Part V (Warning: All that glitters isn't gold & all that is gold does not glitter {in other words people can deceive themselves and when that lie masquerades as love be warned})
He didn’t hear a sound from the tomb for the two hours. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had.
The guardians slowly disappeared into the nighttime forest. He walked quickly to the stone lid, and slid his fingers underneath. Then, he flung it off, sending it spiraling into the nearest tree with a thunderous noise, but the granite didn’t crack.
He looked down. The noise hadn’t woken her. Reilly lay curled up like a little baby, her hair matted by her own vomit and blood. The stink scorched his nose. He leapt down to her, cradled her in his arms, and quickly leapt back out. He crunched the chains on her wrists and ankles and threw them away. She was still out of it. He started to run back through the Devine Woods, the moon reflecting off his cat-like eyes. His foot never slipped, and he never stumbled.
In only twenty-three minutes he covered the twenty-seven miles to the mansion, the newest home of the founders of the town of Breton. The door stood open. He didn’t pause, but in fluid motion he flew up of the stairs. He set her on the black velvet sofa, like she was made of crystal. Her eyes moved under her lids, her brow furrowed. She was in a nightmare. He knew he could save her. He wanted to. But something invisible and inscrutable froze him. She couldn’t go through all that without any joy coming out of it.
The soft shift of fabric made him look up.
Verity stood in the door frame, her youthful face lit like an angel by the candle in her hand. Her eyes glowed with an internal light.
“You have to do it, Caedmon,” she spoke, “Save her.”
He looked down. Reilly’s blood reflected the candlelight eerily against the black fabric. He felt desire flood him. The pure desire of love. He must be with her, know her soul like no one else. He reached out and brushed her hair from her forehead, a slight tremble in his fingers. He touched each of her eyes with his middle finger. They opened slowly. He knelt by the couch, putting his hands on her shoulders. He saw fear in her eyes, a little girl afraid of the dark.
“Do you want to live, beloved?” he said, his words soaked in unadulterated love.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His right arm slipped under her back cradling her to him. His left hand moved her hair off her neck. He kissed her a few inches below her jaw. Then, he bit deep.
Her blood filled his mouth like ambrosia, juicy as a steak. With more than a little effort, he removed his mouth and bit into his own lower lip. He sank his teeth into her one more time. Their blood mingled, and he groaned with pleasure. She would be his bride and his daughter of sorts. Neither would ever be alone again. He stopped, this time with ease, and leaned back. He reached into his pocket and brought out a red choker that he fastened around her neck, over the bite.
“She needs a new name to wake up to,” Verity said. He had thought she had left and felt anger flicker in his chest like a lighter at her invasion of privacy. But with a thought he extinguished it. Reilly would be her sister. She had a some right to see her resurrection.
“Yes,” he answered. Verity tilted her head.
“Her name is Lenora.”
Verity smiled.
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