Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (29 page)

But it was not to be because Marilyn felt a hand at her own throat, holding her head away.

Ryan looked up at her, her limbs still leaden but her eyes quite clear. Her hand was wrapped around Marilyn’s throat and it took all of her strength to hold the woman away. Marilyn stared down at the child in stunned disbelief.

Ryan held Marilyn’s gaze, watching her carefully. She slowly loosened her grip until her hand was merely resting against Marilyn’s throat, and now it was her turn to gently caress Marilyn’s veins with her thumb.

Fury flashed in Marilyn’s eyes and her hand moved swiftly. Ryan could barely deflect the hand away from her and just managed to grip the wrist, which she could barely hold onto. Marilyn’s other hand moved faster than her eye could see and she just managed to get a weak grip on the forearm to protect herself.

But she was no match for Marilyn’s strength and Marilyn easily pressed her arms downward, pinning her. Ryan realized she should have left one hand at Marilyn’s throat.

“You impudent whelp,” Marilyn said through clenched teeth. “any others, even Abigail would welcome my attention.”

“Oh, yes dear,” Abigail said, highly amused. She had returned to her stitchery, still entertained by the unfolding drama, but now for different reasons. It was characteristic of their Kind to switch allegiances without hesitation, and apparently without the slightest bit of self-reproach.

Ryan stared up at the furious woman. She forced herself to remain calm, and gathered her strength.

No, came the soothing voice inside Marilyn’s head. You will not do this.

Marilyn was stunned, and in her surprise, she loosened her grip on Ryan. Ryan did not move, but simply stared up at the woman, holding her gaze intensely.

“You will not do this,” Ryan repeated softly, this time aloud, “because it is not your way.”

“What do you know of my way?” Marilyn asked through still-clenched teeth.

Ryan again stared at her intently, and she spoke as if remembering. “You have never forced anyone,” she said slowly, “they come to you because they want you.” She cocked her head to one side, as if listening. “Even Victor came to you because he wanted you.”

Marilyn was so astonished by the girl’s ability and insight that she fully released Ryan. Ryan sat up and moved away from her on the couch, straightening her clothing. She gave off an aura of outward calm but was inwardly struggling to maintain her composure.

Marilyn was not fooled by the girl’s outward display and quickly regained her own icy poise. Her hand flashed outward and she snagged Ryan’s shirtfront. With a snap she dragged Ryan toward her and Ryan found herself half on her knees and half on Marilyn’s lap, face-to-face with the dark-haired woman once more.

Marilyn stared down at the Young One, searching her eyes. Ryan tried not to look at her, but found her own eyes lingering on Marilyn’s lips. Marilyn did not miss the involuntary attention.

“So,” she said with satisfaction, “you are only half-right.”

Ryan was flustered. “What do you mean?”

Marilyn smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile. “You are right. It is not my way to force anyone. But you are wrong if you think that will save you.”

Ryan swallowed hard, desperately trying to hide her emotions. But she could hide nothing. Marilyn saw the flicker of desire in the girl’s eyes, saw the confusion intermixed with longing.

Ryan tried to turn away but Marilyn would not allow her to do so. “You do want me,” she whispered to her, her dark eyes flashing triumphantly.

Ryan could not deny her words and closed her eyes, as if that could lessen the woman’s hold on her right now. Marilyn leaned close to whisper in her ear.

“You will come to me one day.”

“Well isn’t this a pleasant domestic scene,” Victor said dryly from the doorway.

Abigail glanced up from her stitchery, unruffled by his presence. She had sensed Victor’s approach, and knew that Marilyn had not. “Greetings, my Lord, I trust your journey went well?”

Marilyn responded to Victor’s presence by releasing Ryan, causing her to sprawl backwards onto the floor at Abigail’s feet.

Victor raised an eyebrow. “I thought I left fairly explicit instructions, Abigail,” he said mildly.

Abigail glanced down at the dazed youngster. “She is unharmed, my Lord. I believe that is all you asked of me.”

Marilyn stood and smoothed out her skirt. “Why Victor, I did not expect you to return so soon,” she said coolly, contrition absent from her voice.

Victor watched as Ryan staggered to her feet. “Yes, that’s quite obvious.”

Ryan sat down on Abigail’s stool, holding her head in her hands. The strain of resisting Marilyn had taken its toll. Marilyn watched the exhausted child through narrowed eyes. She had been so close.

“Ryan and I were simply becoming better acquainted.”

Victor also noted Ryan’s signs of exhaustion, and the blatant look of calculation on Marilyn’s face. He had felt from a distance what had transpired; what he saw before him was only confirmation.

“Ryan,” he said firmly, “leave us.”

Ryan glanced up at him and stood. She was too exhausted to provide a defense and simply obeyed. She walked from the room without a backward glance while the three Old Ones watched her leave.

Marilyn stood abruptly, smoothing her skirt. “I should be leaving as well, my lord.”

Victor said nothing but watched her as she approached the door. She paused in the doorway and turned back to him. “Thank you for such a delightful afternoon,” she said suggestively, “it has been years since I have so enjoyed myself.”

She started to turn again but paused when Victor spoke.

“Marilyn,” Victor said mildly, “do not follow my child.”

Marilyn left, not foolish enough to ignore the warning. The sound of a carriage pulling away could be heard.

Victor turned to Abigail with a look of reproach. “Abigail, I do not trust Marilyn but I had hoped for better from you.”

Abigail shrugged, continuing her needlepoint. “I did not ask to be placed in so difficult a position.” She looked up at him shrewdly. “Can Marilyn be accused of desiring that which you yourself covet so greatly?”

“And you as well,” Victor added.

Abigail’s only concession was a slight nod. “But I live to serve you, my lord,” she murmured.

She placed her needlepoint down and looked Victor straight in the eye with the unblinking gaze of their Kind. Her words were thoughtful.

“But now perhaps I should fear for you, as well.”

Victor looked at her with surprise. “And why is that, my lady?”

Abigail glanced off into the distance and Victor knew she was mentally reaching out to touch Ryan. She made the contact and her attention returned. Her countenance darkened as she thought of the girl, and the darkness was reflected in her words.

“I fear you have created something you cannot control.”

Victor’s response was also dark and thoughtful, but his words were surprising. He, too, mentally gazed out into the distance before he spoke.

“I certainly hope so.”

Susan was mesmerized by the story. She was having the same experience she had the first time Ryan had begun to speak of her past, almost as if she were in a trance. Susan felt she could see what was happening. Ryan told the story in an odd manner, though, almost as if from multiple perspectives.

“You sometimes speak from Victor’s point of view.”

 Ryan nodded. “It’s because I have his Memories.” Ryan crossed her long legs in front of her. “It’s a very strange feeling, and one that takes getting used to. Even now it’s odd at times because I’m not certain whose mind I’m looking through. I see places I’ve never been and remember things I’ve never seen.”

Ryan glanced over at Susan curiously. “So what do you think?” she asked.

Susan was surprised. “What do I think about what?”

Ryan shrugged. “Well, now that I’ve weaned you off your vampire fantasies, what do you think of me and my Kind?”

This was a subject to which Susan had given a lot of thought. She wasn’t certain, though, exactly how to frame her ideas.

“Well, when I was first examining your anatomy, I kept having the thought that, if I were going to create a perfect human being, I would have created you.”

Ryan was silent.

Susan continued to think aloud. “I wonder if you’re not a form of accelerated evolution.”

“Well that’s a new one.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ryan shrugged. “I don’t mean to disparage your beliefs, but I’ve been called many things. A demon, an angel, a monster, a witch. And I’ve been called all these things by people who believed them just as sincerely as you believe what you’re saying now.”

Susan was at a loss. “I don’t see how that’s the same…”

“That’s exactly my point.” Ryan said, staring into her wineglass. “It is the same. Every century has given me a name, and all believed they had the answer to what I am. The people of my time believed me to be a monster with the same certainty you believe me to be ‘accelerated evolution.’ There is no difference. Two hundred years from now they will have a new name for me, and they will be just as certain as you are now.”

Ryan’s words brought silence to Susan. The silence stretched into minutes until Ryan asked,“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Susan pulled herself out of her reverie and looked to the French windows. She was surprised to see it was dark. She glanced around the room, searching for a clock, but there were none. She glanced down at her watch. It was almost 2 am.

Ryan stood.“I think I’m being a bad influence on you. I forget you don’t do as well without sleep as I do.”

Susan stood and the young man appeared at her side, taking her empty wineglass. “Well, I’m going to check on Jason and Neda, and then I’ll head to bed.”

“Good night,” Ryan said, sitting back down.

Susan was almost to the door when she stopped. Ryan was aware of the pause even though her back was to both Susan and the door. Susan had one last question she wanted to ask and Ryan, ever perceptive, braced herself.

“Could I see your Memories if I tasted your blood?”

The question hung heavy in the air. Ryan stared into the fire. Susan thought for a moment that Ryan was not going to answer her, but then she spoke distinctly.

“I am the most powerful of my Kind,” Ryan said slowly, without boasting. “And my blood would kill you instantly.”

Although Susan could no longer see Ryan, it seemed as if a great heaviness settled over her. Susan turned to leave, not completely certain why she had asked such a question.

Ryan gazed into the fire, taking the last sip from her wine. She stood, threw another log upon the fire, and poured herself another glass of wine. She settled into the chair once more, pulling a blanket over her legs to ward off an imaginary chill, one she had not felt in reality for centuries.

She enjoyed her conversations with Susan Ryerson, although the Memories the conversations stirred were disturbing. It was bad enough Ryan dreamed vividly of both her Memories and Victor’s; now she spent hours awake thinking of her past.

The fire crackled loudly and sparks flew as the log slipped, then settled. Ryan gazed at the wine in her glass. It was times like these when she could see Victor’s face, inhumanly beautiful.

Odd, when one thought about it, how easily Victor had maintained his illusion over so many years. In the world she had been born into, there were no photographs, no way of recording events other than in writing. Only the very wealthy could have paintings commissioned, and even those were a poor reflection of the person sitting for the picture. It was easy for Victor to move through centuries without being noticed, without being tied to another place or time, without being discovered as immortal.

It had been as easy for Ryan to do the same over the years, but it was not as simple now. The first time Ryan had seen a photograph, she had not seen a miracle of technology, but rather the beginning of a new danger. She often wondered if this latent fear had not revealed itself in the myths of their Kind; it was not that they could not see their reflection in a mirror, it was that they did not wish to. If there was no reflection, there was no record.