The Vampire Dimitri

He found her, coming into the very deepest part of the house, and stumbled into the chamber.

There she was, sitting in the center of the room with flames licking the edges, smoke swirling above. Maia was slumped in the chair to which she was tied.

Bound by ropes and ropes of rubies. 

20 Hell

A great roar started deep inside and Dimitri fought it back. He would do it. He had to do it.

Dimitri started toward her, panting, sweaty and hot, but his limbs wouldn’t work. They weakened, slogging him to a slow halt as if he were fighting to run upstream a violent river. He released the shirt clutched in his fingers and grasped at the ground, trying to pull himself along using his fingers between old rotting floorboards. But they were weak. He was weak. His lungs tight, his limbs like lead.

Maia. Please.

He couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t get to her.

“Maia,” he managed to groan. Was she even alive?

He could see little in the dark room, but when she shifted, lifting her head, hope rose in him. She was alive.

“Maia,” he called again, coughing a bit and when she tried to respond, nothing came from her mouth but a choking cough. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m coming for you.”

The flames roared closer, and a large beam tumbled from the ceiling, clattering to the floor next to him. It appeared that the fire had started from the perimeter of the building and was working its way in and up, crawling along the walls and across the roof. He knew Maia couldn’t last much longer with the thick, clogging smoke. While he…he could stay forever in this hell on earth.

Dimitri took another step and his knees wavered, then gave out. He tumbled to the floor and felt a wave of paralysis roll through him, constricting his lungs, leadening his muscles. No. He’d fight through it.

He had to get to her. He couldn’t—

There was a movement behind him, and he twisted his head to look up and behind. Lerina stood there, as unaffected by the fire as he was.

“I see you’ve found her,” she said over the roar.

Rage sliced through him and he tried to lunge to his feet, but the rubies did their work and made him clumsy and slow.

“Why,” he managed to gasp, curling his slow, fat fingers into the hem of her gown and dragging her down as he tried to pull himself up. But the rubies…they weighted him down.

Lerina pulled away and he tumbled to the floor, his hand landing on a piece of loose wood. “Because,” she said, pitching her voice to be heard over the roar in his ears, “I wanted you to watch her die. I wanted you to see what it’s like to lose what you love. And to live with that image for eternity.”

He closed his fingers around the wood, feeling its slender length, and felt the rage surge through him. Gathering up all of his strength, what little remained, he launched himself toward her ankles and captured them in the crook of his arm. He’d pull her down to the ground and use his weight to hold her until he could slam the thing into her black heart.

“You’ve…spent…” he gasped, trying again to get his muscles to cooperate, to upset her balance, “too… long…with… Cezar.” His grip was weakening as she fought to free herself, the desperation evident in her flailing movements and wild kicking. He was never going to let her go. She would die along with Maia. Even slow as he was, she was no match for him.

But then a noise, a great crash behind him had his rage disintegrating into blind fear. His grip lessened and Lerina pulled away as Dimitri turned back around with a weak lurch. A large flaming chunk of building had fallen between Maia and him, bouncing to the side. The fire leaped and danced, and he couldn’t see past it.

“Maia!” he shouted, forgetting Lerina, dragging himself closer to the blazing piece of wood and to the side. “Maia!” he cried again, desperate to hear her respond.

But he knew the closer he got to his goal, the weaker he’d become. Her hands were bound and she had no way to loosen herself from the rubies. There were too many of them.

It was an impossible task. Impossible.

Impossible for a vampire whose Asthenia was rubies.

A labored twisting on the floor to look behind told him that Lerina had gone, perhaps fearful that if he gave up on saving Maia he’d come after her.

He collapsed on the floor, his face and bare torso grinding into the grit even as he used his toes, his fingers, to try to propel himself closer. Just a little closer. The length of a fingernail. The distance of a flea jump. He dragged, writhed, heaved, trying to make himself move.

The power from the gems emanated from Maia more strongly than the flames and smoke, but at last he moved himself to where he could see her again.

“Maia,” he gasped.

“Corvindale,” she said, then coughed. She seemed to be more awake now, more lucid. She’d regained her strength, only to die?

“I…can’t…” he choked out, his throat closing with emotion. “I can’t.” His fingers dug between two wooden planks, but they were so weak that he could barely fit them into the groove. It was too much. Something stung his vision, gritty and bitter.

“I know,” she said, somehow mustering the strength to speak over the choking smoke in her lungs. “I know it.” Her beautiful face was streaked with black, her hair messy and sagging, her gown filthy and the malevolent rubies shining like dancing red beacons in the roaring flames.

“Maia. God, Maia…I’m…sorry,” he groaned, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said, holding his gaze somehow through the smoke and darkness. “I love you…Gavril.”

I love you. The emotion flashed into his own mind, burning there like some great revelation. Truth.

At the same time as that self-realization, that long-denied truth, a sharp slice arced through him. For a moment he thought something had fallen, landing on his naked back. Or that a stake had stabbed him, piercing his heart. But it wasn’t that, it wasn’t external. It was something inside, cracking, splitting. Pain blazed through him and his muscles collapsed at last, his face slamming into the dirt. He couldn’t lift his finger. Could barely blink. His breath was short and restricted, his mouth filled with dirt and ash.

Dimitri squeezed his eyes closed, the pain overtaking him. With one last breath, he heaved himself up, lifted his face to look at her once more. He had to tell her. He couldn’t let her die without knowing the truth.

He couldn’t even speak the words, but he thought them, sent them to her with his gaze. I love you. Maia, I love you. I have always loved you.

The pain snapped and sizzled, centered at his Mark and raging through his flesh, his muscles and organs, and down through his limbs, radiating torture like never before. He cried out in agony, seizing and shuddering, trying to throw it off, to escape.

Never. Never anything like it.

It burned like a thousand fiery whips laying into his skin until he thought he would explode, go mad, scream until his throat was raw. And then, impossibly, he saw Wayren…nodding, with a quiet smile.

Then…nothing.

Black. Darkness.

21 In Which Miracles Become Curses