Part 5 (1/2)

This man had burned Alys.

She had been found feeding from one of the men in the tribe. Some sort of trap had been laid just for her after she had been seen by one too many people.

”How could you have kept coming back to the same place, Alys?” Malachi whispered, his voice husky and rough from the grief he held inside.

They had trapped her in one of the homes and burned it to the very ground. Her ashes were mixed with the rubble of the home, and that was all he had left to whisper his good-byes.

And that was not the only thing that had burnt this night. He had seen the smoke drifting from the mountainside. About half way up that mountain had been where he and Alys had lived and he knew the smoke he had seen was coming from their cave.

The old priest was still staring at him, his eyes wide with fear, but he was unable to scream.

Malachi had taken care of that. This man would speak to no one of Mal's visit-he would not even remember it come morning. But Alys' death would not be forgotten, not by this man.

”Did you hear her screams?” Malachi asked gruffly. The priest just laid there, his eyes nearly black with terror.

”Answer me. Did you hear her screams?” This time, he released a bit of the control he held over the man's movement and watched as the man nodded.

A sad smile crooked Mal's lips and he replied, ”Good. It was an innocent woman you burned. No threat to anyone.” Alys, bless her gentle heart, had not ever hurt a soul out of malice, or even hunger. And Malachi knew firsthand how pleasurable her bite was. ”Whatever you think she was, you are wrong. She was no threat. Now, I, on the other hand...”

He reached down and closed a hand over the old man's feeble throat and squeezed, letting the priest feel the strength there. At the same time, he flashed his fangs. ”I am the one you should have tried to slaughter. But since you did not, I will make you pay.”

The scent of urine grew strong on the air and Malachi curled his lip in disgust. He knew what the man was thinking, could even hear the disjointed thoughts. It was not a pleasant thing, but he could not turn it off, the cacophony of thoughts he picked up from others.

”Calm yourself, old man. I will not kill you.”

In good conscience, Malachi could not. Simply by feeling the thoughts of this old man, he knew the man had acted out of a need to protect his people. That was something Malachi could almost admire-if it had not cost him Alys, he would have even respected the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d for it. It had taken bravery for him to confront the demon that had been preying on his people-or what he thought was a demon.

No. Malachi could not kill him. The empty years of his life sprawled out in front of him and he wanted no more deaths haunting him while he slept.

But he did have to pay.

”You will hear those screams, old man, every time you close your eyes. And when you hear them, know this-she was harmless. It was like killing a lamb for fear the lamb would kill your shepherd,” Malachi said as he pushed deep inside the man's mind, seeking out the place where thoughts lay hidden until sleep.

As the man slept, those thoughts would creep out to haunt him. He would know little peace, for what little time was left him.

And it was not much. Malachi could smell the death on him. His time was nearing.

It would come soon and then the old priest could greet whatever fate lay in store for him once he pa.s.sed out of this world.

If the man Malachi had heard about all those years ago was truly a Messiah, then this priest would find a fitting judgment waiting him.

No G.o.d would smile upon the murder of a harmless woman.

Grief had him roaming restlessly through the woods for the rest of the night.

He had failed Alys.

Over the years, Malachi had come to accept he had a responsibility to Alys.

To care for her, to watch over her. As sweet and gentle as Alys had been, she had not always displayed a great amount of intelligence. She should have known better than to keep returning to the same place to feed, time after time.

”I should have watched you better. Should have protected you.”

Bitter guilt choked him and he wanted to rage as his memory taunted him with the flas.h.i.+ng echoes of pain he had picked up from her. But he did nothing to try and block the memories. Was little enough punishment for his failure.

Dawn was coming as he perched on an outcropping of rocks over the river. He stared into the rus.h.i.+ng white-capped waters broodingly, barely aware of the lightening skies.

It wasn't until he felt his skin itching that he grew aware of how light it had become around him. Malachi lifted his face and found himself staring at the warm golden rays of the sun for the first time in decades.

He had nearly forgotten how pure the light of the sun was. How warm it felt.

The longer he stared at it, the more his skin itched. Some instinctive part of him wanted to cringe away from it, wanted to run. Alys had told him what would happen under the light of the sun.

Skin would begin to burn, and then blacken. Fire would erupt as though something from within had exploded. There would be pain as it charred his flesh from his bones.

And Malachi waited for it. Even welcomed it.

Alys had burned for his failures. Seemed only fitting that he burn as well.

But the only thing he felt was that mild itching. As the sun rose ever higher, his skin blushed a fair pink, but it did not redden with burns, did not blacken, and there was no true pain.

Rising, Malachi stood on the rock and glared into the fiery golden glory of the sun. Snarling, he leaped from the rock and began to pace. ”Can not even death come to me easily?” he demanded.

But there was no answer. Just the distant sound the animals made in the woods and the rus.h.i.+ng of the river.

Despair hung around him, weighing him down, as he finally turned away from the sun's light and walked into the sheltering dark of the forest.

His simple home was gone. The priest had sent men to smoke it out and to watch and wait in case any more monsters lingered. Malachi could have dealt with them. But he wanted no more blood on his hands.

And living in the cave he had shared with Alys did not appeal to him.

But he found he could not sleep in the open. Even though it seemed the sun was little threat to him, he could not rest so exposed. He took his rest in an empty den, his arms wrapped around his chilled body.

It was a cold, miserable way to sleep.

When sleep came, he was prepared for the dreams. Dreams in which he would hear Alys'

screams while his imagination painted him a picture to go along with those horrible, pain-filled screams.

But he did not dream of Alys.

His dream lady came to him, and her voice was quiet and husky with tears. I am sorry, she told him, keeping her distance. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood facing away from him.

This is my fault.