Morgan Rice - Desired

“Hey, you jerk!” one of them yelled at him.

The other turned to Kyle. “Hey, one-eye!” he yelled. “Watch where you’re going!”

The big man reached out to give Kyle a hard shove to the chest.

But his eyes opened wide in surprise when his shove didn’t work. Kyle hadn’t been budged at all; it had been like pushing a stone wall.

Kyle shook his head slowly, amazed at the stupidity of these men. Before they could react, he reached back over his shoulder, extracted his sword with a cling, and in one motion, swung it, chopping off both their heads in a fraction of a second.

He watched with satisfaction as their heads rolled, and both of their bodies began to slump to the ground. He put back his sword, and reached out and pulled a headless corpse to him. He sunk his long fangs right into the open neck, and drank hardily as the blood squirted.

Kyle could hear the screaming of the prostitutes erupt all around him, as they saw what had happened. This was followed by the sound of doors slamming, window shutters closing.

The whole town was already scared of him, he realized.

Good, he thought. This was the sort of welcome he loved.

Caitlin and Caleb flew away from Paris, over the French countryside in the early morning, she holding tightly onto his back as he cut through the air. She felt stronger now, and felt that if she wanted to fly, she could. But she didn’t want to let go of him. She loved the feel of his body. She just wanted to hold him, to feel what it was like to be together again. She knew it was crazy, but after being apart for so long, she had a fear that if she let him go, he might fly away forever.

Beneath them, the landscape was ever-changing. Pretty quickly the city fell away and the landscape shifted to dense woods and rolling hills. Closer to the city, there were occasional houses, farms. But the further they got, the more the land opened. They passed field after field, rolling meadows, an occasional farm, sheep grazing. Smoke rose from chimneys, and she guessed that people were cooking. Clotheslines spread out over lawns, and sheets hung from them. It was an idyllic scene, and the July temperature had dropped just enough so that the cooler air, especially up this high, was refreshing.

After hours of flying, they rounded a bend, and the new view took Caitlin’s breath away: there, on the horizon, sat a shimmering sea, vibrant blue, its waves smashing into an endless, pristine shoreline. As they got closer, the elevation rose, and rolling hills went right up to the shoreline.

Nestled in the rolling hills, amidst the tall grass, she saw a single building set against the horizon. It was a glorious, medieval castle, designed of an antique limestone, covered in ornate sculptures and gargoyles. It was nestled high on a hill, overlooking the sea, and surrounded by fields of wildflowers as far as the eye could see. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and Caitlin felt as if she were in a postcard.

Caitlin’s heart beat with excitement, as she wondered, as she hoped to dream, that this could be Caleb’s place. Somehow, she felt that it was.

“Yes,” he called out, over the wind, reading her mind, as always. “This is it.”

Caitlin’s heart pounded with delight. She was so excited, and felt so strong, she was ready to fly by herself.

She suddenly jumped off of Caleb’s back, and went flying through the air. For a moment, she was terrified, wondering if her wings would sprout. A moment later, they did, supporting her in the air.

As the air ran through them, she loved the feeling. It felt great to have them again, to be independent. She rose and dove, swooping up, close to Caleb, who smiled back. They dove down together, then up, swerving in and out of each other’s flight paths, the tips of their wings sometimes touching.

As one, they dove down, closer to the castle. It looked ancient; it felt worn in, but not in a bad way. For Caitlin, it already felt like home.

As she took it all in, looked at the landscape, the rolling hills, the distant ocean, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt a sense of peace. She felt, finally, like she was home. She saw her life together with Caleb here, living together, even starting a family together again, if that was possible. She would be happy to live out her days here with him – and finally, at long last, she didn’t see anything that stood in their way.

Caitlin and Caleb landed together in front of his castle, and he took her hand and led her to the front door. The oak door was covered in a thick layer of dust and sea salt, and clearly hadn’t been opened in years. He tried the knob. It was locked.

“It’s been hundreds of years,” he said. “I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it’s still here, that it hasn’t been vandalized – that it’s even still locked. There used to be a key…”

He reached up, way above the door frame, and felt the crevice behind the stone arch. He ran his fingers up and down it, and finally stopped, extracting a long, silver skeleton key.

He slipped into the lock, and it fit perfectly. He turned it with a click.

He turned and smiled at her, stepping aside. “You do the honors,” he said.

Caitlin pushed the heavy, medieval door, and it opened slowly, creaking, encrusted salt falling off in clumps as it did.

They walked in together. The entry room was dim, and covered in cobwebs. The air was still and dank, and it felt like it hadn’t been entered in centuries. She looked up at the high, arched stone walls, the stone floors. There were layers of dust on everything, including the glass windows, which blocked a lot of the light, making it seem darker than it was.

“This way,” Caleb said.

He took her hand and led her down a narrow corridor, and it opened up into a grand hall, with high, arched windows on both sides. It was much lighter in here, even with the dust. There was some furniture left over in here, too: a long, medieval oak table, surrounded by ornate, wooded chairs. At its center sat a huge, marble mantel, one of the largest fireplaces Caitlin had ever seen. It was incredible. Caitlin felt as if she had walked right back into the Cloisters.

“I had it built in the 12th century,” he said, looking around himself. “Back then, this was the style.”

“You lived here?” Caitlin asked.

He nodded.

“For how long?”

He thought. “Not more than a century,” he said. “Maybe two.”

Caitlin marveled, once again, at the huge increments of time in the vampire world.

Suddenly, though, she got worried, as she thought of something else: had he lived here with another woman?

She was afraid to ask.

He suddenly turned and looked at her.

“No, I did not,” he said. “I lived here alone. I assure you. You’re the first woman I’ve ever taken here.”

Caitlin felt relieved, though embarrassed at his reading her mind.

“Come on,” he said. “This way.”

He led her up a spiral stone staircase, and it twisted and turned, and let them out on the second floor. This floor was much brighter, with large, arched windows facing every direction, sunlight pouring in, reflecting the distant sea. The rooms were smaller here, more intimate. There were more marble fireplaces, and as Caitlin wandered from room to room, she saw a huge four-poster bed dominating one of them. Chaise lounges and overstuffed velvet chairs, were spread throughout the other rooms. There were no rugs, just a bare stone floor. It was very stark. But beautiful.

He led her across the room, to a set of huge, glass doors. They’d been covered in so much dust, she hadn’t even known they were there. He stepped up and tugged hard at the locks and knobs, and finally, with a bang and a cloud of dust, they opened.