction of an inch, and Johnas's bloated face immediately appearing in the narrow gap.
He looked thoroughly inebriated, his face flushed a deep red and glistening with sweat from the climb up the stairs.
"What do you want?" Mary snapped.
She had endured quite enough of Johnas's company for one night, and had no desire whatsoever to invite him into her bedchamber.
" Come, come my good woman, let me in and I shall do for you what your husband is unwilling to do." He slurred, attempting to force his way into the room.
Thanking the heavens that she still held the hairbrush in her hand, Mary brought it down sharply upon Johnas's fingers as he forced them through the narrow opening of the door.
He snatched his hand back with a howl of pain, giving Mary enough time to slam the door shut, turning the key in the lock before Johnas had recovered his wits enough to push his way inside.
Mary pressed her herself against the door as Johnas pounded upon it, terrified the wood would splinter beneath the assault, allowing him to burst into the her chamber.
Her heart hammered within her breast as she braced her back more firmly against the door, praying it would hold against his assault.
Then she heard Mowbray's voice from the landing. "What do you think you're playing at?!" he bellowed.
A heartbeat later came the thud of a heavy blow landing, followed by the sound of Johnas crashing to the floor as her husband struck him with his fist.
Mowbray dragged Johnas to his feet shoving him ahead of him as they descended the stairs, returning to the study.
Mary could hear them arguing in low voices as she crossed to the bed and sat upon its edge, still clutching the hairbrush in her hand.
"What the hell gives you the right to force your way into my wife's bed chamber?" Mowbray spat.
Johnas sank heavily into his chair, rubbing the side of his jaw where Mowbray's blow had landed.
"Come now," Johnas whimpered. "You've already told me what you intend to do with Lady Mary. What do you care if I take my pleasure with her while she's still alive?"
Mowbray seized Johnas by the collar drawing back his fist ready to strike again. But at the last moment, he thought better of it, and released him instead. Crossing to the decanter on the table, he pulled out the stopper taking a long swallow from the amber liquid within.
"Stay away from Mary, you cunt. Or when this is over, you'll lose your head. Whether to the royal executioner's axe or my own sword, it makes no difference to me. Do you understand?" Mowbray said in a low, venomous voice, leaning close to Johnas's face.
He cowered lower in his chair at Mowbray's words, reaching out a trembling hand towards the decanter Mowbray still held in his grasp, and taking a long swallow.
The fear that had blossomed in Johnas's eyes was the only answer Mowbray needed.
Satisfied that his warning had struck home, he turned and marched up the stairs to his chamber, slamming the door shut behind him.
* * *
Johnas remained in the study long after Mowbray had retreated to his chambers, his hands trembling uncontrollably. Once this business with Mowbray was finished and the bitch was dead, he thought perhaps he would book passage aboard one of the ships in the harbor leaving this God forsaken land once and for all.
He possessed enough coin in his coffers to travel wherever he pleased. Yes, yes. That is what I will do, he decided.
Johnas's eyes drifted to the fire crackling within the grate.
Suddenly, he saw his own gap mouthed visage burning amongst the flames.
He sat bolt upright rubbing his eyes before looking into the fire once more, but the apparition had dissipated.
Easing deeper into his chair, Johnas let his eyes drift closed.
Surely the face he had witnessed within the flames had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination, brought on by an overindulgence in whiskey and Mowbray's chilling threats, he told himself.
Johnas slept badly that night, with dreams of be heading's and fire haunting him.
* * *
As Eldra lay beside Vincent, sleep refusing to come, she cast he mind back to the day they had arrived at the cottage.
The day she had attacked Vincent, tearing at his throat as the beast possessed her.
She desperately tried to recall the features of the white robed woman's face, but her visage had burned so brightly from within that she could not. Even so, Eldra could not dispel the feeling that she recognized her from some other place.
Some other time.
The vision of the woman dancing in wild abandon around the strange stones suddenly filled her mind.
She could clearly see the full moon in the sky above the ancient circle, while a great bonfire blazed at its center.
The towering stones casting eerie shadows across the meadow.
Eldra found herself walking over the impossibly green grass towards the fire, drawn by a face within the flames. As she approached closer, she recognized it as Johnas's. His mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.
She looked about her at the women as they danced.
She could feel the soft grass beneath her bare feet, the warmth of the fire upon her skin, yet, as impossible as it seemed, she could also feel Vincent shift in his sleep beside her.
Eldra felt compelled to join the women in their dance. Their faces became a blur as they spun faster and faster around her until she became quite dizzy.
Then, as suddenly as the vision had begun, it ended.
She felt herself falling back into the here and now, leaving the dancing women and Johnas's burning face behind her.
Feeling sick from the swirling movements of the women, Eldra bolted upright, scrambling from the bed, and stumbling through the cottage door before she collapsed onto the wet grass, where she began to vomit.
Vincent, awakened by her sudden movements, hurried after her.
He knelt at her side, gently pulling her raven black hair away from her pale face, now bathed in the moonlight, as she vomited again.
Vincent pulled her into his arms as they sat upon the wet ground.
Eldra wiped the remnants of vomit from her lips with the back of her hand before looking up into Vincent's silver-blue eyes.
"I'm sorry I woke you, my love," she said weakly.
He gazed down at her, his face etched with concern.
"What ails you?" he asked simply.
"Just another one of my visions," she replied. "It was of the woman dancing between the stones again, and of Johnas's face burning within the flames of a bonfire. But this vision was different.
I could feel the grass beneath my feet and the heat of the fire upon my skin. It was as though I was truly there.
What do you think it could mean?" "I wish I knew, little raven," he said. Vincent helped Eldra to her feet.
Together they returned to the cottage, shedding their damp garments before climbing back onto the narrow bed.
Eldra lay with her head upon Vincent's chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart letting it lull her to sleep.
Outside, the cockerel in the yard began to crow, heralding the coming dawn.
Vincent silently cursed Eldra's sleepless night.
And as the cockerel crowed again, Vincent prayed that he would be given another chance to speak with the smithy before Mowbray's men discovered them.