A Darker Dream

The spires of Castle Rayven loomed before him, shrouded, as always, in a thick, swirling gray mist.



Dark clouds hung low in the sky, promising a storm before the night was through.



For a time, he rested in the changing shadows. Earlier, he had hunted the streets of the village, but in vain. For the first time in four hundred years, his powers had failed him. Desperate for sustenance, he had taken nourishment from a scrawny goat he had found tied behind one of the cottages.



Too weak to make use of his preternatural powers, he had made his way, step by slow step, up the long winding road to the top of Devil Tree Mountain, what little strength he had obtained from the goat expended by the time he reached the summit.



Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the damp stone wall of the castle. For a moment, he contemplated going out into the fields and killing one of the sheep, but the urge to see Rhianna, to see for himself that she still lived, was more compelling than his hunger.



Pushing away from the wall, he made his way up the steps to the castle door. It opened at his touch.



He stood in the dark hallway, his senses probing the rooms. Bevins was in the kitchen. Rhianna was upstairs. He drew in a deep breath, and her scent wrapped around him, as warm and familiar and comforting as the folds of his cloak.



And then he heard voices. Montroy's. Ada's. A man's voice he did not recognize.



On silent feet, he climbed the stairs, padded noiselessly down the dimly lit corridor to the chamber Rhianna had used before she had moved into his tower room.



He paused outside the door. He felt a knifelike stab of disappointment that she no longer slept in his bed in the tower room, and with it a surge of gratitude that she had not revealed his resting place to others.



"She's not getting any better." It was Montroy's voice, filled with quiet despair.



"Perhaps we should take her to the hospital in London." Ada's voice was thick with tears.



"They can do no more for her there than we are doing here," said the unknown man. "It could be dangerous to move her, especially with the storm coming. If she's not better by tomorrow night, I'll bleed her again."



Bleed her! Muttering an oath, Rayven put his hand on the latch and opened the door.



All conversation came to an abrupt halt as he entered the chamber. He took it all in at a glance: Ada McLeod standing on one side of the bed, her fingers worrying her rosary beads; Montroy and a man Rayven assumed was a physician standing near the foot of the bed.



Rayven crossed the floor, his attention focused on Rhianna. The stink of garlic, believed to aid in healing and to ward off evil spirits, stung his nostrils as he drew near the bed. It was believed to ward off vampyres, too, he mused, but nothing would keep him from her side.



She lay as still as death, her face as pale as the linen beneath her head. Her hair was spread across the pillow like a splash of sunlight. There were purple shadows under her eyes; her cheeks looked hollow. A strong scent of blood rose from a covered bowl on the table beside the bed. Rhianna's blood, still warm.



His stomach clenched in pain as the hunger rose within him.



"It's him!" Ada exclaimed, her voice filled with revulsion. "He's the one who's done this to her."



The physician placed his hand on Ada's shoulder. "Madam McLeod..."



"Sorcerer!" She shook off the doctor's hand and made the sign to ward off evil. "Spawn of Satan! Be gone from here!"



Too late, Rayven realized that Montroy had moved behind him. He started to turn, felt a crushing blow to the back of his skull as the viscount struck him over the head with the fireplace poker. He grunted as he fell to his knees.



Dropping the poker, Montroy rushed forward and wrestled him to the floor, holding him immobile with the doctor's aid.



Knowing it was futile, Rayven struggled against the viscount's grip. Lips drawn back in a feral snarl, he cursed viciously as his vision began to blur, then grow dim, until there was nothing but darkness, an endless swirling darkness that carried him away into oblivion.



He woke to blackness as endless as the grave. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, and then he realized he was lying in his coffin. His feeling of relief was quickly followed by a strong sense of dread as he tried to lift the lid, and failed. He pushed against the lid again, a sudden panic lending him strength, but the lid remained tightly closed. He wrinkled his nose against the overpowering scent of garlic.



Bevins! Come to me!



Alas, my lord, I cannot.



Explain.



They know what you are. During her illness, Lady Rhianna suffered a high fever. While she was unconscious, she spoke of you, of what you are. I tried to tell them it was nonsense, the babbling of a fevered mind, but Mistress McLeod believed her. She intends to have you destroyed on the morrow.



What of Montroy?Rayven cursed under his breath, remembering how well the viscount had wielded the fireplace poker.



He does not appear to be altogether convinced.



Rhianna? Tell me of Rhianna.



They've not informed her of your return, my lord.



Is Montroy there, with you?



Yes, my lord.



You must convince him to release me. Tell him Rhianna will die without my help.



I will try, my lord. Are you well?



Rayven grunted softly. I need nourishment rather badly , he replied, thinking that was surely the understatement of the ages.



He severed the bond between them, then closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths, trying to stifle the panic rising within him. He had never liked small dark places; it was one of the reasons he did not take his rest in his casket. The thought that he might be forever trapped inside filled him with terror, and then he grinned ruefully. If Ada McLeod had her way, his forever would end with the coming of dawn on the morrow.



His eyes snapped open as he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the cellar stairs. Montroy!



There was a pause at the door, the scrape of wood against stone as the door swung open.



"Rayven, can you hear me?"



"I hear you."



"Is it true?"



"What do you think?"



"I think it would explain much," Dallon said curtly.



"You must release me."



"I think not."



"Come, Dallon, you cannot seriously believe I am a vampyre." Rayven clenched his fists in an effort to keep his voice calm. "Surely, if I were the monster you believe, nothing you could do would hold me."



"I've never seen you eat," Montroy said. "Never seen you in the light of day."



"Easily explained."



"And this... ?" Montroy shuddered as he stared at the casket's gleaming black surface, at the life-sized raven carved into the wood. Was it his imagination, or were the bird's eyes following him? "Is this coffin also easily explained?"



"You must release me, Montroy. Rhianna needs me."



"The doctor says she's dying." The viscount's voice broke on the last word. "That she has lost the will to live."



"I can help her," Rayven said, his voice tinged with desperation. "But you must let me out of here. Now."



"How?" Dallon demanded. "How can you help her when my physician says it's hopeless?"



Rayven cursed the weakness that negated his powers. Had he been strong, he could have easily bent Montroy's will to his. But then, had he been strong, the man would not have been able to overpower him in the first place.



"Dallon, you must release me before it's too late." Before the sun climbs over the horizon. Before Ada McLeod comes to take my head. "Listen to me," he said, keeping tight rein on his impatience. "You've known me for years. You've spoken to Rhianna. Has she ever complained? Has she accused me of mistreating her? Have I ever said or done anything to make you think I would harm her, or anyone else?"



"No," Dallon replied slowly. "She has always spoken highly of you."



"She needs me," Rayven said, unable to disguise the urgency in his voice. "She needs to know that I am here."



He tensed as he heard Montroy cross the floor, hesitation evident in each faltering step.



"No one else can help her," Rayven said. "Please, I'm begging you. You must let me out of here before it's too late."



He held his breath as he felt the touch of Montroy's hand on the lid of his coffin. Yes, he thought. Do it, damn you!



Dallon stared down at the casket. He was a well-educated man. There was no place in his life or his philosophy for that which could not be proven by fact or logically explained. He had never put any credence in the town's talk of vampyres, never believed in ghosts or goblins. He had, on occasion, felt a chill when he looked into Rayven's eyes, a sense of tightly controlled power, of danger waiting to be unleashed. But it had nothing to do with Rayven being a monster and everything to do with the fact that the master of Castle Rayven was a wealthy, powerful man, confident, arrogant, subservient to no one.



Dallon took a deep breath, willing to put his own safety at risk if there was a chance of saving Rhianna's life.



"I want your word, Rayven, your sworn oath that you will not harm her."



"You have it."



"Or anyone else."



Rayven hesitated only a moment. "I give you my word." He waited, hands clenching and unclenching, while Montroy made up his mind.



After what seemed hours but was no more than a moment or two, there was the unmistakable rattling of heavy chains, the screech of nails being drawn from wood.



They had secured his resting place well, Rayven mused. They had wrapped it with heavy chains, then nailed the lid shut. With silver nails, no doubt. He grinned wryly. Had they also sprinkled it with holy water?



Rayven squinted against the bright glare of a candle as Montroy lifted the lid.



Dallon swore softly, automatically crossing himself, as Rayven sat up.



Feeling as though he had been ransomed from the bowels of Hell, Rayven climbed out of the coffin.



He grunted softly as the stink of garlic filled his nostrils. Looking down, he saw the floor was strewn with the stuff.



Dallon Montroy backed away, felt the blood drain from his face as Rayven's black eyes met his.



"It's true," Montroy exclaimed, his hand tightening around the hammer in his hand. "All true."



"Indeed," Rayven agreed. He glanced at the thick gold cross hanging from a chain around Montroy's neck. "That will not protect you."



"You gave me your word."



"So I did." Rayven settled his cloak around his shoulders, then advanced on Montroy. He could hear the blood flowing in the man's veins, hear the frenzied beating of his heart.



He drew in a deep breath, drawing in the scent of blood, awakening the hunger.



Montroy backed up until he could go no further. "You gave me your word," he repeated, his pulse pounding wildly as he looked into Rayven's eyes. Eyes that glowed like twin coals in the very fires of Hell, burning into his mind, burning away his will to resist. He tried to look away, tried to raise his arm, to strike out with the hammer. But he could not draw his gaze away, could not summon the strength to lift his arm.



"Forgive me," Rayven murmured, and taking hold of Montroy's left arm, he sank his fangs into the tender flesh of the viscount's wrist.



Helpless, Montroy closed his eyes, surprised that there was hardly any pain. The hammer slid, unnoticed, from his grasp.



The hunger roared through Rayven, but he forced it back. Three long swallows, that was all, just enough to appease the hunger before he went to Rhianna.



He took a deep, calming breath as the hunger abated. After licking the wound in the viscount's wrist, and savoring the few extra drops of blood, he released Montroy's arm and turned away.



Taking the cellar stairs two at a time, he hurried to Rhianna's chamber.



Bevins was there, his arms and legs securely bound to a stout wooden chair. He grinned with rare good humor as Rayven swept into the room. "Good to see you, my lord."



"And you," Rayven replied curtly. With a flick of his wrist, he set Bevins free. "Get rid of Montroy, then bring me a glass of wine."



"Aye, my lord."



Lifting Rhianna into his arms, Rayven left the room, his steps carrying him swiftly up the stairs to the east tower. She was thin, he thought, so thin. Her heartbeat was slow, her pulse faint.



Inside the tower room, he closed the hidden portal, then gently lowered Rhianna to his bed. He drew the covers over her, his heart aching for the pain he had caused her, both mentally and physically.



"Rhianna? Rhianna!"



She moaned softly, then her eyelids fluttered open. "Rayven?"



"I'm here, beloved."



She tried to smile, but the effort was too great. "Stay... please..."



"I'll never leave you again. I swear it." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he lifted his wrist to his mouth, then opened the vein with his teeth. "Here, you must drink this."



She stared at him, uncomprehending.



Muttering an oath, he pressed his bleeding wrist to her mouth. "Drink, Rhianna."



Her eyes widened as she realized what he wanted, and then she shook her head.



"Drink, Rhianna. It is the only way."



His voice wrapped around her, soft as cotton wool, demanding her compliance. She didn't want to obey, but she was helpless against the dark power in his eyes. When he held his wrist to her lips again, she swallowed once, twice.



Just enough to restore her health, though he yearned to give her more, to bring her across the bridge from mortality to immortality, to keep her at his side forever. But even as he considered it, he knew she would hate him for it. And yet... He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her mouth on his flesh, the sensation of his blood flowing into her. What ecstasy it would be, to drink her to the point of death and have her drink from him in return, to know she would be his forever. With a harsh cry, he pulled his wrist away, ran his tongue over the ragged wound to close it. "Sleep now."



"No."



"Ill be here when you awake."



"You... promise?"



"I promise."



"Hold me."



With a strangled cry, he drew her into his arms and held her close. "Forgive me," he murmured. A single bloodred tear dripped onto her cheek, and he wiped it away, despising what he was, the pain he had caused her. "Please, beloved, forgive me."



When she was asleep, he settled her into bed once more, then spread his cloak over her.



Moments later, Bevins entered the room carrying a decanter and goblet. Wordlessly, he filled the glass and handed it to his master.



"Where's Montroy?" Rayven asked.



"I sent him home. He did not want to go."



"Is he all right?"



"He seemed a bit dazed."



Rayven nodded. "I shall deal with him later. Where's Ada?"



"She went home earlier this evening. She said she would be back tomorrow to, ah..." Bevins drew a finger across his throat. "I've secured the castle doors, my lord. No one will bother you."



"You've done well." Rayven took a sip from the goblet, stared into the glass, then took another swallow.



"What is this?" he demanded.



Bevins cleared his throat, wondering if he had made a grave mistake. "A very little wine, my lord." He hesitated, his own blood running cold as he met his master's eyes. "Mixed with a great deal of blood."



"Whose blood?"



"Lady Rhianna's. The doctor bade me dispose of it."



Rayven stared into the goblet for a long moment and then, slowly, almost reverently, he drank the warm crimson liquid. He felt his strength returning, his power expanding, as her blood spread through him, filling him with a familiar warmth. But it was not enough to replace what weeks of starvation had cost him.



His gaze fixed on Bevins, Rayven set the goblet on the tray.



"My lord?"



"I'm sorry."



With a nod, Bevins rolled up his shirtsleeve and held out his arm.



She was dreaming, dreaming of Rayven. Dreaming that he was there beside her, holding her close. She could feel his breath fanning her cheek, hear his voice whispering that he loved her, begging for her forgiveness.



With a sigh, she snuggled deeper under the covers, hoping the dream would never end.



"Rhianna?"



She smiled as his voice caressed her. She had dreamed of him every night since he had left her, but never like this. It seemed so real.



She drew the blanket up over her head to block the light, frowned as her fingers closed over velvet and silk.



She gasped as her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into his face. "Rayven!"



He smiled at her, his beautiful dark eyes warm with love.



"You're here? You're really here?" Tentatively, she lifted a hand to his cheek. His skin was cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."



"You are not dreaming, my sweet." He captured her hand in his and lifted it to his lips.



"You were in danger." She clasped his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her heart. "I could feel it, in here. You wanted to die. You were dying."



"And you were determined to die with me."



Rhianna nodded. "I want no life without you, my lord husband."



He closed his eyes as though he were in pain.



"Rayven? What is it? What's wrong?"



"Nothing, my sweet. I intend to see that you have everything you desire, everything you deserve'."



"My lord?" She gazed at him, wondering why his words of assurance made her suddenly uneasy.



"Go to sleep, Rhianna."



"Hold me?"



He swallowed against the pain knifing through him as he gathered her into his arms and held her close, certain that, before long, he would have to let her go.



In the last hour before dawn, Rayven made his way to Montroy's estate.



Thunder rolled across the heavens; the rain fell in a steady downpour. He drew his cloak more tightly around him, wishing he were back in his room, holding Rhianna in his arms. But there would be time enough for that when he had finished here.



Montroy's house was dark, all the doors and windows closed and locked.



"You'll not keep me out so easily," Rayven muttered. Grinning, he went to the back of the house where, with a wave of his hand, he unlocked the rear door.



On silent feet, he made his way up the stairs to Montroy's sleeping chamber and stepped inside.



For a moment, he gazed down at Montroy and then, gathering his power, he spoke softly to Dallon's mind, commanding him to forget all that had happened with Rhianna, to forget that Rayven had taken his blood, to forget that he had ever believed Rayven to be a vampyre.



Remember only that we are friends, and that I love Rhianna,Rayven commanded. If anyone asks, you have seen me dine at your table, you have entertained me in your home, at your club, and found me no different from other men.



He felt a moment of regret when he was certain he had erased all that was necessary from the viscount's mind, but there was no help for it. The other alternative was to destroy the man, and that he could not do.



He left Montroy's house as quietly as he had arrived. His next stop was Ada McLeod's. It was not so easy to manipulate Ada's mind. Her hatred and distrust posed a barrier that was difficult to breach, but, in the end, Rayven had his way, erasing her memory of her daughter's illness and her own intention to destroy him.



Satisfied that he had done all he could, he left the cottage and returned home.



He paused as he reached the top of the mountain. The castle rose from the ground in a graceful mass of dark gray stone and aged wood, the ever-present mist hovering over it like faerie breath, the moonlight limning the turrets with silver.



Safe within the hidden room in the east tower, he closed the portal, undressed, and slid into bed beside Rhianna. He drew her into his arms, a flood of emotion swelling in his heart as she murmured something unintelligible, then snuggled trustingly against him, the warmth of her body molding itself to his, chasing away the chill of the night.



Ah, Rhianna,he mused as he lightly stroked her hair. Do you know how much I love you? How much I need you?



He groaned low in his throat as she snuggled against him. Her nearness teased his desire, stirred his hunger, that damnable hunger that seemed ever closer to the surface since he had returned to her side.



Was it because he had given her his blood, or was he losing control of the monster that resided in his soul?



He brushed a kiss across her cheek, felt his fangs lengthen. It would be so easy to take her while she slept, to drink and drink, to make her what he was. She would truly be his bride then, forever, for always.



No! He screamed the word in his mind. He would not, could not, condemn her to a life of darkness.



With an effort, he stilled the hunger, wondering, as he did so, how much longer he could keep it under control.