Page 57 of The Curse of Eternity
Harsh wind raked over the surrounding forest, hitting my face with the force of a smack. Leaves rustled, branches shook and the hornbeam’s trunk swayed. I clung harder to Drake, who positioned himself between me and the howling wind. Rain pelted down, spraying my hands and face like icicle pellets. Dense clouds overhead hid the phase of the moon, and concealed the stars beyond.
“We must descend,” Drake whispered, his mouth close to my ear. “Are you capable?”
After what I’d just gone through in the Summerland, I wasn’t sure, but I nodded. I glanced down at the ground far below, where the base of the trunk grew out of the sloping hillside at an angle. Swallowing hard, I reached for the nearest branch with slippery fingers. The coarse wood scraped against the inside of my palm, and I gritted my teeth.
Then Drake’s hand in mine fell away, shifting to press against my back while he descended faster than I dared. I climbed down, one slow reach at a time. My boot dangled, searching for the next notch, and then Drake directed my ankle where to go.
It was almost embarrassing to need help down a tree, but between the rain and wind blurring my vision, and the rising haze of darkness from the surrounding forest’s dense foliage, I took all the help I could get. The squish of my boots hitting the soft earth seemed loud as I scanned the clustered treeline.
Above, the canopy of branches obscured any chances of fleeting moonlight. I startled when Drake fitted his hand against mine, but my fingers squeezed instinctively. He tugged me into motion, beginning our ascent up the hill.
“Where are we going?” I whispered, barely hearing myself over the rain hitting the ground. A frog croaked from somewhere, and I reached for the handle of my machete. The sheath’s material rubbed against my outer thigh with every step.
“Dawn is not far off, perhaps an hour or so? The global time difference has aided us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Drake glanced over his shoulder, slowing his strides, the silhouette of his features barely visible. Water dripped from the damp black hair over his forehead and just below his ears.
“There is a hovel, once belonging to a gardener of sorts. It is near, but not so close that they would sense our approach while we wait for daybreak.” His fingers tightened against mine, urging me forward. Every step he took seemed so sure, while I watched the ground with widened eyes to avoid tripping. How familiar was he with these woods? If he had been alive before Dracula’s defeat…
Trustwas the word that reverberated in my head, an encouraging, vulnerable feeling that had goosebumps rising up my arm from where he touched me. There was no way back now, so I climbed the damn hill. The trees slowly thinned, and we emerged into an overgrown circular clearing bordered on all sides by more woods, but at the center was the house.
More like a medieval hut, really. Close up, the exterior appeared to be made of stone bricks. Its roughly-built roof looked like it had once been thatched with straw, but wooden beams were now exposed to the outside world while ivy trailed from the rafters, down over a makeshift window.
By some miracle, the wide wooden door was still standing, but its hinges were rusted from neglect. We probably wouldn’t be able to open it without making an awful noise. Drake didn’t hesitate to grasp the handle, twisting it hard and fast to get the process over with. The shriek of grinding metal followed, and by the heavy sound of the weather-warped door scraping across the stone floor, I reckoned that I wouldn’t have been able to trespass with my descendant strength alone.
He ushered me in ahead of him, his hand leaving mine as he quickly glanced over the treeline, still shrouded in darkness. Without a word, he followed me inside before closing the door gently, like he was afraid to break the centuries-worn hinges. In the silence that followed, my heartbeat thrummed in my eardrums while my eyes adjusted.
“Drake?” I whispered, startling when a crack echoed against the stone walls.
“Apologies,” he replied, speaking at a normal volume. My shoulders relaxed as the outline of the large single-room space blinked into sight. Drake’s figure was at one end beside the wall, crouching in front of what looked like a hearth.
My steps scuffed across the floor, and dust clouded up around my black boots. The scrape of a flame preceded sudden light that made me squint. Drake placed another broken piece of wood into the lowered section of the fireplace. A dismembered chair was upturned beside him, and he replaced a box of matches into his back pocket before using a long rod coated in cobwebs to stoke the embers.
“They won’t notice the smoke?” I asked, glancing around.
A worn rectangular table was positioned beside what might have once been a bed, before the mattress had sunk to the floor, taking the rotted wood with it. A mildew-like smell caught in my wrinkling nose. The smudged window near the door probably wouldn’t have let in much sunshine.
“Not with the wind blowing it further down the mountain and the rain obscuring even our enhanced sight.” Flames reflected against his dark eyes as he glanced up. “The ceiling appears intact, even if the roof is in shambles. We will not remain here long enough to test its stability.”
“Yeah…” Bone-deep exhaustion weighed down my muscles now that the manna’s effects had worn off, but nerves spun in my bloodstream. This was it, the calm before the storm, and I was spending what might be my last night alive with someone I—
My stomach flipped over, and I inhaled a steadying breath. Drake rose, and my gaze caught his.
“Are you alright?” Concern etched the line between his eyebrows, and my throat seemed to close. So I nodded, my forced laugh sounding weak.
“Just peachy.” I crossed my arms, quickly uncrossing them, and moved closer to the fireplace. A question bubbled on my lips, but before I could open my mouth, Drake walked away. He stood in front of the bed, searching through blankets, discarding one strip of moth-eaten fabric after another.
I raised my brows when he began tearing them, collecting a handful of cloth in his grasp. He nodded once, seemingly satisfied, and then returned to lay the pieces out across the floor before the hearth—far enough from the sparks, but close by to keep warm. What I figured were the cleanest remnants of the torn sheets were soon arranged like a patchwork picnic blanket.
Baffled, I smiled when he lowered himself to sit on one side—with barely a scrap separating him from the stone floor—and hegestured for me to take up the rest of the space. I should’ve been wary, invited to admire the fireside by a vampire, but all I could feel was warmth. It spread from my hands to my heart, where the sensation took root in my chest.
So I withdrew my machete from my waistband and set it beside me as I sat, leaving about a foot of space between us. Where a thousand unspoken thoughts seemed to settle.Not anymore,I wasn’t going to leave anything unsaid before breaking and entering the fortress where my ancestor took down his greatest enemy.
“Drake—”
“Maria, I—”
