Chapter 17

She lies trembling in the dirt, whimpering in pain. Lucian lifts her as gently as he can, she groans and he flinches at the burns, black mixed with crimson…her hair is gone, hacked away with a blunt dagger and her face and head are stained with blood.

Her poor delicate feet are scorched black, cracked and bleeding, he eyes the Lycans that followed him for Erzsebet's rescue, he has let them loose upon the village with orders to slay every living thing.

The air is thick with the scent of death and the screams of the dying, the cruel bite of wolves at the throats of helpless mortals.

The ash of the fire whispers on the wind, he holds her closer "Erzsebet…you are safe…" he can think of nothing else to say, for this torture there is no cure but time, she will heal slow as a mortal and he has no sanctuary to take her to.

Their castle was burned out from under them…when the village is dead they will hide here for a time, there will be meat enough for all he thinks bitterly, he carries her to a house wherein the door stands open, just beyond the door a man lies torn and bleeding in the dirt, Lucian nudges the corpse with his boot, he is truly dead.

He carries the Lycan girl inside and lies her upon the bed, slowly and with a thought to her wounds, she is trapped between life and death, between waking and sleep, the next few days will be of utmost importance.

He silently thanks God that the transformation means she cannot take infection.

He hurries about the hovel, throwing things here and there searching for some way to clean her; he can stand the sight of the ash on her skin no longer.

It mocks him by its presence, a cruel reminder of his own failure to keep her safe as he had sworn so faithfully that he would.

At last he finds a rough wooden bowl and a rag, he fills it with water from the dented pewter pitcher and turns back to her, the last light of day falls upon her through the small window, and she is soaked in crimson and gold, she looks like a martyr, an angel, fallen, burning and bleeding from heaven to lie dying on this filthy bed.

He kneels at her bedside and begins to clean the blood from her head, she whimpers in pain and his throat tightens, he begins to whisper in the growing darkness:

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.

Adveniat regnum tuum.

Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.

Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.

Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

Over and over, she grows quiet, as if even in this state she remembers, she hears his voice and she knows that he is near.

He moves on, reciting one prayer after another, as she once did for him. He tears the clean clothing he finds about the cottage into strips and after soaking them with an ointment that puts him in mind of poison but is sworn to possess powers of healing he binds her wounds, she cries out and writhes beneath him as he does it, it hurts her and he shudders at the sound.

Her eyes flutter and she reaches out, he takes her hand pressing it to his lips, "Erzsebet, forgive me."

"Water" her voice scratches the air, she can barely speak.

He takes the cup from the table and brings it to her lips, they are the colour of rose petals in summer sunlight…she chokes violently as the water runs down her throat and chin, she falls back gasping for air and her eyes open, out in the darkness the screaming has fallen silent, he leans in to her "Erzsebet, I have punished the village, I have given them to the Lycans, they are all dead, they cannot hurt you now. But we cannot stay here much longer, as soon as you are well we are going to move on, we will find a new home, a safe haven, for us all." Lucian smiles and reaches out instinctively to trace her cheek where locks of rich brown hair once fell.

She cringes away from him. "Do not look at me, I am a monster."

So she is a woman, with a woman's vanity, after all.

He gazes at her burned face, beautiful as moonlight, he raises one of the bandages, the wound is still raw and bloody, she yelps in pain as he lays it back in place, she tries to smile up at him "Lucian…I will heal…will I not?" her voice trembles.

He sits at the edge of the bed and catches her fingers gently between his own, "Of course you will. It will take time, but you will be well again. We must thank God they used no silver against you, that would have left you scarred for eternity."

He watches the tears that fall upon her cheeks like shards of broken crystal, "and you would still be beautiful to me."

He delights to watch her icy eyes widen in surprised wonder, when he thought only to look upon them closed in death.

Her fingers move in his own, she is trying to hold him, he leans into her and presses his mouth to those rosebud lips; she tastes of ash and metal, as cold as moonlight and sweet as honey.

He waits for the ghost of Sonja to haunt him; but she is silent as the grave.

Here, there is only Erzsebet.