Chapter 18
Author's Notes: A/N: Thank you all so much for your enthusiasm and your oh so kind words. Really, I can’t put into words how much you all brighten my day.
Chapter Eighteen
New England, 1701He was going to absolutely wring her neck when he got a hold of her. That was, of course, after he got his fill of caressing her skin and kissing her lips and feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath his fingertips. After he was completely reassured of her safety—after he knew, once and for all, that she was all right.
Then he was going to kill her for making him worry.
William had never felt such a starving pang of desperate panic. Not so much as when he awoke that morning and found himself in an empty bed. Found his arms still tingling with the warmth his beloved left saturated in his skin. He didn’t know how long she’d been gone—the heavenly aroma of her was still alive in the air. But she was gone—
gone. She was gone, and he was trapped by sunlight.
There was no sodding doubt in his mind where she’d gone. After listening to the heartbreaking ring of her sobs all night—the ones she’d released after Kenneth and his merry troop had given up their search—he knew exactly where she was. For the few, blissful months they’d been together, Elizabeth had lived under a shadow of paralyzing fear that their happiness would eventually meet the business end of a stake. That William would fall in the crossfire of her treacherous relationship with her watcher. That Kenneth would take him away from her, as though, in Kenneth’s mind, he was a possession—a toy his pseudo-daughter enjoyed but couldn’t have for keeps.
Elizabeth hadn’t heard the implication in her words when relaying her fears, but William had. And it outraged him. Not for the way she spoke, rather for the way she was taught to view herself. She referred to herself as the property of the bloody Council—as though she hadn’t the faculties, the free-will or the components of a true human being. As though she was nothing more than a weapon with arms and legs.
It was maddening. It was devastating. His precious girl had lived under this presumption for so long. So bloody long. She’d believed herself to be less than human because of the nature of her Calling.
William supposed it was a way the Wanker’s Council kept their slayers in line. The old gits knew a thing or two about the balance of power. If they let their slayers live under the delusion that they were human and entitled to everything in the realm of their inherent nature, they might eventually wise up to the fact that they were not only human, but in possession of strength beyond strength.
Strength that men feared.
It was human nature to belittle and demean what it did not understand. If something was different or dangerous, the best offense was typically to keep the danger in blind ignorance of how powerful it truly was.
After all, if slayers ever got to a point where they realized they were only as weak as their watchers made them believe, there would be all hell to pay.
A cold thought paralyzed his insides. God, could it be this was his fault? Had William fed Elizabeth with too much animosity toward Kenneth and his Machiavellian rule over her that she’d decided to go and end it in person? Or had she gone with only William’s welfare at heart? Had she truly been so blind as to not realize that Kenneth meant for her to share whatever fate he had in store for her vampire mate?
Elizabeth had too much bloody faith in the nonexistent supremacy of human goodness. William had lived a long time—too long to believe the painted stripes of black and white were at all applicable to any of Earth’s creatures. He’d seen evil which would make the darkest of dark creatures cower in the shadows—evil produced by the hand of man rather than demon.
Evil of which no demon could dream.
To be fair, there was such a thing as human goodness. William knew it—he’d seen more than his fair share of warmth and compassion between and among God’s favored children. It was the sort of thing most vampires silently lamented losing after they were born into the night—the sort of love which held civilizations together when it wasn’t busy ripping them asunder. No, not all was black, gruesome death in the human world. There was love. Love many demons never touched, and therefore resented above all else.
Love William had somehow found.
Love that Kenneth Travers would not deny him. If one precious hair on Elizabeth’s head was harmed, William would give the tragedians something to write about. He would rip the arms off every miserable soul in the village. He would shred flesh with his teeth, make husbands watch the slaughter of their wives; he would make the world feel the pain it had inflicted upon him. He would redefine his species so that vampires would become more than the damned: they would be called Lucifer’s own children, and even then, he doubted his agony-inspired blood-thirst would be avenged.
Kenneth better pray no harm came to Elizabeth, else the world pay with blood.
As it was, the only thing keeping William from completely losing his head was the knowledge that the old man wouldn’t be satisfied with Elizabeth’s death alone. No matter how disgusted Travers was by her actions, his revulsion was pale in comparison to what he felt for her vampire corruptor. Any action taken against Elizabeth would therefore be molded to draw William out of the shadows and into open territory. And Kenneth knew as well as he did that live bait always captured the bigger fish.
Elizabeth
had to be alive. She
had to be.
At least until he got his hands on her and shook her gorgeous self for doing the impossible; for making an immortal man age with anxiety.
She was alive. She was.
Beyond logic, beyond understanding, he felt her. He felt her richly. The claim’s call could not be denied. He felt the gentle pulse of her life, weaker than usual but very much there. She felt frail through their connection; she felt small. She felt like anything but what she was.
She felt
drugged. William snarled in victory as the last of sunlight dipped under the horizon. His beloved was out there. Her watcher had pumped toxins into her blood, and for him there would be no justice.
There were only a handful of instances when William had been drawn into the heart of the village. Once or twice when he needed food and couldn’t find any witless stragglers on whom to feed, and a few times before he admitted his love for Elizabeth and could do nothing but watch her from a distance, coveting something he didn’t wish to name. Most older vampires knew it was wiser, especially when living in solitude in under-populated areas, to live as far from the public eye as possible. The Americas had one or two actual cities, but none with the booming population of London or other choice European destinations. It was difficult in small villages to live as a vampire without drawing unwanted attention.
Most of the older generation knew the rules, or had at least devised a system for living which kept their presence unnoticed. It was typically the witless fledglings who ended up dust —at least, by experience, in places like this.
Now, if they lived in Paris, it’d be entirely different. So many people, so much distraction…so much good eating.
William supposed he should count his blessings. Had Elizabeth lived anywhere else, she likely would have killed him well before they had the opportunity to discover how desperately they loved each other. He made note to thank the Powers later; right now he was too starved for her touch and at too much of a loss to know where to aim his feet.
He didn’t remain indecisive for long. Another perk of small villages: it was always easy to pick out the angry mobs.
Especially when they wielded torches.
Torches. A sharp breath caught in William’s throat, and at once he knew.
He
knew. “Christ,” he breathed. Every inch of him froze in terror. “Buffy…”
He hadn’t seen a burning in ages. The only one he’d attended had taken place outside St. Salvator’s Chapel. A religious execution of God-fearing men—God-fearing men who didn’t fear God enough to keep them from setting so-called heretics on fire. A century and a half had passed since then; it had been so long William had thought the practice very much outdated. However, one didn’t forget the signs of a burning after having seen one. It was human savagery at its best.
And they were planning to burn Elizabeth.
The demon in his chest roared in fury. The demon was suddenly blind to logistics and rationality—the demon didn’t care that raging into a sea of men with torches would not only ensure his death but confirm Elizabeth’s sentence as well. The demon just knew his mate was in danger, and there was no thought behind that. And God, was it tempting. His nerves were split and his cells were screaming—he didn’t give a righteous damn about himself, he just needed to get her to safety.
Something he couldn’t well do if he was dust.
Thankfully, the demon was overpowered by the man’s sense of reason. William’s options were minimal at best. He had super-strength on his side but little else. He hadn’t a legion of loyal followers ready to take the village by storm, and even if he did get to Elizabeth without managing to get himself killed before he reached her, the chance of escape for either of them weighed against grim odds. And while he didn’t rightly care too much about the safety of his own hide, he knew his girl.
He knew her. She was the same as he was. She was his equal.
If something happened to him, she wouldn’t think straight. And then she would die too.
“Balls,” William cursed, the screaming components of his brain beating through the walls of reason. “Think, you stupid git. Think.”
The claim stirred and he felt her emerging slowly from unconsciousness. And with the first pang of fear which raced through her heart, he gave way to panic without further consideration. There was no time to stand around and devise some grand plan. He needed to think something up
fast. Something to create a few minutes—just a few minutes. Ninety seconds would do. Whatever could get him to Elizabeth without the eyes of a crowd to witness her escape…
What he needed was a diversion.
The word was enough. A diversion. He could create a diversion. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Just get the angry mob to shift their focus from Point A to Point B. Diversions were simple; people in groups were daft by default—if one pointed at something, the masses would look. It was all he’d need. A quick diversion. Something monumental enough to distract them from the burning.
Something like another burning.
William drew in a sharp breath, his legs breaking into a run as the clockwork of his mind cranked and churned and formed the outline of what would have to be his plan. There wasn’t time for anything else. And by the time he reached the outskirts of the riot, he’d convinced himself it was solid enough to accomplish what he needed accomplished.
It had to—there was nothing else.
“Oi, mate!” he called to the first one he saw. A bloke of about nineteen, maybe twenty. A bloke holding a torch and migrating slowly to the heat of the commotion. The kid turned around, a look of unbridled eagerness on his face. William forced his temper down. “What’s the ruckus?”
The kid blinked and pinned him with a plainly incredulous look. “You mean you haven’t ‘eard? Town’s got us a witch. There’s gonna be a burnin’ t’night.”
William arched a brow. “A witch?”
“Ol’ Man Travers confirmed it. His girl, Lizzie. Y’know Lizzie?”
He gritted his teeth and did his best to keep his demon at bay. He just needed that torch. “’ve heard of her.”
“Pretty lass. It’s a bloomin’ shame, is what it is. I’ve always fancied the thought of gettin’ a peek up her skirt. If she weren’t a damned witch…” The kid broke off and shook his head heavily. Then, belatedly, a frown marred his brow and he glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he took William in. “Wait a tick. Who the hell are you?”
It was the last thing the kid would have a chance to say. In a blink, he was on the ground, his neck snapped, and his torch in William’s possession.
“Someone oughta teach youngsters not to talk to strangers,” he muttered.
He was truly fortunate people in mobs were so bloody stupid.
It made them so much easier to kill.
*~*~*
The sky was on fire.
Every muscle in her body felt too weak to be her own. Her wrists were bound behind her back and she found she was propped against a wooden pole. Straw, planks of wood, and a gathering of sticks surrounded her feet. The air was thick with the scent of smoke. She ached. She hurt. She thirst.
She was going to die.
Elizabeth’s eyes fought open.
Oh God. The sky was indeed on fire. The silhouette of night was nowhere to be found.
Her throat was a desert. Her eyes were dry. Her skin felt rubbed raw.
A memory, then. She recalled falling to the floor of the Travers cottage. She remembered seeing the broken shards of the poisoned goblet Kenneth had brewed for her. She remembered the devastation of knowledge and the fall of defeat. She’d gone to him—gone to Kenneth, but damn all if she remembered why. All she knew was it had seemed important at the time.
At the time, there had been nothing of greater importance.
I am such a fool. Elizabeth’s eyes fell shut again. She stretched her arms against her bonds to little avail. Whatever Kenneth had put in her drink had rendered her with the strength of a kitten. Every pull against the ropes left her winded—every pull turned her into a form of weak she hadn’t known possible.
She’d never been weak. Never. Not as a child, not as a young woman, and definitely not as the Slayer.
Kenneth had made her weak.
And now he was going to kill her.
William. Elizabeth’s face crumpled and her heart collapsed. Oh God. William. William hadn’t known where she’d gone. She’d left him without a word, without a note, without any indication as to her intention. Her intention which now escaped even her.
She’d left the solace of his bedside and walked willingly into a death trap.
She’d left William without knowing it was goodbye
“I’m so sorry, Will,” she whispered, tears prickling her eyes. “Forgive me.”
“We’ll talk about forgiveness later, pet,” came a voice she was at once certain she’d dreamt up. “After I’ve tanned your pretty hide.”
A gasp seized her throat and her eyes flew open just as she felt the gentle touch of her lover’s hands at her sore wrists. In less than an instant she was free—free and falling until there was nothing but William’s arms around her, the firmness of his shoulder against her cheek, his chest pressed hard against hers.
“I mean it,” he continued, pressing a fierce kiss against her brow. “You’re not gonna be able to sit on your glorious rear for weeks. An’ not for the fun reason.”
“Will…how…”
“Later, darling. Jus’ hold onto me.”
Elizabeth immediately complied. She would never again hesitate to do whatever he asked. Never.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered again. “I didn’t mean—”
“Not the time for sorries. Save ‘em for when we’re in the clear.”
He lifted her entirely into his arms the next second, and then they were moving. The flames of hell licked at her heels, but they were moving. They were moving fast through a thicket of trees. She heard screams in the distance but didn’t care to see their case.
William had come after her.
“Of course I came after you,” he said shortly, not breaking his furious stride. She supposed it was easy for him to run and admonish her simultaneously—he didn’t need oxygen to maintain speed, and her weight was of little consequence to him. “I love you, no matter how bloody stupid you get.”
“Will…”
“Don’
ever think I won’t come for you. Death couldn’t stop me.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “How? How did you get them—”
“Let’s jus’ say torch-wieldin’ villagers don’ seem to like fire so much when their houses are set with it.” William flashed her an ironic grin. “Figured those bloody bastards deserved a—”
She didn’t feel it. That was the amazing thing—she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel the crack in his pace or the rush of pain the claim should have sent her the second the arrow speared through his shoulder. All she knew was at once her lover was impaled with a thin, lethal bit of wood. It stood through layers of clothing, dampened with his blood and veiled thinly with chunks of torn flesh. An arrow. Someone had launched an arrow at her William.
“Oh God!”
“It’s nothing,” William barked, not slowing down.
But it wasn’t nothing. It was Kenneth.
He was behind them. Chasing them. As he always would be. Always. There would never be a moment’s rest.
“Will—”
“It’s
nothing.” Tears whipped down her cheeks. Say what he might, she had made him bleed. This was all her fault. All of it. He would heal but there would always be this. This knowledge that she had nearly cost them everything.
Everything. And if she lived a thousand years, Elizabeth was certain she would never forgive herself.
TBC