Antithesis: The Vampire Alliance Book Three - FIRST DRAFT COMPLETED

Antithesis Chapter 1: Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan April 2013

Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan, April 2013

I warily study the approaching enemy as I reluctantly draw my sword. I’m disinclined to raise the weapon, even as the closest man raises a flaming torch and brings it down on my cheek, jarring my neck. The act forces me to take another step back until my body presses against the brickwork wall behind me, and I loathe the feeling of being trapped. Rob and I are cornered, surrounded by men and women who want to tear us limb from limb for no reason other than our fangs. We have strength enough to fight our way through the angry crowd, probably, and yet we both hesitate at the thought of injuring the people around us.

Why?

Because they’re human.

Many vampires had feared the human response to our existence, and rightfully so. Within days of Charleston’s announcement the bodies of murdered vampires began turning up, men and women who had been decapitated or staked. There were mortals too, among the growing pile of bodies, recluses and social outcasts who had wrongly been mistaken for one of us. One group of terrified humans had even gone so far as to set fire to a vast area of Whitby, fearing the town was home to huge numbers of ‘Dracula’s children’.

No vampires had died that night, although the death toll for mortals is still growing daily. The total is already in the hundreds. It would’ve been far worse if vampires hadn’t stepped in to help with the evacuation. The human emergency services certainly hadn’t been able to cope on their own.

In the week following our sudden public outing I’ve seen children following the goth fashion pulled aside and beaten by strangers, sometimes even by police officers, out of some ill-conceived belief that being a goth indicated vampirism. The human government have struggled to control the panic and even now they’re debating some form of ethnic cleansing to eradicate the ‘demon’ threat. Charleston has brought all of our worst fears down upon us, and we have no idea how to rectify the situation.
The sane among us despair at the thought of a ‘demon cull’. Atrocities will take place if the mortal government shows support for the wilful destruction of vampire-kind. We’ll go to war and many will die, just as Johan’s wife had died, tortured and slaughtered out of misunderstanding and prejudice. Isn’t this why we’ve always kept our existence hidden? Hadn’t we concealed ourselves in order to avoid such a massacre?
Of course, the Senate will give as good as it gets. They already are, in fact. When the remains of the first murdered vampire was found our government immediately demanded that the culprits should be handed over for judgment, vampire style.

Naturally the mortal authorities had refused, unwilling to hand over a group of their own to blood-sucking monsters. Enforcers and Paladins had stormed the ‘safe houses’ where the suspects were being held under armed guard. They arrested the human murderers and the mortal police who’d been guarding them. If the rumours are true all eleven humans have since been sent to one of the Redeemers’ farms as punishment.

They had only been the first to be taken. Since their capture the Senate defence ‘they were plotting against vampires’ has become a pretext for grabbing humans from the street, from public places, in some cases even from their own homes. The Senate and the Redeemers use the excuse to stock the farms with so-called convicts, whether or not the mortals they take are innocent or guilty. That, in turn, has bred more hatred, exacerbating an already volatile situation.

What the humans have yet to realise is that we don’t all agree with this process. The simple truth is that not every vampire wants to see humanity oppressed, forced to live their lives in bondage and servitude as blood slaves. However, in its collective terror, humanity cannot accept such a radical concept.

That’s why our current foes have come after us; they can only see fanged demons while never once stopping to consider the people we truly are. Or even what we’ve just done for them.

It’s my own fault of course, finding myself in such a situation. Rob and I had been hunting, a dangerous activity these days but one I feel compelled to carry on doing. Then the vision distracted me. The hallucination had been little more than a flash, a sense of pain and death and fear. It had been enough to show me that a group of mortals were about to be captured by Enforcers. On the spur of the moment I decided to intervene and left Rob little choice but to assist. That was my mistake, although I didn’t realise it immediately.

We’re Strix and so we destroyed the Enforcers quickly enough, but to do so we had followed them down a side street with very few exists. I’d gotten us trapped. My altruistic actions had been our undoing and now we have no escape route, not one that would avoid both human death and revealing that we are so much more than garden-variety vampires. The buildings either side of us are city centre buildings and many storeys high. They’re too tall for us to jump up onto the relative safety of their roofs, no matter how much more than ‘ordinary’ we are. That’s why my mistake is becoming a very real problem.

In the short time it’d taken us to dispose of the Enforcers, the humans had noticed our fangs and that was enough to ensure their hatred. It’s easy to see, to smell; they loathe us with a passion equal to their abhorrence of the Senate’s people, even though we’ve just saved their lives. The mortals had surrounded us while we were occupied with destroying their oppressors and they’ve crept as close as they dare. Unfortunately for us, this group are very daring.

“Demon,” the torch wielding man spits, striking out with his flaming torch for a second time.

This time Rob catches the man’s arm before the torch lands. “Hit my wife again and I’ll break your arm,” he warns, his tone a low, menacing hiss.

He doesn’t want to hurt these people anymore than I do, I can feel his reluctance, but he’s not about to stand by while they harm me either.  I can’t help the wholly inappropriate yet warm and tingly sensation that knowledge causes to blossom in my chest. It still surprises me that Rob is able to love me, considering the life I’ve lived since his execution.

“We just saved your lives, the least you could do is leave us alone,” he points out acerbically. “One good deed deserves another, does it not?”

“We were fine,” the man, who is obviously the group’s leader, replies. “Our purpose is eradicating your kind and we had the situation under control. We didn’t require your assistance. It would be a sin to let you go now we have you cornered.”

When I laugh the sound is far more sinister, far colder even, than Rob’s threat had been. “Your people were being loaded into their vans and you call that under control? You may well think you’ve found some higher purpose by murdering us, but seriously, is that a pitch fork one of your people is wielding? This is how you plan on fighting those you fear will force you into slavery, with pitch forks and burning torches like something out of the Middle Ages? It’s no wonder that child over there is bleeding to death.”

Turning, I point towards a teenager who is lying just beyond the crowd. I can smell his blood, in spite of the girl holding her hoody to his wounded middle. “If you’re their leader then you’re more responsible for human suffering than I am.”

“He’s eighteen, he knew the risks,” the man hisses back at me. “We have to protect ourselves against your kind. It’s in your nature to murder. You need to be eradicated.”

Rolling my eyes in disbelief, I shake my head. “I don’t routinely kill humans, though I’m ever more tempted to make an exception for you. One day your people are going to have to come to terms with the fact not all vampires are like those who would’ve taken you prisoner. Most of us would like to go back to quiet obscurity and live a murder-free life.”

“What do you know of that?” a woman screams at me. “We all know who you are, Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan. Your own government is offering a reward for your capture. Even they say you’re a dangerous killer.”

Sighing, I briefly close my eyes, wearied by the Senate’s campaign. Of course I’d seen the wanted posters when they first began to appear, but I hadn’t realised immediately just how much of an issue they were going to become. It’s one of the many problems with going public; every aspect of our existence can be publicised openly and the Senate are utilising that as fully as possible. In the unlikely event of a mortal capturing or killing me the Senate have promised to grant them impunity. They will be branded with a sign which will indicate they must not be fed from. It’s enough of an incentive to have mortals throwing themselves at me, quite literally.

For Rob and I the concept is somewhat ridiculous, no mortal has the strength to bring down a healthy Strix. But for others on the Senate’s wanted list? For Johan, Van, Alex and so many others who are not as strong as we are? Well, a big enough group of humans could capture them if the mortals were lucky. That’s how so many vampires have died already, isn’t it? Unfortunately I’m not the only face on the wanted posters. For many of the others the Senate’s actions have considerably increased the danger they face each and every day.

Even for Tul the risk has increased, as hopeless as he is.

“I am a killer.” My answer is simple and a number of humans growl in a far more animalistic way than I could ever manage. “You’ve seen it. Haven’t I just slain a number of those who would oppress both you and me? Have you never heard the saying ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’ The Senate want me incarcerated or executed because I fight them, just as you fight them, only I do it somewhat more effectively.”

It’s clear in their expressions that they don’t believe me, as far as these people are concerned I deserve to die. If an organisation as horrific as the Senate condemns me then surely I must be truly monstrous, right? Thinking of some of the things I’ve done I know I am monstrous, but I’m not an enemy to these people, not unless they force my hand. The sooner these people realise they can’t base their principles on Senate propaganda the better. It might just save them from killing the people who want to protect them. 

“Maybe I should write my life story on pamphlets and litter the city with them, maybe then I can stop having to repeat this and move on.” Taking a deep breath I say, for what feels like the hundredth time, “The Senate had my human family murdered. They’ve been switching between wanting me dead and wanting me captured to use for years now. Do you know the reason I was finally turned into a vampire? The Senate had me shot and I would have died if my sire hadn’t made me. I know exactly what it is to be human and facing a vampire enemy. I even blamed the wrong vampires, just like you’re doing. However, I can promise you one thing; your world has changed and it would do you well to learn the truth of the situation faster than I did.

The Senate do not offer pardons or protection, not unless you have some use. You are nothing to them but tools and a food source, and to the Redeemers you’re even less. There are vampires in this world who want you to be free, for things to go back to how they were when we lived our lives without feeling obliged to kill one another.  You need to choose your enemies wisely. Don’t go after those who would defend your rights.”

I stare at the gathered humans in thinly veiled disbelief again, “And seriously, pitch forks and flaming torches are not the way to go if you want to kill a vampire.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way.” The leader grins, clearly having no interest in my spiel. “After all, the pitch fork’s handle has proved an effective stake a number of times already.”

That admission nauseates me. This group has already killed vampires? How many? Who? The young? Those hunting alone?

Vigilantes such as these have been finding the weaker among us and, through weight of numbers, pinning them down and staking them. Or worse. There are far worse ways to go than a simple staking and groups like this can be cruel. They’re never merciful and their actions have been as abhorrent as anything I’ve done. Many of the vampires who’ve been killed were young, newly turned, weak and not used to their bodies. These ‘people’ think they’re doing a service by bringing down ‘monsters’, but to the older and stronger among us they’re often simply killing children.

“It’s not as fun as chaining them up and watching them burn though,” the man before me confesses, his sick enjoyment of torturing others increasing my sense of revulsion and weakening my resolve to preserve his life.

“Murderer,” I breathe, remembering clearly what it was to have my flesh blister and burn in flames. Perhaps we should have let the Enforcers arrest these people after all. Maybe they should be made to pay for the pain and fear they’ve forced others to bear.

“You evil bastards,” I accuse as I stare at the group in open disgust. I can appreciate fearful rebellion, but to torture another person, especially to consider it preferable to offering a quick death, that’s indefensible.

Yes, I’ve tortured people too, but I don’t gloat at it. I’m ashamed by it. I’m disgusted that I was ever put in a position where I found such a thing necessary. The man stood in front of me revels in it. That’s different and I hate him for it. How many times has he wrought such suffering on another? How many innocents has he put through hell for no reason but their fangs and silvering eyes?

Knocking his torch to the pavement, I respond to his confessions with righteous fury. Moving too fast for him to react I grab him, placing my hands either side of his head. It would be easy to break his neck like this, but it would also be a pointless gesture which would only serve to solidify these mortals’ opinion of me. Instead I close my eyes, trying to open my mind to the human’s memories.

It’s a struggle to accomplish, despite my new found powers as a seer.  I’m not very good at focussing on what I want to witness even though I regularly see unwanted flashes of the past. Distraction doesn’t help, and as I’ve undoubtedly made myself into a target focussing is difficult as the man’s friends jump to his defence.

Rob pushes back the humans who try to leap to their leader’s aid. He doesn’t have to fight for long, thankfully, as my stillness draws the attention of the group. As the congregated mortals watch me they fall into confused silence, wondering why I don’t kill the man in my grip. Growing still, the gathered people watch for whatever devious vampire trick I’m going use when I should, according to their understanding, be mercilessly slaughtering my enemy.

This isn’t a vampire trick, nor is it a human one; it’s a gift and a curse and has only rarely been seen in the last two millennia. It’s a part of me that comes from neither Rob nor Tul, nor even Avitus Seneca. It’s a part of me which comes from Aemiliana, one of my mortal ancestors. The roman girl had been Avitus Seneca’s wife and she was also a seer.

The vision begins with a scream that echoes in my head. The first vampire this man staked had been predictably young, a newly turned vampire who’d been alone in her house. The human hadn’t even been sure she was a vampire when he decided to break into her sanctuary. The bagged blood in her fridge had confirmed his worst suspicions though, because he was too blind to realise what else those plastic bags implied. To me those containers would have shown the girl didn’t feed directly from humans, but to him it simply confirmed the house’s occupant was a demon in disguise. That had been all he needed to know.

He and his brother had crept up on her as she slept. The girl, younger than me in both mortal years and in vampire months, had only woken as they tore her duvet from her bed. She had screamed as the man’s bother held her down, as the monster in my hands plunged a sharpened table leg through her chest. He had missed her heart on the first attempt and needed to tear the wooden implement back from her body, as the girl thrashed and continued to scream. The second time he had more success and he’d laughed as she died.

After that first murder he and his brother had found more vampires to kill. They gathered together humans willing to hunt them. A stream of dead faces runs through my head, immortals whose lives had been ripped from them despite them having done no wrong. I can forgive the vigilante gang the few Enforcers they’ve managed to destroy, but truthfully most of the people dying again in my head had been good people. They’d been innocent people.

At first the vigilante’s methods had been simple, staking and beheading, but then the ‘man’ whose memories I’m currently reliving decided his group should make examples of those they killed. He wanted to make vampires fear him. He was like Charleston in so many ways, revelling in power, in fear and in the pain of others.
The first victims to suffer being chained and burned had been a couple, just a boy and girl who’d been to the cinema together, of all places. They would never have been caught if the girl hadn’t made a silly joke about feeding. She said she preferred to snack on humans who’d been eating sweet popcorn rather than nachos with jalapenos, because of how the chillies altered the taste of the blood. Her comment had been flippant as she entered The Gate entertainment complex. Unfortunately it had also been overheard by the wrong person and that led to her demise.

When she and her boyfriend came back out of the cinema this gang had been waiting for them. They’d been overpowered, bound and gagged. Wise to the clues left by numerous authors, the vigilantes had used silver chains to bind their victims. Who would have thought that the popularity of True Blood could teach mortals how to incapacitate us? The gang had chained the couple to iron stakes on the Town Moor and surrounded them with wood, then they set fire to the pyre. The couple had begged as the torches were lowered to the kindling and they’d screamed as the flames began to lick their bodies.

In many ways the boy was lucky, he hadn’t been a vampire at all and the smoke from the pyre suffocated him long before the fire could fully complete his agony. The girl though, the vampire who had chosen a mortal partner and who always left her prey alive, she had burned for hours.

Fire engines came and left again, their mortal teams not prepared to step in to save a vampire life. I feel her pain as if it were my own, along with the pain of every burned vampire these vigilantes killed after her, and when I finally manage to pull myself back to the present I can’t help but throw up, appalled by what I’ve witnessed. How could these people call us monsters? How could these men and women call us murderers?

Snarling my anger, I want to tear their leader’s head from his shoulders but Rob stops me, pressing his hand to my chest and shaking his head. “It won’t help. You’ll only strengthen their beliefs.”

“They torture innocents, newly turned vampires who’ve never bitten anyone but their sires. They’ve burned mortals unlucky enough to be caught dating vampires. He laughs as they scream!” Pointing at the man whose memories I’d seen, I can’t keep the unrestrained fury from my voice. “They don’t deserve the freedom we’ve granted them. They’re sick, twisted, evil!” I long to revoke the reprieve I’ve given the humans.

Luckily for them I don’t get the chance as agony flares in my head, fiery and debilitating. The scorching burn of a nitrate round exploding in my skull is a terrifying distraction, especially as it’s quickly followed by another and I crumple to my knees, wondering how the mortals have come to posses such weapons. It’s only when my hands clutch my head that I find I’m surprisingly wound free. Glancing up I see Rob on his knees too, equally uninjured.

“Tul?” I whisper, shocked and confused and unable to believe the suspicion forming in my still aching mind.

Rob nods, “We need to get home, quickly.”

It hadn’t been on my agenda to show these vigilantes the extent of my strength, speed or stamina. The last thing we need is for humans to believe all vampires posses my talents and the attributes I’d passed to Rob. It’ll only make them more afraid, more dangerous. However, Tul is my priority and if he’s just taken two nitrate rounds to the brain I want to know why. There’s no reason why he should’ve been shot. He hasn’t so much as left our room since our botched attack on Charleston’s house.

Well, there’s no reason but the one and that doesn’t bear contemplating…

He wouldn’t have shot himself, would he? With his current mental state at the forefront of my mind I shudder at the intensity of despair pouring from him and into my consciousness. His hopelessness has not been easy to live with and I don’t know what I can do to make it easier for him.

I’m so absorbed with my concern for Tul that I don’t notice the woman stepping towards me with stake in hand, not until the homemade weapon plunges into my back. She deserves praise; her aim is impeccable and as the wood spears my heart it halts the organ’s slow percussion mid beat. Unfortunately for her it’s not like something as simple as being clinically dead is going to end me, not so long as my head is still attached to my neck. She wasn’t to know that though. It’s a unfortunate I’m about to show her as much.

Wincing, I drag myself slowly to my feet, regretting that I can’t actually reach round behind myself to pull out the stake. I don’t want to grab the narrowed tip protruding from my front either, pulling a stake through my body would be… unpleasant.
“Rob,” I grunt, pained, “help.”

My body will expel the wood with time but with something the size of the stake it’ll be a slow and painful process. I don’t have the time or the patience for that. Instead of making me wait, Rob grips the weapon, yanking it back out of me the way it had entered. The action hurts like hell but I don’t make a noise, biting my lip to prevent any cry of pain.

Taking the stake from Rob I place my hands on either end of the weapon, snapping it in front of the eyes of the woman who’d skewered me. She gapes at me, aghast, knowing just as well as I do that her precision had not faltered and she’d gone straight through my heart.

“How…?” Her expression is panicked.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you. Not all vampires are weak, newly-turned children.” There is a certain amount of irony in me making that announcement when I haven’t been fully turned for a whole year yet. All the same, my point is valid. “Very occasionally you may find one of us who is more than you can hope to prepare for. Pray they are among those who value human existence. If they aren’t you may find you get your weapons back in the same manner you’ve given them away. Unlike me, you won’t recover from being staked.”

The urge to skewer the woman is strong even though I know I shouldn’t do so. Struggling to restrain my craving for vengeance I turn on my heel and face the mob, demanding angrily, “Get out of our way.”

My order goes unheeded which leaves us with only two options. Either we force the humans to move, which will almost certainly lead to some of them getting injured, or we can vault over them. Jumping will reveal more of our strength than I’d like. It’ll scare them. It’ll make them more determined to eradicate us. But then injuring them will hardly make them less so, will it?

“Jump?” I ask Rob, not sure which option is wiser but desperately needing to get back to Tul.

He nods and together we make the leap, taking three quick steps before launching our bodies straight over the people who would have liked to keep us penned in. Their astonishment and the potency of their disbelief is amusing, or it would have been if I could feel amused. Instead all I feel is Tul’s poignant regret and abject misery. I don’t bother to look back when my feet once again hit the pavement and Rob and I sprint without pause, determined to get back to headquarters as quickly as possible.

Another benefit of being Strix is our ability to run unnaturally fast. We can travel cross-country between Newcastle and the base, and still get there far quicker by running than many of our colleagues can in vehicles. The downside is that we aren’t within a protective case of armoured car, should we come across someone intent on killing us. Right now I’d go for speed over a shield anyway, and even if we’d brought a car out with us I’d still have chosen to run home.

We don’t need to stop for the new electrified fences which Johan has recently installed around the entrance bunkers of the new base. Vaulting over them is easy and we only slow when we reach the metal entrance door. Since the creation of the Senate’s Strix it had dawned on us that while electrified fences will stop Enforcers and Paladins, the Senate’s super-soldiers can overcome our defences as easily as Rob and I just had. On that basis even the door had been electrified when the defences were upgraded, and now we have to wait for Zach to turn off the current before we can enter.

Johan is already waiting for us when we reach the lobby, his expression worryingly grim. He quirks a brow at the holes in my t-shirt, the bloody indicators marking the entrance point of the stake and the place it had pushed through the front of my chest. “I’m banning hunting,” he states, guessing what had happened.

Eventually I’ll argue that decision, but for now Johan moves quickly on. Perhaps he can see that the damage to my own body is the least of my concerns. He goes straight to the point instead of discussing what had befallen us.

“Sullivan is in the medical suite.” Noting my concern he adds, “He’s fine.”

Although Johan says the words, he reconsiders them almost immediately and as his concerned gaze meets mine he amends, “Well, by ‘fine’ I mean the bullet wounds have healed. We didn’t want to send him back to your quarters on his own until you returned.”

“He did it to himself, then?” I ask but I don’t need the answer. “He knows that won’t work on him anymore, I don’t understand why he’d do it.”

There’s a weary anxiety in Johan’s expression as he admits, “He said he wanted to make sure it wouldn’t work. He claims he doesn’t want to face the alternative.”
“What alternative?” Rob demands as we start towards the medical area and I wonder the same thing.

“He wouldn’t say,” Johan responds solemnly, “for all I know it could be living. You’re the ones sharing his emotions.”

“He doesn’t consider living an alternative at all,” my muttered admission depresses each of us but it’s the truth. Since losing his hand Tul’s seen no purpose in his continued existence, no matter how much value we put in his life.

As we open the door of the medical suite he looks up from where he’s perched on the edge of the examination couch. A frown creases Tul’s brow when he notices the bloodied state of my t-shirt and I can feel his concern. He’s been so distant since the attack on Hardy’s home that I’m surprised he still worries about me. He hasn’t seemed overly aware of anything beyond his own loss recently, although I can appreciate that. Even if I can’t appreciate what he’s just done.

“I felt that, what happened?” he asks.

I know I should be grateful that he cares, but to be honest I’m struggling to control my temper.  I’m terrified he’ll do something dangerous with the intention of getting himself killed, much like I’d tried to do the night I’d gone out to find an enemy to destroy me and 1352 broken my hand. My fear makes me angry. I need something I can take out my terror and frustration out on but at this moment in time I have no one to fight.

With no immediate release for my anxieties I want to scream at Tul instead. I want to yell that he’s an idiot, that he can’t kill himself, that he can’t do that to me. Ranting won’t help though. I know that, even if it’s what I want to do. Still, I can’t completely prevent my temper showing in my response.

“Well, I was somewhat distracted when I felt two nitrate rounds enter my brain. I didn’t manage to defend myself before being staked. Thank goodness our enemies weren’t wielding swords, really, or I may have lost my head.”

His guilt hurts as he looks away, unable to meet my eye. Disconcertingly, I can’t help but feel that there’s more to his tumultuous emotions than just the regret due for causing my injury. As well as the now familiar anguish, I can sense his worrying anticipation and an unsettling amount of trepidation. Scowling I prompt, “There’s something else you want to ask me?”

Hopping down from the examination bed he steps towards me and tugs my sword from the sheath at my side. The cold, sharp blade seems more brutal and unforgiving than any weapon has done previously as he holds it out to me. “I can’t do this. I can’t be this useless.”

“You aren’t useless,” my tone is desperate and I refuse to acknowledge the sword, fearing where this is leading. “You are essential to me.” Doesn’t he understand that?

“Essential?” His tone is mocking, “No, I’m not. You don’t need me now you have Rob back. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine? I’ll be fine if what?” I press him, not able to accept the suspicion forming in my mind. “What do you want?”

When he finally manages to vocalise them, the words are barely a whisper, “Kill me.”

His shame at making the request would be heart-wrenching if I could feel anything over my dismay. He still can’t meet my stunned gaze as he kneels at my feet, holding my sword out to me. “Please. I can’t bear this. Eve, I’m begging you to end it.”

Horror, dismay, fear, guilt, regret, confusion; emotions bombard me. In the end it’s still my simmering anger than wins out, fuelled as it is by my disbelief that Tul could make such a request.

“How can you even ask that of me?” I enquire, struggling to keep my astounded fury from colouring my tone. “Out of all the people on Earth, how can you ask me?”

“I can’t do this,” Tul repeats, as if that’s enough to excuse what he’s requesting of me.

Taking his chin I force him to look up at me. “Alright, Tulloch Sullivan, answer me one simple question, what was my name before I married you?”

He sighs before giving the answer, and that slight and reluctant action is enough to prove he understands my reason for the question. “Eve Blakethorn,” he replies softly, “widow of an executed husband.”

“Don’t you think watching one husband lose his head was enough for me? How can you even ask me to be your executioner Tul? Or do you still think you’re second best, the rival, the alternative? Do you really think that I’ll just ‘be fine’ because you aren’t him?” Indicating at Rob I pray that isn’t the case and that we’ve managed to move past such a fear. “When are you going to realise that I need you? You. Tulloch Sullivan.”

Understanding him is beyond me. Unable to grasp how he can believe I’d do as asked, I kneel in front of him to plead with him instead. “You say you can’t do this, can’t continue, because you’ve lost a hand. Yet I would rather lose a limb than lose you. If I were to kill you then I’d have to kill part of myself too. I know I can’t go through that again.”

As my anger cools and desperation begins to mount. The cold claws of dismay crawl up my back as I implore him to think about what he’s asked. “Please, Tul, please don’t ask me to go through that again. You might think that I’ll be fine because I’ll still have Rob but I will also still have lost you.

They’re not forgotten, you know, the times I reached out in the night to touch a husband who wasn’t there. The times I woke up screaming just to try and let out some of my grief. You gave me back my desire to live, please don’t take it away from me again. Please,” I choke, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. The ache in my heart is far more painful than the stake had been.

“Please Tul, I don’t want... I can’t...” My panic at the idea of losing him is absolute, it immobilises me and numbs me to anything but the dread. Tears spill over my cheeks and I can’t even think to wipe them away.

As my heart rate speeds in fear Tul lays down the sword and tugs me into his arms. More guilt may be the last thing he needs but he should have known better than to ask me. “I’m sorry, Evie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think...”

“That much is true,” Rob interrupts him, “you didn’t think at all. I can’t believe you are stupid enough to ask that of her, and I can’t believe you think I’d stand by and let it happen. I’ll kill anyone who so much as thinks about helping you commit suicide. Do you understand?”

Rob’s obvious anger is as much a mask as mine had been but our connection betrays him and I can feel his fear and his hurt too. There’s so much hurt and fear between us. To think, for the briefest moment I’d thought we could be happy together, yet how can we be happy when there’s so much fear, so much hurt?

“We love you, Tul,” I remind him. “We both need you. Let us help you, by all means, but not like this.” Touching my sword I shake my head, “Never like this.”

I’m not sure Tul believes there’s any help to be had. He doesn’t believe in himself anymore, but he nods all the same. “Alright,” he concedes in a shame filled croak. “Alright.”

Studying his face I note the gaunt hollows of his cheeks and the dark bruises under his eyes which have been brought on by his refusal to feed. Faced with the evidence of his hopelessness I wonder if he means the words. Will he really let us try to help? Can he let us try to help?

“I love you Tul,” I remind him. I hope that’s enough to sustain him, at least until I can get him to feed and to start living again. But how do I get him to feed? How do I get him to try?