Part 13 (2/2)

Victor c.o.c.ked his head to one side and motioned to Ryan. Ryan stepped back, disappearing into the shadows. It was another skill Victor had taught her, one she was quick to perfect.

The knock came at the door and Victor took his seat.

”Enter.”

The messenger came through the great doors, followed by two of the castle guards. The messenger bowed low as the guards took their posts close by, eager to protect their master.

The great Lord needed little if any protection, the messenger thought to himself. He fought to still his trembling.

Even as a child he had heard stories of the great Lord of the east, a man from a line of warriors so powerful that no King dared conscript them and no Prince dared demand tribute. The King had never asked for this man's help, but his father had.

The messenger stood. ”Your skill in battle is well-known, my lord, and your family is legendary. His royal majesty, Henry the V requests your allegiance.”

The messenger leaned forward to hand Victor the parchment. Victor examined the doc.u.ment and the seal. He appeared unimpressed, both by the letter and the man's announcement.

He rolled the parchment and returned it to the man. ”My skill is not known to this King. I have never stood at his side.”

The messenger nodded. ”This is true, my lord. But your father fought for Edward, the Black Prince, as did your father's father. Henry knows your family, and feels you can help him gain his land back from the French.”

Victor laughed mockingly. ”I am but one man. I have no armies, no foot soldiers. I have nothing to offer the King but my sword.”

The messenger bowed his head once more. ”That is all he requests, my lord.”

Victor pondered the man's words. He had foreseen such a request. Each King had approached him over the years, all drawn by the legend of his family's prowess in battle. He had been careful that none should see him in their old age, and each new King thought he was his father's son, asking him to stand by England's side.

He had no wish to fight for this King's cause, nor any man's. But he had learned over time that denying a King's request was more trouble than it was worth. He did not fear the King, but had found it fruitful to respond to the throne's wishes. It generally brought him much reward, and enough respect and fear that he and his own were left alone in his remote lands.

Victor glanced down at the still-bowing man. And of course, he thought to himself, he did so ever love a good battle.

”You tell your King I will be in Agincourt before the new moon.”

The messenger stood, surprised that his lords.h.i.+p knew of the King's location. It had been an unplanned destination as Henry had intended to march to Calais, but had been thwarted by the flooded Somme. This man somehow already knew where the King was headed. It was enough he said he would be there.

”Thank you my lord, and G.o.dspeed.”

The messenger and two guards exited as Victor sat thoughtfully on his dais. Ryan moved from the shadows to his side. She waited expectantly for him to say something, and when he did not, she drew a dagger and began sharpening the edge with a flint. The silence became too great for her and at last she spoke.

”You will, of course, take me.”

Victor looked at her with a raised eyebrow. ”Right now, my dear? You are so demanding.”

Ryan's brow furrowed in anger, and with a flick of her wrist she sent the dagger sailing towards his throat. His hand moved too fast for even her eyes to see and he plucked the knife from the air.

Ryan stamped her foot. ”I meant *take me with you.' And if you do not, you will not be *taking me' any time soon, either.”

”Oh really,” Victor said, fingering the blade, ”as if you had any say in that.”

As he finished his last word, his wrist flicked and the dagger flew back towards its owner, swifter and as true as she had thrown it. She cried out in pain as the knife impaled her just below her collarbone. She gazed down at the hilt of the dagger, her eyes burning with anger.

Victor was immediately mesmerized by the blood that began pouring from the wound, staining the white s.h.i.+rt. Once again he had underestimated the effect she had on him. He had to forcibly restrain himself from leaping from his chair.

”Come here,” he commanded through clenched teeth.

Ryan gazed down at the blood on her hands and at the growing crimson stain on her s.h.i.+rt. She looked up at him defiantly. ”I will not.”

Victor felt his hunger as if it were a thing alive. He could not take his eyes from the scarlet stain. There was a growing hoa.r.s.eness in his voice.

”If the distance between you and I is too great even at this moment, what makes you think I could travel further without you?” Victor dragged his eyes from the blood to stare into her own. His words were evenly s.p.a.ced and brooked no further disobedience. ”Now, come here!”

Ryan moved toward him, knowing she could not further defy him. But she lingered, still angry, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed her from her feet, dragging her to the chair with him. She was seated on his lap, facing him and he yanked the dagger from her chest. He buried his face in her b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt and covered the wound with his mouth.

The pain from the wound was intense, but the pleasure from Victor's feeding was more so. As soon as her blood began to pulse through his veins, she began to see the visions.

She had seen them before when they had Shared, and each time they became clearer. She saw them vaguely when Victor fed upon her, more clearly when she fed upon him, and most clearly when they Shared together. She did not understand what she was seeing, nor did she have any control over the apparitions. The pictures came to her as dreams.

She could feel Victor's pleasure intensify as he was reaching satiety, and was so attuned to him she did not hesitate when he pulled away and leaned back, opening his throat to her. Ryan leaned forward, allowing her razor sharp teeth to whisper over the skin on his neck. Blood began pulsing into her mouth, giving Victor's engorged veins the release they needed and feeding her hunger.

The visions became startlingly clear and she nearly pulled away from him in her dismay. He had antic.i.p.ated her reaction and held her close, forcing her to continue.

Ryan saw a young peasant boy, fair-haired and fair-skinned. She saw her mother standing by the boy, and then her father pounding away at an anvil. They looked as they had decades before, long even before they had been killed in Derek's raid.

The vision changed and now she was chasing someone through the forest. It appeared to be an older boy, but still a child. The boy was agile but she was catching him easily. She leapt upon him, dragging him to her.

In shock, Ryan pulled away from Victor and the vision slipped away from her. She stared at her mentor in horror and dawning understanding.

”That was me, wasn't it?”

Victor stared at the youngster on his lap. She was nearing her eighth decade, but to him she was still a child. He wiped the blood from his mouth.

”Yes,” he said calmly, ”that was you.”

Ryan still did not completely understand. ”How could I see myself,” she stopped, struggling for words, ”in that way?”

Victor readjusted her weight, sitting up slightly. ”Because you are looking through my eyes.”

Ryan now pulled completely away from him, standing up. Victor let her go.

She stared at the man in front of her, a man who knew everything about her, but who suddenly seemed a stranger to her.

”You fed on me when I was a child.”

Victor nodded, unperturbed. ”I Shared with you when you were an infant, and then again as a young child. I gave you my blood when you were still human.”

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