Deathless Page 5

  “Sit down, please,” Balin said. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Mead?”

  Leesa remembered how good Balin’s mead tasted, but the stuff was really strong, so she opted for water. Besides, Balin got his water from a natural spring out back and it was pretty tasty in its own right. Rave also asked for water, so Balin crossed to the table and poured two pewter mugs of water from a big ceramic jug.

  While Balin was getting their water, Leesa pulled off her hat and gloves and shoved them into the pockets of her parka, then peeled off her jacket and handed it to Rave, who hung it on a wooden peg in the wall by the door. She settled into one of the chairs in front of the fire. This close to the flames, the smell of Balin’s stew was even more delicious.

  Balin handed a mug of water to Leesa and one to Rave. Rave took the chair on her left, and Balin sat down to her right. With the fire in front of her and a volkaane on either side, Leesa could not imagine any better place to be on a cold winter evening. And what would be coming soon would warm her up even better—and she wasn’t thinking about the stew….

  7. A CLOSE CALL

  “So, what would you two like to do first?” Balin asked. “Do you want some dinner, or would you rather get right to Rave’s practice with Rammugul?”

  Rammugul was an almost forgotten volkaane technique for temporarily extinguishing their inner fire. Balin had seen it used once when he was much younger to save the life of a pregnant volkaane when something had gone awry during childbirth . When Leesa and Rave had come to him and asked if there was some way they could safely kiss, Balin had remembered the incident. He had searched through old volkaane lore until he discovered instructions on the technique. With Balin’s help, Rave had been practicing Rammugul for more than a month now.

  Balin insisted they go very slowly and very carefully, because although the mother had managed to extinguish her fire and save her baby, she had never been able to bring her fire back. Because of that, Rammugul had not been practiced in the Maston clan since. Rave said he was willing to risk losing his fire for Leesa, but there was no way she would let him even consider it. The inner fire was the essence of a volkaane—she was adamant he do nothing to endanger it. So Rave and Balin had been working long and hard on Rave’s control over his heat, but so far, Balin had not let Rave get even close to dousing his fire completely.

  With the control Rave had already learned, he and Leesa were able to kiss briefly, but only under Balin’s watchful eye. The old volkaane could sense even the minutest changes in Rave’s heat. If Rave showed the slightest sign of extinguishing his fire, or worse, losing control and putting Leesa in danger, Balin would pull them apart. So far, their longest kiss had been almost fifteen seconds—fifteen amazing seconds that seemed like long, delicious hours to Leesa.

  “I’m pretty hungry,” Leesa said. “But I vote for Rammugul.”

  Rave grinned. “Now why does that not surprise me?” he said jokingly.

  “Ha! You like it as much as I do, Rave,” Leesa said, smiling.

  Rave’s grin widened. “That I do,” he said. “That I do.”

  “Well, I guess that settles it, then,” Balin said. “Let us get to it. Stand up, young Rave.”

  Rave and Balin both stood up. Leesa remained seated, watching.

  “Away from the fire,” Balin instructed Rave. “I need to be able to sense your heat without any interference.”

  Rave took a couple of steps away from the fireplace, until he was near the edge of the straw-filled sleeping mat on the floor. Balin followed behind him.

  “Close your eyes, young Rave. Begin the breathing.”

  Balin placed his fingers lightly on Rave’s cheek. Leesa watched as Rave began a series of long, slow breaths through his nose. With each breath, the inhale and exhale grew slightly longer. When each seemed to Leesa to last an impossibly long time, Rave began to shorten his breaths, just as gradually as he had lengthened them.

  The breathing exercise lasted for several minutes. Finally, Balin removed his fingers from Rave’s cheek. He motioned for Leesa to join them.

  “Very good, young Rave,” Balin said. “Very good indeed. Open your eyes.”

  Rave opened his eyes. “This is the part of practice I like the best,” he said as Leesa moved close in front of him.

  Leesa’s heart fluttered as Rave laid his hands softly on her shoulders and leaned his head toward her, his beautiful eyes locked onto hers. She could smell his warm breath as his mouth inched closer. Just before their lips met, she closed her eyes and parted her lips.

  He kissed her gently, in no hurry now with Balin watching, keeping them safe. The tips of their tongues met, and Leesa felt the familiar heat surge through her. His tongue began to dance inside her mouth, and she let hers dance with it as the heat spread, filling every inch of her body. She was floating, flying, falling, spinning, tumbling, twirling. She felt like a thousand tiny mouths were kissing every inch of her body, like her skin was wrapped in the most delicious chocolate and every pore could taste it.

  The heat continued to grow, beyond anything she had felt in any of their previous kisses, threatening to consume her. Her last thought before she lost all ability to think was there could no way back from this—but why would anyone want to come back from something so wonderful? She willingly gave herself to Rave’s heat as it began to devour her.

  Suddenly, the heat diminished as Balin yanked Rave away from Leesa. She thought she heard Balin yell Rave’s name, but the sound seemed to issue from somewhere far away, like she was standing at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

  The strength seemed to drain from her body. She sagged to her knees, as if her legs had suddenly melted from Rave’s heat. Her whole body felt hot, feverish. She struggled to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt like they were fashioned of stone. Finally, she managed to force them open. She looked up. Through a fog, she could see Balin shaking Rave gently by the shoulders and repeating his name over and over, softer now, no longer yelling. Leesa could not be sure, but she thought Rave’s eyes looked glassy. She tried to stand, but her legs betrayed her and she fell back to her knees.

  The life reappeared in Rave’s eyes, as if a light had suddenly been turned on.

  “What happened?” he asked Balin, shaking his head to try to clear his mind. His gaze alighted on Leesa.

  “Oh, no,” he moaned, dropping to one knee beside her and wrapping his arm around her back. “Are you all right?”

  The pain on Rave’s face pierced Leesa like a knife. She forced herself to smile.

  “Yeah. I think so. I’m just having a little trouble standing, that’s all. That was quite a kiss.”

  Rave lifted her effortlessly to her feet and guided her to one of the chairs. Balin handed her a glass of water. She gulped greedily of the cool liquid. Rave sat beside her and draped his arm around her shoulders and held her close.

  “What happened?” Rave asked Balin again.

  “I was going to ask you the same question. You were doing fine, and then your fire suddenly exploded. I barely got you two apart in time.”

  Rave pulled his arm from around Leesa’s shoulders and leaned away from her, aghast at what he had almost done. Leesa grabbed his hand.

  “I’m fine, Rave,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Really. I’m fine.”

  Rave stood up, gently disengaging his hand from Leesa’s. He paced a few steps away, then turned back, his face still a mask of anguish.

  “I do not understand it. Everything was working. I felt like I was in total control, and then… I don’t know. Suddenly, my mind went blank.”

  “You lost control, young Rave,” Balin said. “I do not know why, but I felt it the instant it happened.”

  Rave looked at Leesa. “I could have killed you,” he said. “I almost did.”

  Leesa could not bear the look of guilt and anguish on Rave’s face. She tried to lighten the mood.

  “It felt really good, Rave,” she said, smiling. “Really, really, really good. If that’s how it feel
s to a vampire when you take it, I’m surprised they’re not lined up, waiting their turn.”

  Rave smiled back at her, but it was a half-hearted effort, she could see.

  “It’s okay, Rave,” she said. “I’m tougher than you think.”

  Balin sat down beside her and studied her closely.

  “I thought I might be too late,” he said. “But you do look fine. I think perhaps you are stronger than either of us thought.”

  “That does not change what happened,” Rave said. “I nearly killed her. We have to figure out why.”

  Balin stood up. “Your control has been excellent up to now, young Rave. I am afraid this may be an effect of Destiratu. It’s growing stronger by the day. The solstice is but a few weeks away, and I fear its arrival is magnifying the magic. We need to let the Council of Elders know about this—sooner rather than later.”

  Balin put his hand on Rave’s forehead, checking his heat. “Trying to practice precision control at a time when the magical energies are heightening our hungers was unwise. I should have known better—I have felt the forces beginning to pull at me. Rammugul and Destiratu do not seem to be a good mix. At least not for this.”

  Disappointment welled up in Leesa. If what Balin said was true, then Rammugul was useless. This was the end of any kissing for her and Rave, at least while this stupid Destiratu thing was around. She could not bear the thought of not being able to kiss him, not after all the tastes she’d had of it. She wondered how long the phenomenon usually lasted.

  “You’re right,” Rave said to Balin. “I cannot risk this happening again. No more Rammugul for me. Not now.”

  Balin laid a hand on Rave’s shoulder. “Not so fast, young Rave. I said using Rammugul for kissing was too dangerous during Destiratu. But I do not think you should give up on your practice of the technique itself. Indeed, practicing under these conditions may increase your control in the long run.”

  Balin winked at Leesa. “And when Destiratu ends, young Rave, as it one day must, perhaps you will have mastered Rammugul enough to kiss this beautiful young lady to your heart’s content.”

  Leesa smiled. That was the best thing she had heard all day.

  8. WALKING DEAD

  A few nights later, Leesa lay awake in the darkness. The glowing blue numbers on her digital clock told her it was 3:42am. The soft blue glow reminded her of Rave’s fingertips when he let his fire show. The thought of Rave was comforting, but she could still feel her heart beating in her chest, faster than normal for someone who had just been sleeping. She did not want to be awake, didn’t need to be awake, but something had dragged her from her sleep. She had no idea what it might have been.

  Lying on her back, she looked and listened, straining to penetrate the darkness for any sign something was amiss, but found nothing. Her room was certainly dark enough to invite sleep. Thin starlight outlined her windows and leaked into the room, not bright enough to show more than the barest outlines of her furniture. The night was peacefully quiet—she had seen movies where a nervous character would say it was too quiet, right before disaster struck—but such scenes always took place during the day or earlier in the evening, never at this hour. Such silence was normal for this time of night. Nor could it be the temperature affecting her sleep. It might be freezing outside, but she was comfortably warm under her down comforter and electric blanket. No, everything was fine. She could find no good reason not to be soundly sleeping.

  So why was she lying here awake in the middle of the night? More importantly, why was her heart racing?

  She wondered if she had been dreaming, if perhaps a nightmare of some kind had snatched her from the arms of sleep. A bad dream would account for her elevated heart rate. But if that were true, she could not recall what is was.

  This was not the first night she had found herself lying awake. Her sleep had been increasingly restless for some time now, but she did not know why. Rave losing control of his fire could not be it—that had happened only a few days ago. Nor could it be the phone call from the man who claimed to be her father. Her trouble sleeping predated that as well. She wondered if it had anything to do with Stefan’s bite. He had withdrawn his fangs at the first taste of her grafhym-tainted blood, but maybe a bit of his vampire essence had seeped into her, causing a part of her to want to roam the darkness, rather than sleeping soundly through the night.

  The idea seemed far-fetched, but was it any more unbelievable than being bitten by a vampire in the first place? She could ask Rave about it, maybe he would have some idea whether it could be true. And maybe she could ask Dr. Clerval, her Vampire Science professor. He knew more about vampires than any human she knew. It had been Professor Clerval who had come up with the way to cure her mother, and who had driven her to her meeting with Stefan the night she’d gone to him to fulfill her bargain. If she ever saw Stefan again, she could ask him, too. Who would know more about this than a vampire?

  The tossing and turning was a self-perpetuating thing, she knew. Something woke her up, and then she fretted about what it might have been, which kept her from falling back asleep. It was a vicious cycle. Not being able to sleep might be a blessing in disguise next week, when she’d be studying for finals, but not now. She needed to shut off her thoughts.

  Bradley had taught her a breathing technique to help her sleep when she was younger and troubled by her mother’s increasingly strange behavior. Rave used a similar breathing thing to learn to control his fire. She didn’t know if it would work here, but she had nothing to lose.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose, holding the breath for just a moment before slowly exhaling. She counted each breath on the exhale, starting with one hundred and counting backwards. Ninety-nine…ninety-eight…ninety-seven…. She remembered getting to seventy-three, but no further. By then, sleep had claimed her again.

  She was walking through a patch of unfamiliar woods. The night was dark, with a quarter moon providing barely enough pale illumination to see where she was stepping. Dead leaves crackled under her feet, but with less noise than she expected, especially given the silence of the night. The twisted black limbs of the leafless trees seemed to be reaching for her, but whenever she looked directly at any of them, she saw only stillness.

  The air was cold against her cheeks, but not uncomfortably so. She was in no hurry; nor was she sneaking through the woods. Her pace was normal walking speed. She had no sense of where she was heading in this unknown place, but for some reason, the lack of a specific destination did not bother her. Up ahead, the remains of one of the old stone walls so common to New England snaked through the trees. As she drew nearer, she saw the wall bordered an old cemetery overgrown with tall, stringy weeds. Crumbling gray headstones stood sentinel above the graves, which were scattered throughout the yard in no apparent pattern, the way they often were in old graveyards.

  Something told her to stop here. Whether it was a warning to stay out of this ancient graveyard or a sense that she should wait and watch, she did not know. She found a flat rock atop one of the taller remaining sections of wall and sat down, facing inside the cemetery. Her feet dangled inches above the packed dirt below the wall. She wondered idly why the weeds did not grow right up to the stones.

  After a few minutes, she became aware of a faint sound breaking the silence. She realized it was the first noise of any kind she’d heard since she stopped walking. The sound was difficult to describe, a kind of rustling, or scratching. Not the rustling of leaves in the wind—the branches were barren of leaves and there was no hint of a breeze. Nor was it the sound of footsteps. She strained to see through the darkness, trying to find a source for the noise, but saw nothing.

  Slowly, the sounds grew louder. They definitely emanated from somewhere in front of her—within the cemetery, she was certain—but still she saw nothing. Even so, she was not alarmed. She simply sat and watched, waiting.

  At last, the sounds became loud and clear enough for her to recognize. They were the sounds
of digging. Something or someone was scraping and digging at the ground in front of her. It was unmistakable. There was just one problem, though—the graveyard was empty!

  She had a brief thought that perhaps whoever was digging might somehow be invisible to her, but even that failed to explain what she heard. Not only was she alone—but there were no holes appearing anywhere in the ground. Still, the digging persisted, growing louder by the moment. She was certain now the sounds came from more than one spot in the cemetery.

  Finally, a tiny movement off to her right caught her eye, but by the time she turned toward it, she saw nothing. If only it were not quite so dark. She kept her eyes fastened on the spot. A few moments later, she saw it. A tiny bit of soil popped a few inches up from the ground, like a miniature geyser of dirt. She smiled. No one was digging atop the ground—the digging was happening beneath the surface. She wondered if it could be gophers. But how was it she could hear gophers burrowing inside the earth?

  She continued watching. More earth pushed upward, in several scattered places now. She kept her gaze fixed on the largest of the growing piles of dirt. There! She was certain she saw something push up above the surface. She squinted, trying to see more clearly, and gasped. This most certainly was not a gopher, nor any other burrowing animal. Reaching up out of the earth was the unmistakable shape of a human hand!