The Sanction

Chapter 19

A babe wailed.

Through the thick, dark haze of slumber, the piercing sounds of distress echoed in the recesses of her mind. Instinctively, she clutched onto the sound and forced her eyes to open. They were unresponsive, heavy. The cries of the child grew stronger, as if it suffered, and in a flash, memories flooded her and filled her with dread. No, this was not her baby.

Her child was dead.

A wail of agony seized her. Her parched lips were sealed shut by weakness. There was no effort to weep – tears fell through her burning eyes helplessly. The white hot pain that stroked her form each time she attempted to move could not compare to the furnace within her chest – or the void in her stomach.

Such agony must mean she was alive.

The tears fell even more. There would be no reprieve from the path she chose then. This was the torment she would have to bear for a millennia for going against the Coven. She wept silently until there were no more tears to cry, until her ragged breaths became once again even – until she heard the heavy, all too familiar footsteps of her mate.

Through swollen lids she forced her eyes open. He occupied a chair close to where she lay. Funny, she had not heard him sit. But then this was only a dream. And what a sweet one at that, for in his arms she spied a wee child, swaddled in a thick, woven blanket. Another hot tear trailed a path down her cheek, but she was too tired to stay awake. There was warmth suddenly, a rough hand gently stroking her cheek – and the scent of fresh blood. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Instinct took control when she could not, and as she drank her fill, she momentarily met flaming concerned eyes.

Day turned to night and night to day. Nightmares plagued her, of children burnt in a fire, of the Hunters butchering Graeme, of Rhys dying.

"Remember what you have cost him when your Coven comes looking for you!"

She wept.

With the nightmares the fever came. Icy fingers slithered across her body, and the blood she was so frequently fed she could not keep down. Familiar faces floated before her eyes – a dark haired Hunter with blazing blue eyes and a fierce countenance. Vilirus! Yes, it was her brother who mopped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. Her fingers found his wrist and she gripped there tightly. The pulse that throbbed beneath her thumb was strong and swift.

"Rest now," he spoke tenderly. "All will be well. I promise."

How many times had he spoken to her the same words a child when the dark shadows of the Coven terrified her? There is nothing to fear. The darkness and the vampire are one. It is a part of you.

A baby cried, and the relief that settled upon her like a blanket was ripped away and replaced by agony and rage. Vilirus dislodged her fingers from the death grip she implied upon his arm and pressed his lips to her head before moving away from her side. Panicked, she cried voicelessly for him to return before darkness once more claimed her.

****

Graeme drained the mug of ale and eyed the Hunter who sat in a far corner of the inn. Vilirus he called himself. Three days ago he had come from visiting his son in the nanny's room to find the vampire whispering hushed words of comfort and reassurance to his semi-conscious female. His first attack was met with the sharpened tip of a sword, so swift was his reflex.

"I am here to help you," he said in a breath.

"Who are you?"

"Her brother."

Graeme snorted, body held tense, eyes heated, determined. "I don't need your help. Now move away from her!"

"She is hurt. She needs to feed."