Mortal Veil Page 3
“I wanted out?”
“You remember?”
“I don’t know . . .” Memories were filtering in like faint instances of time, daring to mesh together but making no sense.
“After five years of service a Gothica gets to realize their dream of becoming a Vampire,” Marcus continued. “For those who change their mind—which trust me is rare—they get their memory wiped. Money is deposited into an overseas account in their name and then transferred into another account of their . . . your choosing.”
“That’s why all that money’s in my account? But I only just got it today.”
“Despite the fact you only served me for three years,” he said. “I waived the rule. Gave you the money anyway.”
“I didn’t think it was mine.”
“It was supposed to arrive with the story of an inheritance from a distant relative.”
“I never got that message.”
“The bank’s incompetence. Not ours.”
“I want to go now.”
“I don’t think you realize the extent of the problem.”
“I’ll never mention this place, you have my word.”
His sharp incisors glistened. “You’ve been missed.”
With just a slight turn of my head I studied the brickwork, stunned that I recognized the intricate patterns made by the dripping wax, sensing I’d once lit those blood red candles myself.
“I must remember to thank Vladimir,” Marcus said.
I broke his gaze.
“The Russian tattooist who sent you here,” Marcus said, flatly.
“What are you going to do to him?”
“Nothing. He did what he was instructed to do. You don’t think you’re the first Gothica to come back, do you?”
Perspiration trickled from my brow, tickling my face as it snaked its way down to my jaw line. I stretched awkwardly, wiping the side of my head against my upper right arm.
“When we met you were a first year student at UCL,” Marcus said softly, “studying the history of art.” He made a sweeping gesture. “You just turned up here one day. The next thing I knew Orpheus had deemed you perfect to become my Gothica. He knows me so well.”
“How did I get here?”
“You were visiting the National Gallery. You caught sight of Orpheus viewing one of his paintings. One look from him was all it took.”
“I followed him here?” I turned my head away, scrambling to piece together the fractured memories. “Doesn’t sound like me.”
“It was indeed risky.”
“I stayed?” The words sounded braver than they felt.
“You discovered you were amongst living history.” His irises brightened. “And you came to realize you could continue your studies here in a more authentic fashion.”
“What made me want to go back to my old life?”
“You’re the best person to answer that.”
“I want to remember.”
“The National Gallery,” Marcus’s voice faded.
His irises dazzled beneath heavy eyelids and as he blinked something passed between us . . .
Soft lighting flattering Rembrandt’s portrait of Belshazzar’s Feast.
The tall, dashing, well-dressed gentleman standing just a few feet back from the portrait, lingering there and seemingly captivated by the baroque masterpiece.
He didn’t seem to notice me, a twenty-something eager art student sitting quietly just a few feet behind.
I’d turned the page, having ceased sketching Belshazzar, the King of Babylon, and was now drawing this man, frantically trying to capture the aristocrat of Mediterranean descent. I was bewitched by the way he held his shoulders broad and confident, penning as fast as possible, fearing this moment might end and he’d predictably amble off to continue with his perusal of the Old Masters.
Slowly, elegantly, as though feeling my gaze upon his back, he turned . . .
“Orpheus?” I whispered his name and felt the weight of his stare.
My arms ached and I twisted my wrists within the shackles to ease their soreness. The brick felt cold against my back.
Marcus gave me a look that conveyed what I feared. “Although it’s an unexpected pleasure to see you,” he said, “your visit comes with certain consequences.”
“What will happen to my friend?” I whispered, fearing the answer.
Marcus looked away.
“You killed her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Please let me go.”
“I don’t think you realize the gravity of this situation.”
“Wipe my memory again,” I said, choking on my words.
“It’s not possible.”
I was breathing too fast and it was causing my head to spin.
“Slow it down.” He pressed his hand against my chest. “Take a deep breath.”
It wasn’t working.
“Your return was never meant to happen,” he said.
“If I give myself over, will you let the girl go?”
“It’s not up to me.”
I bit my lip to stop its tremble. “Forgive me.”
“Of course.”
“What happens now?”
“That’s not my decision.”
The click was sudden and hard and blood rushed into my hands as my knees hit the ground.
I was alone.
Wiping my sweat spotted brow with the back of my sleeve, I was unsure whether to be relieved or not.
But Marcus had left the door open.
Was he was letting me go?
As I staggered to my feet, something deep inside tugged at me, making me want to stay, and I questioned my clashing thoughts, each vying for dominance. The small hairs prickled on my forearms and the rush of excitement felt intoxicating . . .
As my resistance weakened, my thoughts drifted back to Feebs. There was no doubt all manner of luxuries would be bestowed upon her; the darkest of pleasures, a sensuous gateway to the inevitability of surrendering.
My initial desire to save her was transmuting into a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, she’d find sanctuary here like I once had.
Shaking off this confusion, I braved one last glance at those shackles I’d been held in, now lying open and abandoned, then turned my attention to those gothic sconces with their still-flickering candles and lastly, that antique mahogany table.
Slowly, the door opened fully, casting shadows into the room.
Silhouetted there, was the figure of a tall man, and though I couldn’t see his face I felt his presence as he silently scrutinized me.
Orpheus was inside the room, standing with a regal air just a few feet away and it startled me that I hadn’t seen him walk the distance.
A frisson swept over me.
He was handsomely dressed, his shoulders broad, his shocking jet-black locks crowning his dashing Spanish features; his hazel eyes locked on mine, reminding me of the day we’d first met and the reason I’d stayed.
It was hard to read him, impossible to decipher his fixed expression, blending fury with subtle amusement.
Without words, knowing all too well he could read my thoughts, I conveyed to him my reason for returning. I hid my shaking hands behind my back, ashamed that it must have seemed to him as though I’d abandoned all he’d taught me.
Gradually, Orpheus’s demeanor softened and he exuded a serenity that filled the space between us and caused my trembling hands to still. I breathed in the calmness, relinquishing, remembering this uncommon feeling of tranquility was why I’d accepted Orpheus as my mentor, and Belshazzar’s my home.
The deepest regret soaked into my bones that I’d ever left.
He took a step toward me, a step I somehow wanted him to take, knowing this moment would pale in significance of all that had gone before, illuminating what was to follow.
There was only one way to survive this.
My future beckoned, the potential of immortality that only now I understood; only now yearned for.
“Zachary,” Orpheus said, his tone reassuring, but not his gaze. “Don’t disappointment me again.”
He drew even closer, and my hand found its way to my collar.
Orpheus stopped before me, and I eased the material away, exposing my flesh, daring to believe that for me, death’s kiss marked a new beginning.
About the Author
Vanessa Fewings (aka V.M.K. Fewings) is the award-winning author of The Stone Masters Vampire Series. Prior to publishing, Vanessa worked as a registered nurse, midwife, and served in the British Army at the rank of Captain. She holds a Masters Degree in Psychology. She has travelled extensively throughout the world and has lived in Germany, Hong Kong, and Cyprus. Born and raised in England, Vanessa now proudly calls herself an American and resides in California with her husband.
Vanessa Fewings is repped by management firm IPG. Visit her on Facebook.
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About the Author
Vanessa Fewings is the USA TODAY bestselling author of the ENTHRALL SESSIONS.
THE CHASE is the first in her sizzling new romantic trilogy from HQN Books followed by THE GAME. The third book THE PRIZE will be released in June 2018.
Prior to publishing, Vanessa worked as a registered nurse and midwife. She holds a Masters Degree in Psychology. She has traveled extensively throughout the world and has lived in Great Britain, Germany, Hong Kong, Cyprus and the USA.
Born and raised in England, Vanessa now proudly calls herself an American and resides in California with her husband.
Read more at Vanessa Fewings’s site.