Chapter Seven

He smiled grimly as he watched them from behind a pair of dark glasses. They were the least of his worries at the moment. His hands absently creased and folded the newspaper in his lap while his thoughts worried at the article he had just read.

The press reports would have been humorous if they weren't so obviously biased. It was apparent that the local reporter figured the woman was barmier than a fruitcake. His report was full of scathing sarcasm, but he had at least printed the description of the poor girl's attacker. That was more than the other papers had done.

Truthfully, it had been too sensational to ignore, complete with glowing eyes and pointed fangs. It was a monstrous image that whispered softly to old terrors and childhood fears. A vampire! Tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, the man signaled a waiter to bring him a telephone. He couldn't take the chance that the reports were bogus. It was time to call in the others.

David stood under the standing stones, oblivious to the warmth of the sun, encompassed by his own rage. Feeding had taken the edge off of his fury, dampening it enough that he could think clearly, but it was still barely manageable. Anne was gone, without a trace. Somehow, she had gotten away from him, escaping completely with the unborn child. He had searched for her throughout the night, certain that she could not have gotten much of a head start on him in her condition. It had all been in vain; she had vanished as if she had never been. He'd finally hunted to ease his hunger, returning to the henge around dawn.

Sunlight filtered greenly through the trees, lending a façade of innocence to the little clearing. By the soft light of day, the ruins of the little henge looked harmless enough. There was no trace of the horror that haunted them in darkness. Appearing untouched by the hands of man, the stones held an air of magic, a calm purity unblemished by time. The peace was lost on David. Not even the kiss of the sun could ease the sting of her treachery.

At least now, he was clear-headed enough to understand the need for caution. Raging around the countryside like a madman was more apt to get him killed than it was to accomplish anything. Just last night, he had missed a kill, letting a victim escape him for the first time. Briefly he wondered if he would find himself facing an angry mob that howled for his blood.

Not that he knew what could kill him anymore, he thought bitterly. Anne had lied to him about the dangers of sunlight; who was to say what other lies she had told him. Only one thing was certain, he could not stay where he was.

Determinedly, he sifted through everything he could remember her telling him. There wasn't a lot, and most of that he had paid little heed at the time. He had been too deeply immured in his own guilt and despair to care what she had to say. Things were different now, the guilt more distant, the despair eaten by fury.

She had left him far too little to go on. Clearly she had used supernatural means to elude him. She had disappeared far too easily to have followed any mundane avenue. The question was how? And how was he going to find her in a matter of days? It was impossible. David was all too aware of his shortcomings when it came to arcane knowledge. He had been an engineer, not a mystic.

He was back to the same tedious research he had used to track the disappearances, the same methods that had brought him to Anne. His innocent search for oblivion, for escape from the shadow of Meredith. God, he had been such a fool. Arrogantly certain of his own strength, his innate ability to deal with anything he found. What an idiot, a blind and trusting idiot.

It struck him momentarily that the thought of Meredith no longer filled him with pain. The crippling sense of loss and betrayal was gone. It had been replaced in some small part by the bitterness at his fate, but also by the rage. No matter how calm he kept himself, cold fury lurked just below the surface; an icy killing lust, ready to explode without warning.

The newscaster's plastic image faded from the screen as the woman at the head of the table switched off the set. Six pairs of eyes watched her expectantly as she turned back to face the room.

"There you have it. That's all we know about the attack. The question is, does it merit Council intervention?" She paused briefly, pushing her heavy auburn hair away from piercing grey eyes. There was an unearthly edge to her beauty that was mirrored in the faces of the other six women around the table. "Evelith. Your comments?"

The woman on her left smiled, offering a brief glimpse of slim ivory fangs. "The reports are sketchy, but there is little room for doubt. To my mind, the description is too perfect. One of ours has raised a male, Reylith."

The auburn haired woman nodded. "Are we all agreed on that point?" She drank deeply from an insulated mug, waiting while the others tipped their heads in agreement. A fleeting smile chased across her face when all six heads nodded in unison. When she spoke, her voice was heavy, tinged with sadness. "Our strictest law has always been clear on this point. Both the rogue and her get must die. I will order a squad dispatched immediately."

There was moment's silence, then the youngest member of the Council cleared her throat uneasily.

"Vanith? Is there something you wanted to say?" The Matriarch fixed the young woman with a steely gaze.

"Well, its just…" The young blonde squirmed uncomfortably. She had been on the Council for less than a year and still felt the need to tread carefully. "Just… has it occurred to anyone but me how close this incident was to the Analith's henge?"

A shocked silence followed, broken by several voices speaking at once. The clamor to be heard was deafening, making it difficult to pick out anything other than fragments.

"You can't be serious, Van."

"You're far too young…"

"But. But what if…"

Reylith finally banged her mug on the table to get their attention. "Yes, Vanith is young." She raised a taloned hand in warning, forestalling any comment. "No, she never knew the Analith personally. Perhaps she sees more clearly because of it. She didn't rise to the Council ranks by being a fool. Have any of you seen our dear Mother recently?"

Slowly, their reluctance obvious, all of them shook their heads.

"Nor have I. Since Meredith died, she has severed all contact with any of us. Who is to say what she might do? Though it pains me, I think we must consider what Van suggests. A squad won't be enough if she is right. I think we must go ourselves."

Warm contentment. The soft familiar cadence of a heartbeat, the steady pulse of blood. Safe now. Mother had gotten them away. Rest. So very tired. Sleep. The time approaches. Soon there would be food, and space to grow. So soon.

The temple was old, hidden deep beneath the shifting desert. It lay only a stone's throw from well known ruins and yet it lay undiscovered, untarnished by the grasp of modern hands. Anne looked with satisfaction at the dust that blanketed every surface. The old magic still held. David could never touch her here, deep in the land of her birth.

Safe. A warm satisfaction suffused her, lulling her senses. Overwhelmed by a sudden desire to rest, she carefully lay down atop the altar. A little nap could do no harm. Not at this stage of the game. Secure in the knowledge that she was out of danger, she slept.

(c) M.C. Sak 2000