Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcy's Desire

“One of the things of which I am relatively sure is that Wickham does not believe in the Trinity. I have witnessed how he retreats from symbols of Christianity, but they do not destroy him. Fitzwilliam threw holy water on him in the confrontation over Georgiana, but all it got him was a scream, the smell of burning skin, and a momentary withdrawal on Wickham’s part. I had more success with the name reversal in London than my husband did with his attempts at Ramsgate.The crucifix will work on my sister, but not on Wickham.”

“Is Wickham that close to the Devil to be immune to symbols of God?”

“Wickham is closer to his own gods. Mrs. Annesley discovered the god Cernunnos, a classic stag-horned god of Celtic origin.The crown everyone describes as a mark on Wickham’s hand resembles the ram-horned serpent of the Meigle stone in Perthshire, which everyone identifies as Cernunnos. Some believe Cernunnos is the figure encountered in the tale of King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake. Even Shakespeare mentions Cernunnos as Herne the Hunter. Anyway, the ash stakes should be effective in that realm.”

The colonel looked out the carriage window, noting that Peter had turned off the main road and was headed towards the inn they had discussed earlier. “What will you do if we find that Darcy did not survive?” The words hung in the air, a curtain of doubt between them.

“I will try to recover both my husband’s and my sister’s bodies and put them at rest.Then I will return to Longbourn.”

“You will not go back to Pemberley?” He turned his head to look closely at her.

“Pemberley belongs to Georgiana,” she argued.

Colonel Fitzwilliam returned his gaze to the window. “Darcy would provide for you. I am sure he would want you to be a part of his sister’s life.”

“Georgiana has you, Sir. She does not need me. I barely scratched the surface in making my way there. In fact, the staff members probably find me most scandalous.”

The colonel chuckled at her assertion. “Perhaps. If…if my cousin cannot be saved, as Georgiana’s only other guardian, I would be grateful if you would return to Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy. Your intuition is good, and I am sure my young cousin could learn much from you.”

Elizabeth was silent, but she was touched by the sentiment. Aloud, she said,“Let us not face that decision until it is necessary, Sir.”

Darcy scouted the area after his arrival at the local inn. It would be dark soon, and he needed to become familiar with the lay of the land before it was too black to see the details of the buildings. A several-hours’ ride northeast of Chillingham, the village of Stanwick was little more than a turning-off point for Edinburgh.

Wickham’s residence could be accessed only by one of two ways: through the churchyard and cemetery and then down a treacherously steep hill and through a wooded field or the direct route of over a drawbridge, across an open courtyard, and through the front door of the moderate-sized house. Darcy could not get close enough to see into the house, but some carefully placed questions told him that the few steps led to an unadorned open hall, evidently used as the center of activity for Wickford Manor. A few of the more adventurous youths gladly told him how the pantry in the kitchen was totally bare and the well was only for show, because no water was ever seen within it. From the road, Darcy could see that the garden and the lawn, although naturally dormant in winter, still showed signs of neglect and overgrowth.

Thinking the churchyard a better choice for his approach, he tried to appear casual as he strolled through the graveyard, pausing periodically to read epitaphs: Make WisdomYour Provision for the Journey fromYouth to Old Age and Ye Shall Know the Truth and True Nobility Is Exempt from Fear were mixed with The Music of My Life, Matthew Horace and Charles McDane, Loving Father and Behold the Child, Mary Adams . Circling the perimeter of the cemetery, he stumbled across the Winchcombe headstones of Mairte Rosin and Domhnall Neill. He suspected them to be those of Wickham’s parents, because they were the last ones before one exited the rear of the neighborhood’s churchyard. He would not find Wickham’s grave here. The great evil associated with George Wickham prohibited his inclusion in consecrated land. More than likely, Wickham’s house was designed to embrace his own grave.

Then his eyes fell upon the dual crypts dominating the center of the site. Without reading the engraving, Darcy knew to whom they belonged.These two faced in towards the center of the cemetery, as if they stood staring into each other’s eyes for eternity. Darcy could see them in his mind’s eye—Lady Ellender D’Arcy and Lord Arawn Benning, circling each other on the dance floor… preparing to rush into each other’s arms in a moment of passion… arguing heatedly over some domestic matter.

Slowly and methodically, Darcy made his way around different mounds until he stood reverently before the locked gate of the memorial to the woman who had begun this madness with her beauty: Ellender D’Arcy Benning. “Would you do it all again?” Darcy murmured, but he knew the answer—she would. Ellender D’Arcy did what she did for the love of a man, the one person who completed her—the way Elizabeth completed him. Darcy had no doubts that he would risk it all for his Elizabeth . He turned to stare at the other crypt, the one belonging to Elizabeth’s ancestor. The irony of how Fate brought him to this moment and to loving Elizabeth could not ignored.

Sighing, Darcy strode away from the all-too-raw memories of his wife. He worked his way down the well-worn path leading

Finally satisfying his need for information, he retreated to the inn.Tonight, while the village slept, he would return to find Wickham and to finish their battle, one way or the other.

Near midnight, dressed all in black except for a loose-fitting shirt he had bought in the village store, Darcy made his way through the graveyard once more. Instead of hiding behind headstones and staying in the shadows of the hedgerow, he strode proudly through the center of the land of the dead, crossing the point where the crypts might touch. He carried a silver sword and wore the iron crucifix, but his true weapon, he told himself, was his determination. He had come to end the plague on his family, and, one way or the other, Darcy would know peace at last. Two hundred years of demonic hatred and fear would end with this confrontation.

Edging his way down the steep slope, his boots loosened pebbles, which cascaded in a rain of dirt down to the bottom. He cared not whether someone might hear. The living were safe in their beds, and Darcy was sure Wickham knew that eventually he would come.

He slowed his steps as he emerged from the woods. Only fifteen paces away, a dim light reflected off the windows of the central room. Darcy moved more cautiously now—weaving his way to where he might see what the room offered. Plastering himself against the grey stone of an exterior wall, the cold shale caused a shiver to run the length of his spine.The shutters were slanted outward, but the openings between the slats provided a clear enough view of the interior.Wickham sat at the end of an expansive table, facing the window. As if on cue, he raised his hand in a salute, the way he always did in farewell; and then Wickham’s lackeys, who had materialized out of the mist creeping along the ground, surrounded Darcy.

Darcy smiled, despite the danger. After all, this was why he had

Boldly reciting “The Lord’s Prayer” as he stepped now to the left, Darcy swung the crucifix he carried from its chain, keeping the next set of attackers at a healthy distance. A parry and a basic thrust through the heart sent another soul to heaven.The crucifix smacked an abandoned spirit, and a repugnant somnambulist screamed out, as if burned, and then followed the fate of those struck by Darcy’s blade.

Inflamed now with success, Darcy attacked more diligently, striking first with the sword and then with the holy relic, but with each release, two more dusky fiends took its place. “It is too late, Darcy,” a cold breath whispered in his ear, but still he fought on. He tried desperately to stave off the encroaching army, but a vaporous stench surrounded and smothered him, and one final blow to the back of his head—one snapping his neck violently forward—sent him first to his knees and then into a complete darkness.

He did not know how long he remained unconscious, but when he opened his eyes, greyish blue ones, only inches from his face, stared back at him. It took several blinks of his lids before the reality of his situation became evident. He was not dead, but he was Wickham’s prisoner. His arms ached from the battle, and Darcy tried in vain to move them, only to find them presently lodged behind him. Wickham’s face withdrew, and Darcy struggled to right himself.

“That was a fine display, Darcy.” Wickham found his enemy’s grappling to be amusing. “You took more than a dozen of my favorites with that exhibition of your swordsmanship.”

Darcy licked his lips, tasting his own bloody inner jaw.“I would have preferred twice that many.” Darcy forced himself to return Wickham’s smirk.“I hoped you would be among them,Wickham.”

“I am sorry I could not accommodate you.”Wickham sat down in an ornate chair, leaned back in it, and crossed his legs at his ankles.

Darcy looked about him, trying to assess the depth of his situation. “Where am I?”

“In the house’s root cellar.”Wickham gestured at the bare walls. “I am afraid that I entertain so very little, and my lack of hospitality must be evident.”

Darcy tried to look over his shoulder to see what bound him. He shook his hands and heard the rattle of chains.“And why am I so restricted? Do you fear me so,Wickham?”

“Your power increases, Darcy, since your alliance with Mrs. Darcy.Your once-latent interest in your abilities blossomed with the appearance of Elizabeth Bennet in your life.”Wickham appeared to be amused again.“ Unfortunately for you, and I suppose fortunately for me, you chose not to refine those innate skills.” He gestured towards the chains binding Darcy to the wall.“I took note of your ability to manipulate time and space. I also noted that to do so, you must extend your arms to the sides; therefore, your current bonds.”

Darcy nodded in a respectful acknowledgment of his opponent’s intelligence.“How long will I be here?”

“I am not sure exactly, Darcy. I suppose it will be, at least, until your lovely wife and maybe your sister make an appearance. Someone is sure to try to save you. I will wait until I capture the whole lot.Then you will receive the pleasure of witnessing my repeatedly taking the two of them and claiming your loved ones as my own.” Wickham paused suddenly and looked off wistfully. “I wonder, Darcy, if you know how much your sister resembles Ellender?” He seemed momentarily sad, but then he returned to his threat. “You will beg me to let you die, seeing Mrs. Darcy and the innocent

Staring absently at the void between them, Darcy looked off, seeing something Wickham would never recognize: the love of a fine woman. He returned his gaze to his opponent.“Elizabeth will not come. She left me,Wickham.You will be satisfied to know your maneuverings were quite successful. When Elizabeth discovered you had taken Lydia and would continue to torment those she loved because of me, she turned on me. She could not love a man who had brought such evil into her life.”