Gates of Rapture(9)

He was something greater, more powerful, yet more animal than he’d ever been. He hated this man-beast. He was a demonic version of the warrior he’d been and the opposite of the vampire he’d cultivated in himself for millennia. Warrior he might have been, but like Antony Medichi he considered himself a gentleman, with fairly refined tastes, a preference for an excellent port, long games of chess, and discussions of philosophy and religion.

That his centuries of service had led him here, to this beast-state, humiliated and infuriated him.

The next stage began, a vibration in his chest and throat, a new round of humiliation ready to come forth.

He chuffed. He even tried to restrain himself. But an image of Grace, folding away with Casimir and disappearing from his life all those months ago, streaked through his mind like a bolt of lightning. She was his woman, and she had left with that bastard, Casimir.

The ensuing roar came from so deep in his chest that he felt the sensation into his testicles. With his knees bent, he roared at the low basement ceiling, over and over, but this time the sound was different, full of a kind of resonance that had never been there before.

He felt as though he were calling from the distance of tens of thousands of years ago, when humans were swamp-creatures and battled in small territorial tribes. Was this what he was, a throwback to ancient times? Was this the result of the slavery to dying blood that Greaves had forced on him as a sign of his loyalty?

That he could form coherent thoughts was a complete mystery and an equal punishment, since he couldn’t always act on those thoughts. And once he was well into the process, he wouldn’t be able to fold.

His brain seemed to be split so that while he observed his conduct as if at a distance, the rest of him was locked into this barbarous state and equally barbarous feelings.

His right hand flexed, longing for his sword. He wanted to kill, but not in a general sense. His desire was more specific. He wanted to kill Casimir, to slay him for having taken his woman, having lured her with his scent and his power, having stolen her from him.

He moved in an oval in the small, dark basement. There was one ground-level window at ceiling height with steel mullions. He couldn’t fit through the window, though God knew he’d tried to escape his self-imposed prison more than once during his episodes.

The healing of all the bruises and cuts had taken a couple of days. He’d even tried to tear through the stone and mortared walls so that his fingers were bleeding and torn down to the bone.

He was a beast.

Throwing his head back, he roared long and loud, sending shudders through his house and a trembling through the earth.





The beauty of the world

Is only appreciated

With arms opened wide.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 2

The painfully slow, meditative walk to the pools took at least fifteen minutes, but just as Grace came within sight of Casimir, a terrible roar reached her ears and stopped her feet. She couldn’t move. She could hardly think.

She’d heard Leto’s roars before, even across three dimensions, but none of them had sounded like this one, like an animal with a leg caught in a trap, the metal teeth grinding against bone.

Beatrice continued on, the silk of her skirts rippling as she floated.

Grace knew Casimir needed her; she could feel his pain. But Leto’s agony had been calling to her for months. So she paused where she was, unable to make her feet move.

Another roar reached her, full of anguish, a call of the wild that drove inside her chest and pummeled her. At the same time, the resonant sounds descended into the well of all that was female until she was weak with need.

What was she to do now?

She forced her feet forward.

Oh, dearest Creator, is it truly time to say good-bye to Casimir?

A few minutes later, Grace knelt beside him.

He was so different from the vampire she had known on Second Earth.

His spiritual reformation had turned him inside out. The guilt he lived with now was beyond anything she could have foreseen. She didn’t know how he survived reliving portions of his life from the victim’s point of view, experiencing just how much pain his selfishness and abuse had caused others.

He wept now and his body shook. He stared at her, unable to move. At first she thought the tremors held him captive, but with a start she understood that invisible restraints held him in place, pinning him over his hips, his knees, and his elbows.

His gaze implored her.

When the next roar reached her from Mortal Earth, however, she threw her head back. She felt Leto’s pain this time, his need, his desperation, his call to her, soul-to-soul, breh-to-breh.

“Don’t … Grace.” Casimir’s voice was hoarse. “Wait until I’ve completed the program.”