29. THE LORD OF TORTURE

THE LORD OF TORTURE

" I don't know how familiar you are with the Middle Ages or warfare, so please stop me if this is old news." Andras finished his glass of wine and leaned over to set it on the end table before leaning back in his chair, extending his long legs and crossing them at the ankle. He rested his elbows against the arms of the chair, clasping his hands together. "In the Middle Ages, Lords had armies, and Callum was a Lord, kind of ‘The Lord' of the region–powerful, ruthless, and wealthy. He'd been in England since Roman Britain because he was incredibly old. He'd been a Roman general who'd fought the Persian empire before being stationed in England to torture and slaughter the Anglo-Saxons, which he did with absolute gusto. Being a very old vampire made him an incredibly successful soldier because he was stronger, faster, and deadlier. He quickly made a name for himself and rose to power."

A loud sigh came from the couch. "Andras, we seriously don't have all night. Can you get to it, please?" Nadia groaned.

He looked at her sidelong, then rolled his eyes. It was the most human and casual thing I'd ever seen him do, and if it weren't for the severity of the situation and the panic writhing inside of me, I might have chuckled.

"As I was saying, my entire family was killed during the sacking of our village. Almost everyone had been slaughtered; everything burned to the ground. My parents, sisters, aunts, uncles–everyone was just gone. I'd been in the hills hunting, about a day away."

Andras stared straight ahead at nothing like he'd drifted somewhere far, far, away. He inhaled shakily, and my throat tightened. I wanted to hug him, ply him with liquor–anything to comfort him–because I knew that pain, the one where someone you love is hurt, is violently taken from you. And I'd lost only my father. I couldn't imagine the horror of losing everyone, including your sisters. Oh my Gods, if I lost Jess…

My hand rose to my mouth.

"Andras, I'm so sorry," I whispered.

Andras dragged his eyes to mine. His lips tipped up slightly at the corners, and he dipped his chin subtly in a silent thank you. He stretched his neck from side to side, then dropped his hands to the sides of the armchair, wine glass in one hand, fingertips of the other brushing against the leather.

"I was only seventeen and had to learn to fight for survival," he murmured, "I got bloody good at it, so fighting for money just made sense. I had no other skills and was numb after, well, everything. By age thirty, I'd become a mercenary for hire. One night, I was drinking at a tavern with a few other men who were actively peacocking for a small table of women. I spotted a gorgeous man who appeared to be in his late twenties, standing back in the shadows, smirking at me. I'd always fancied men– women, too, and a bit more–but also men. He had elegant, crow-black hair, a sharp Roman nose, and dark eyes under thick dark eyebrows. I could tell by his clothes that he was a landowner–."

"Darling, get to the juicy bits." Nadia cut in, sitting up on the couch and crossing her legs. She fanned the air as if to tell him his time was up, then leaned forward, her eyes wide with excitement, "Andras fell for him right away, then found out he was a Lord, a big shock, and Callum was completely taken with Andras because, well, just fucking look at that face! If I weren't gay, I'd want him, too. Anyway, Callum recruited Andras to fight in one of his horrible demon armies, and Andras accepted because he was a bloody idiot. Enamored with a beast."

"You were a soldier in his army? And lovers?" I asked, amazed.

"Yes."

"And then he turned you? Or, sorry, made you?"

"Yes. But it didn't take long to see who he truly was."

"An evil, tyrannical bastard," Nadia added.

Andras shrugged. "He was. He is. Even after I figured that out, I couldn't get away because whenever I tried to end it, Callum...well, there was torture, a lot of torture. I was imprisoned for a decade or two here and there. He killed people I cared about. Once, he threatened to set fire to an orphanage if I left him, and that was one of his milder threats."

"So I stayed, where I witnessed appalling things, did nightmarish things that I'm not proud of…" Andras winced. "Then, one day, I met Nadia. Almost instantly, my life began to change for the better. I'd served Callum for so long at that point, and I completely loathed him. But I was trapped. Tethered. Nadia reminded me of who I'd been before my family…before I lost them and we became very close, albeit secret friends." Nadia and Andras exchanged an adoring look, "Then, a few years later, Callum discovered our friendship and tried to kill Nadia,"

"Tried to gut me, actually," Nadia mumbled.

"And I just snapped. I wanted him dead, wanted to get as far away from him as possible. I'd had one good thing in my life and he'd tried to take it away, and for what? I wanted to end him."

Steven and Callum were not the same, but I could understand how it felt to be mistreated for years and feel stuck. I knew how it felt to break. I could imagine the loathing and rage very well.

"We managed to, sort of, trap him in cement because beheading him hadn't worked. And that's where he's been until recently when some bloody idiots must have accidentally let him out."

My eyebrows came together, and I leaned forward in my seat.

"Trapped him?" I asked.

"Yes. Callum was Roman, so he knew how to make virtually indestructible cement with saltwater, limestone, and volcanic ash, which he used for constructing houses and things on his lands. So he might have, uhm, fallen into some uncured mud."

Nadia fell against the back of the couch, crossed her arms, and scowled, then hissed. "I didn't think he'd get out, honestly," she grumbled. " And, even if he did, I didn't think he'd be able to even function mentally, let alone track us down and nearly kill us in your house."

"Why didn't you think he'd be able to function? And who let him out?" I asked.

"Some archeology students studying Roman cement removed a chunk to take back to their lab in London and let the fucker out–to their end, sadly, because he immediately ate them. Anyhow, after spending a few hundred years starved in darkness and solitude, I assume he's lost whatever mind he had left. I should have known, though, with his cunning demon soul, it wouldn't take him that long to adjust from the shock of airplanes, cars, cell phones, and the internet."

"You said that you'd known Callum before meeting Andras?" I asked Nadia.

"I'd been made a century before Andras and spent much of my time in the area, mostly picking off the Romans for fun and sport and snacks. So I knew of him, and I knew many who knew him, and while I'm not the faintest of heart, I made sure to steer as clear of him as possible," she said.

Nadia cocked her head to the side as if she'd just thought of something, then added, " I'm a vampire. I've been one for a long time, and I have known many truly shitty people, and I have done things that are not… entirely okay. But I can say, without a doubt, that he is the worst creature I've ever encountered. He is truly evil if there is such a thing. Ruthless, murderous, vengeful, and a narcissistic psycho. Really. What did you see in him?"

Nadia turned to Andras expectantly.

"It's not like I fell for the real him, you ass," Andras grumbled. " As you expressed, he's a narcissistic psycho. I fell for a curated version of him who was lovely, sexy, and incredible in bed. By the time he could no longer keep up the ruse, by the time I realized that he'd been slowly gaining control of my life and taking me apart piece by piece, it was a bit too late. After just a decade with him, I didn't even know who I was anymore."

I didn't see it coming. I didn't even feel it coming. One moment, I sat there listening to one impossible tale after another about their lives as immortals, and the next, I was sobbing into my hands. My wails were so raw and unbridled that I barely felt a breeze as Nadia and Andras appeared next to me in a blur –thinking, I assumed, that I must be having a seizure or a stroke. Small, delicate hands rested on my knees, and a larger, stronger hand pressed against my back. I wept, pent-up sadness pouring out of me until I could function again.

"Are you alright?" Andras asked quietly. His long, strong fingers trailed up and down my spine in long, soothing lines.

A tissue tickled the back of my hand, and I reached for it, drying my eyes and cheeks. Then took deep, aching breaths, nodding slowly, still unsure if I could speak without re-opening the floodgates.

"I–I am not alright," I said. Then I burst out laughing, cackling hysterically as I covered my face again and felt my brain push against my skull. When it stopped, I leaned back in my chair, clutching my shirt in my hand.

"I'm clearly losing it," I whispered. "I'm just going through a lot right now, the divorce, general overwhelm, the Roman sadist who could kill me or hurt my kids…" I trailed off. "And your story, everything from losing your family–which I can relate to on a smaller scale–and your relationship with him, where you lost yourself…I just feel all of that so much. I feel it all in my bones, and I've experienced a version of it that has utterly wrecked me."

Andras' hand froze on my back, and he went completely still. His eyes turned black, and then the inky blackness receded like it had never been there.

"I'm so sorry. I very much want to kill your ex-husband. Slowly. After we've dealt with Callum."

I rolled my eyes. "You're unhinged," I joked.

"That's a new one!" Nadia said. "I've never heard anyone call someone unhinged before. I always love my trips to the U.S. for the vocabulary alone."

My lips pulled up at the corners, and she grinned back, her eyes dancing with something I couldn't pin down. It was as if she were full of joy, delight, empathy, and a small, hidden pain.

"I'm going to make some tea," Andras announced.

He rose from his knees in one elegant motion before wandering down the hall to the kitchen. Nadia then sauntered to the couch, smoothly and deliberately, like her movements were a dance. She pulled a knitted throw onto her lap, snuggled under it, and then nodded toward the blanket. Smiling faintly, I shook my head "no" before turning back to the fire.

Not long after, a warm mug of tea found its way between my cold hands, providing a welcome piece of normality and comfort. Until I remembered how it had felt to look into Callum's cold eyes while my fingers thrummed with pain. Wincing, I pushed the memory away to focus on the smell of the chamomile, the delicate floral taste on my tongue.

The three of us sat in silence by the fire as the night crept on. A yawn escaped me, and Andras turned, examining my face. "You should sleep if you can," he encouraged, rising and extending his hand towards mine. I took it.

"Come," he said, turning to lead me down the hall to a small bedroom with a king-sized oak bed. The cream and green comforter was inviting and cozy. Freshly fluffed pillows were stacked high at the head of the bed, guarded by an embroidered throw pillow that commanded us to "Rest Well." I didn't think it would be possible for me to sleep knowing that Callum was out there somewhere. Just the thought of him set my body on fire with the need to fight, to run. Andras must have sensed my anxiety or heard my heart because I felt his large hand on my back again.

"I got you into this, and I swear on my life that I will fix it. I will kill him, and no harm will come to you or your family." He paused before going on, "I know words are pointless, especially when it comes to something like this, but I promise I will make it right."

I turned to look up at him, and his hand fell away from my back. His eyebrows came together almost as if he were in pain, and those shocking blue eyes glistened.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly, my heart breaking for him just a little.

"I cannot let you lose your family," he whispered.

Andras closed his eyes for a heartbeat and shook his head. So much pain. His life had been long but full of pain: loss, torment, entrapment, anguish, and guilt. I could see it all flashing across his face as his mind wandered from one terrible memory to the next.

"Hey," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "I wasn't just trying to be nice before. I don't blame you for any of this. I am angry and terrified, but I don't blame you."

He took a deep breath. Almost instantly, he stood taller. He rolled his shoulders back, and his face became warm and calm.

"This is not about me," he said. Then his lips pulled up at the corners. "I will be okay. I've been dealing with all of this for a long time, and I've grown incredibly good at compartmentalizing trauma. Plus, I have all of eternity to sort it out. So, truly, let's focus on you. What can I do to be here for you? What do you need?" I couldn't tell him how much I appreciated his words. It had been a long time since a man implied that my needs might be important in some way, and maybe even occasionally a priority. I wanted to punch Steven in the face. I wanted to hold my babies. I wanted Callum to die. And I wanted to reach out, grasp Andras by the shoulders, and tug him into a hug.

"Do you have a weapon I can keep by the bed?" I asked. "I know it's useless because I'm not practically a god, and he is, but it would make me feel a little less helpless. Sometimes, when Steven travels, I keep a knife under the bed where the girls can't find it."

Andras raised his eyebrows.

"Absolutely."

He left the room and returned just as I'd finished changing into sleep shorts and a tank top.

"Here. Will this work?" he asked.

Andras stopped short when he saw me. His gaze raked over me from head to toe so slowly that I nearly blushed. His jaw ticked. Heat flashed across his face; then it was gone. Gently, he pushed the iron poker handle into my hand. I extended my arm out like I was holding a sword, aiming it at the wall behind us. I pointed my front foot forward and turned my back foot to a ninety-degree angle, then lunged forward. Andras grinned.

"Fencing?" he asked.

"My parents insisted I did it for almost a decade growing up, hoping it would get me into an Ivy League school."

"And did it?"

"Yes. But I chose not to go. That was a scandal."

He tilted his head to the side, raising one eyebrow.

"Why didn't you go?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little to get back at my mom because that was all that she cared about. Our relationship was about her teaching us how to be better than everyone else every second of every day. I was tired of the pressure, the competition, and the bullshit. I still went to a good college, but not the one my mom or dad had picked for me. Plus, I didn't want to be that far from Jess after my dad died. So we chose colleges that were a quick trip from each other. Jess went to Stanford, and I went to Whitman College, a small liberal arts school in Washington."

I brought my hand to my mouth and yawned again. I didn't want to be tired, but every time my nerves eased a little, the exhaustion swept in and tried to take me.

Andras leaned down so that his face was only a few inches from mine. He smiled and whispered, "Let's go to bed."

I frowned. Let's? As in, both of us go to bed together? Andras immediately noticed my shock and confusion, threw his head back, and chuckled warmly. It was a sensual, smooth laugh.

"Is the idea of sleeping next to me that appalling?"

"Of course it isn't," I shot him a look, "but given the circumstances..."

Andras paused for a heartbeat as his smile faded, his face relaxing into something more focused and predatory. He gazed at me with his bedroom eyes and took a step, closing the space between us.

Towering above me, he drawled,

"I'd love to slip that sweater off of you and pull down your pants to touch you, taste you, and press my body against yours and into yours," he smiled. His warm breath tickled my forehead. "But I would never use a situation like this as an opportunity to do any of that. Unless, of course, you asked me to."

I gaped up at him, surprised.

"We need to share a room," he continued, "because if Callum comes tonight, he could kill you faster than I'd reach you, even in the next room."

I nodded that I understood, then silently walked around the bed to rest the poker against the wall where I could reach it. I pulled back the quilts and slid silently between the soft flannel sheets.

"May I?" Andras asked, gesturing to the light switch.

"Yes."

The room went black except for the moonlight glowing around the edges of the heavy forest-green curtains. I couldn't make out the furniture in the room, but I knew that Andras could see perfectly. Their kind was made for the night, even if they could walk outside during the day. The quilt tugged gently on the other side of the bed, and then the mattress sunk with his weight.

"Goodnight," I said.

I turned my back to him and tried with everything in my power to focus on my breathing so that I could find sleep. It was difficult to battle the intrusive thoughts and images, a slideshow of despair and suffering. It wasn't easy to know that Andras lay just a few feet from me, and I couldn't stop thinking about how good it would feel to touch that perfect skin, to run my hand down the defined muscles of his abdomen. The more my brain filled with a circus of terror, the more I needed a distraction.

"Andras?" I whispered in the dark, into the silence.