Two Ways to Eternal

Lamros looked down at the woman in his arms. She smiled back, lips curving open to expose the warm life within. He considered keeping her alive. He considered keeping her forever.

Her satin skirts rustled against him as she pushed her body up to his. The scent of jasmine followed her, brushing his senses just as solidly as her body did. He brought his arm around her, drew her even tighter to him, silk and lace in fine contrast under his fingers. She let out a minute moan and lifted her face to him, baring her sweet smooth skin from cheekbone to neckline to shoulder, and on down her now bare arm.

Lamros lingered over the removal of her skirts, planting kisses in all the places he had learned to bring a woman to full arousal. She moaned again, sighed, chewed on her lip.

“Lamros, my newest and dearest friend,” she said, pausing to suck in her breath when he nibbled the join of neck to shoulder. “Those travels you spoke of...I have reconsidered, and would be more than pleased to accompany you anywhere in the world.”

Lamros drew back to regard her in her state of undress. “The way is hard,” he said. At this point he was undecided, but her reply gave him answer enough.

“Oh, you will be sure to care for my needs, won’t you?”

He took her then, both as a man takes a woman, and as a monster devours a victim. Her legs kicked out in their death throws, and he reveled in the release, the movement of surrender.

Afterwards, he paced her rooms: dusty parlor, cold kitchen, dim library, bloody bedroom. His lip curled in disgust at the body sprawled over the bedclothes. There could be no companion for him. None would ever meet his level of perfection.

In the dead woman's room, by the window where the last light of day shone, stood a rose under glass. It rested so that its perfect beauty was the first thing to catch the eye upon entering. When asked, she had told him it preserved the life of the cut flower. He wondered: why cut the flower from its bush if it was life she wished to keep?

The rose did look faultless. Could he ever find a mate so right for him, so perfect in every way?

At dusk his longing and discontent drove him out of the house. The life he sought seemed an impossible dream. There were plenty of other woman in that sultry seaside town, all perfect for his pleasures...enough perhaps for a month or more of steady occupation. Yet he did not stay, just as he did not keep the woman. None of it satisfied his endless need.

Farmlands fell away to forest, and he went on still until rocks forged through the trees and became mountains that the trees could no longer master. Before dawn exhaustion finally overtook him, and he sought shelter, rough as it was, and let sleep overtake him.

He woke to a new night, and the old hunger. Something lingered on the breeze, a hint of fear and indecision. He let his senses lead him, and soon he caught the sight of white linen moving in moonlight.

As he drew closer, the sweet scent of honey and fresh hay made him smile.

“You are quite young to be out so late, my dear,” Lamros said. The girl spun, a gasp escaping her lips. Her fearful eyes were so wide they captured the moon in them, and he marveled at the twin orbs until she turned them away to scramble on through the trees.

Lamros was before her in an instant. “Wait,” he said, and he made his voice’s touch soft like the kiss of a child.

Her breath came in sharp, short heaves, and her body trembled before him. He licked his dry lips and reached out a hand to her.

“Why do you run?” he asked, his voice soothing but distracted, his thoughts caught up in wondering if this might be the one he sought.

The girl frowned, her fear tempered by doubt, though still thick in the cool air. “You frightened me,” she said. “What else should a girl do when she meets a stranger in the forest at night?”

He returned from the place his mind roamed. “Perhaps you should’ve thought of the dangers before wandering alone. But methinks you have great reason to be here, and great courage to follow that reason.”

Her smile peeked from under her bonnet like the dappled sun through the forest canopy. It struck him, this memory of such a thing, and he stepped back from the girl, half turning to go.

“Please, don’t raise the alarm,” she cried, running up to take his arm.

Lamros stared at her. Raise an alarm? That’s what she should be doing--warning her people of his presence, of their danger. He shook his head in confusion.

She misunderstood. “I am to be married to a nasty man tomorrow,” she said. Bluest eyes of summer skies implored him to take pity on her. “That is the reason that gives me courage against all fear of harm.”

His mind left him again, following dreams he had tried to forsake so many times. They stood together like that, a frozen moment of time, until she blinked away tears. The salt of them made his hunger rise from the depths and flood him. He swallowed, tasted air laden with her sweetness, and leaned in closer.

“I will walk with you,” he said. “Whichever way you have chosen.”

Her relief scented the air sharper than the salt of her tears, and he choked back his desire.

They moved on, north and west. “Do you have a goal? A plan?”

She made a moue with her delicate lips. “Something will come along,” she said with the confidence and blind optimism of youth.

A new longing washed over him then. “You could join me in my travels,” he suggested lightly, as if it didn’t matter to him much either way.

Her gratitude was a drenching downpour of emotion he had forgotten the like of. He looked on her with amazement. Young. Pure. Perfect in every way.

They walked along through the darkness. The girl nattered on as the young are wont to do, and Lamros struggled with hunger.

"Shush, my dear," he said. The girl, in mid-sentence, gave him a look like a startled rabbit.

"Why?" She looked around. "Are we being followed?"

"No. I simply crave some quiet."

She pouted. The full lip protruded, and Lamros tried to imagine what she would be like as a demon. She might retain her beauty and youth, but would she also continue her juvenile behavior?

"I see no reason I have to listen to you. I'm tired of men telling me what to do. You can never understand what it's like for a woman, being the property of her father until she becomes the property of her husband. Why can't we own ourselves?" She took longer strides now, and her fists were clenched at her sides. "It's why I ran away. I refuse to be some piece of chattel to be bartered off for the highest price. The only reason my father considered this latest offer for my hand was because of money. Nothing else. He didn't even stop to consider what I might be feeling--"

In a fit of longing for peace so that he might hear himself think, he silenced her without even taking his pleasure with her first.

When it was done, he stood over her body, his face contorted, his fists clenched. Any thought he had of realizing his dream was laughable. What woman would meet his high standards for eternal love? He was perfection immortal. Nothing and no one was going to reach his level.

No longer would he even consider hoping.

There would be a search for the girl, so Lamros moved on under cover of night, higher into the mountain country, leaving behind the fields and farms and villages of peasants who tended them, his never-ending hunger a constant companion, his dreams pursuing him without respite. Days and nights passed, and yet he could not shake the visions of a companion, of what it might be like to share his endless time with another.

After one long, cruel night, with dawn a faint promise of rest in the sky, he stumbled into a basin of rock high on a mountainside, and discovered another’s prison.

A glass case of amazing design curved over the body of a beautiful woman. He could not smell her, but old sorcery stung the air, making his eyes water and his skin prickle.

His mind flashed to a rose in a seaside mansion, all still and separated from life.

Lamros stepped closer, the light of the false dawn more than enough for him to see. As he came around the ornate case he caught a full view of the woman’s face, and stopped so still he wondered if he would ever move again.

"Here is my rose, my perfection," he said aloud, his breath catching on the words.

This was a woman, yet more than any woman, despite his long centuries of enjoying the pleasures of female flesh. Her lips, bloodred. Her hair, black as the deepest night. Her skin, pale...pale as his!

Her chest did not rise and fall, and the magic that pulsed over the glass between them warned him away. So, too, did the growing brilliance on the eastern horizon. Still, his gaze returned to her again, and Lamros could think of nothing but what her eyes might look like, or her smile.

He stepped forward again, his hand reaching out, wondering if he suffered some enchantment. Whatever the cause, he could not tolerate the thought of leaving her there.

Dawn now cut the eastern sky; he needed to seek shelter, and this terrain didn’t always offer it up easily. Why care for a sorcerer’s woman anyway? Why be concerned with a dead woman, whose blood must run colder than his?

His outstretched fingers trembled as they lowered towards the glass. It shimmered now, gray-blue reflecting the first light.

A sound brought his head around. The distraction broke the spell, and Lamros focused on the eastern sky. He fled then, from both the dawn and the sorcerer. He knew better than to believe a woman was worth risking so much.

Yet Lamros looked over his shoulder as he ran, his concern for the well being of the unknown woman a new torture. He cursed when he stumbled and fell to his knees. He knelt there, his back curved, his head hung low. With a great cry he heaved to his feet and ran back to the rocky hollow.

The sorcerer stood on the other side of the enchanted glass, tall and gray of skin, and terrible to look upon. Even from where he stood, Lamros caught the smell of decay. This man’s blood smelt so old a demon might suffer death just from one drink of it. Lamros shivered, but he did not turn away.

"What have you done to her?" he said, his voice choked.

The sorcerer regarded him for a long moment before answering.

"She is mine, and there is naught you can do to save her. Take her from under the glass, and she will suffer greatly before dying in your arms."

Lamros's chest constricted.

“There must be something...” he began, and his old hope, his never-ending dream for a companion, rose in him like a tidal wave from the sea.

The sorcerer laughed, a gross chuckle that matched his stench. The laughter continued, and fury burned up through Lamros, searing away all thought of caution. He ran down into the knoll, and with a mighty swing, he broke the glass, broke it as only a powerful demon could, bringing blood and pain, but nothing that wouldn’t heal within a night.

The woman shrieked, her body arched in some otherworldly spasm, and then slumped. Yet, instantly, Lamros saw that her chest rose and fell; he smelt the blood flow in her veins, tasted her salt on the air.

She was alive.

“You fool!” The sorcerer's eyes were wide with astonishment and anger. “What have you done? Centuries of work, wasted in such a rash--” His words were choked off, and he shook uncontrollably.

“What have I done? What have you done to her?” Lamros said, his own unquenchable anger forcing each word out through clenched teeth.

The sorcerer narrowed his eyes, gauging Lamros. “This is the greatest experiment in immortality ever performed, and you have destroyed it! Furthermore, you have cursed her to a torturous death. She will wither within days. The pain will be unbearable, and nothing can save her, not even a hulking brute like you.”

A glance to the east made Lamros wince. He had no time to argue. He bent over the woman.

“You may not have her!”

Lamros tensed, waiting for a blow of magic that might destroy him. When none came, Lamros turned a puzzled gaze to the man. The sorcerer's stricken face seemed even grayer, older, than it was at first. The man shook not from fury, but from incredible old age. Immediately Lamros understood. He had ruined the magic, stolen the sorcerer's fountain of youth.

Lamros turned away from him, no longer concerned with the man and his powerless magic, and lifted the woman into his arms.

Would it be worth it? He thought of the rose under glass. Would he be able to preserve the life of the flower without the glass?

 “There is naught you can do for her,” the sorcerer said, persisting in his harassment. “If you believe yourself in love, then you should know Keiri would be better with me. It will take time, but I can remake the glass, respell the--”

Lamros turned with a snarl, baring his teeth for the stupid old man to see. “I have my own plan.”

He leapt away from the sorcerer’s stunned expression and into the shelter of the trees, running with every bit of skill and speed he could muster despite his burden.

Keiri. The name rolled over his tongue and around his brain and down through every nerve as if a narcotic.

This one he would keep.

He would sire her, save her from a lingering death. They would share immortality. Travel together. Hunt together.

Love forever.

A tiny cave, barely worthy of being called such, was the best he could find before the sun gained the sky. Lamros huddled there, fighting his need to sleep away the sun, waiting for the night and the height of his power. He cradled Keiri against him, stroking her hair when she moaned. Soon she would walk whole and hale. Soon she would walk by his side.

Keiri groaned, and her eyelids fluttered. Lamros felt panic and joy churn within him. He lay her down on his cloak.

Her eyes opened, their colour the palest blue, like that of the hint of water in ice. She stared into his eyes, as if to search his soul, and he burned with the pain of having none to offer her.

She glanced to the side, to the light of day only a step or two away. “Where?”

Only one word, yet it seemed to weary her beyond belief. Her eyes drooped, and her bright lips pinched.

“Safe,” Lamros said, croaking the word out as if his natural charms and soothing ways belonged to some man of the past. Keiri looked back to him, and warmth he thought long lost to him flooded through his entire body.

“Why...?”

Again, it was all she could do to utter the single word. He took up her hand and brought it to his lips, making shushing noises against her skin.

“A sorcerer held you under enchanted glass,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper. Her half-lidded eyes studied him. “I broke the glass, took you away from him.”

She regarded him; he longed for her.

“Thank...you.”

He nodded, and pressed her hand to his forehead. He did not mean to say the next words, but some deep part of him knew that they needed said.

“He said you would die soon if you are not put back under glass.”

Keiri’s eyes shot open, and her head wobbled from side to side. Tears sprang into being, filling the space with the scent of her, and rolled haphazardly this way and that with her frantic movements.

"Please, not again..."

“It’s all right, my lady,” he said, lifting her to him once again. “I will not allow it to be.”

She gripped him, far stronger than he would have expected, yet far softer too. Her silent crying soaked his shirt and filled his nostrils with the tang of life. His hunger tormented him, but he ignored it. Finally her sobs subsided, and he eased her back down onto his cloak.

“I do not intend for you to die,” he said to her. She did not need to speak: the question lay plain on her face.

So he told her what he was, and what she could be too, and that they could share eternity together.

Keiri cried out, too weak to make a full scream, and turned her body over to begin crawling away from him. Lamros made no move to stop her. Devastation and disbelief sat in him so heavy he could find no way to react.

She dragged herself over sharp stone inch by inch. Only thanks to her condition was he given another chance. Inches into the sunlight Keiri slumped to the ground, her head falling upon her pale arm, her black hair covering her face. Lamros watched from within the shadows as sunlight trailed over her still form.

“Later, you will thank me,” he said to her. “Later, once the deed is done.”

He marveled at the power of his feelings. For the first time he believed in fate. How else for him to find her in his random wanderings? How else for him suffer the power of love in his heartless state? No, he believed it all now, that he would save her as no other could, and that he was created for exactly that role, waiting to meet her all his long undead life. He studied her form until sleep claimed him.

That night Lamros knelt in a clearing with a smooth pond reflecting the moonlit sky. He prepared his strength in order to pull back at the proper moment and sire instead of devour.

Keiri lay in the grass, the blades all twinkling with dew. Her head lolled to one side to bare her neck to him, and he swooned over her, ready to fulfill his--and her--destiny.

"You sick monster."

His head shot up. An old crippled man limped through the clearing, his severe age plain in the moonlight. Lamros did not recognize him at first, but quickly realized this could only be the sorcerer.

"Envy destroys you faster than the loss of your prisoner," Lamros said. Despite the lack of fear he felt, he still kept watch on the old man's progress. "Have you come to beg for the only way to true immortality?"

"No. Despite your opinion of what I did, I would never lower myself to your level, demon." His voice shook and stuttered. "My death nears, and at least I have a chance at heaven, whereas you never will. How dare you take that from her?"

Cold blue eyes regarded Lamros, unmarred by the rapid aging.

"I will give her better than heaven," Lamros said. "You are the monster, feeding off her year after year. I will give her a rich life of centuries together."

Still the steady gaze belying the wasted body that trembled and tottered. "You are simply a monster. You cannot comprehend what hell you introduce Keiri to. If you truly understood love, you would never choose this for her."

Lamros saw then that the sorcerer held a crucifix, and a tiny vial of water. The man muttered in his beard, chanting indistinguishable words, but Lamros could smell the growing power. Blue eyes continued to taunt him.

"You are the Beast brought to walk the earth, unable to even recognize how loathsome you have become. Even if both Keiri and I die with you, that would be better than to allow you to have her."

In that moment Lamros lost his patience. He would wait no more for the moment of bliss when he descended upon Keiri and created a mate worthy of him. He slipped around the sorcerer, far faster than the feeble man could move, and tore his head from his shoulders. It took so little force, it shocked Lamros from his blinding fury. He dropped the head and backed away, appalled at what he had done even as the smell of blood made his hunger roar. The cool moon passed beyond the clearing, creating shadows on the water, shadows to match those in his mind.

Keiri began to writhe on the grass, little cries of agony escaping her. Lamros rushed to her side and fell to his knees to gently cradle her head in his lap. He could end her pain now and bring her new life. She deserved that, didn't she?

Hesitation gripped him. She would curse him. Hate him. He barely knew her, but he did know her name, and the sound of her voice, and the fear in her eyes. He knew he needed her love, and that this would not garner it.

Yet his love was beyond anything he thought possible for a demon such as he. He could not bear the thought of defeat.

Keiri’s gaze was suddenly upon him, bringing him to utter stillness.

“There are two ways to eternal,” she whispered to him, and smiled. Then her eyes closed again, and her face relaxed into repose. Her trust, her faith in him, her lack of fear...it struck him with ten times the force than any sorcerer’s magical blow.

Despite no salt tears to drip, or heart to break, he sobbed until he shuddered with it. Then, with quick hands, he snapped her neck, ending any temptation.

Under the cover of darkness he scooped her up once again, now beyond redemption...or perhaps just approaching it. He climbed so high up the mountain he soared above the clouds that scuttled through the moonlight. He built a cairn over her using rocks that no mortal human could ever lift. He sat bent over her monument for the rest of the night.

When dawn came, he prayed for the first time in centuries. "Let her be at peace," he said to the brightening sky. "No matter what waits for me, she deserves eternity."

Then he stood and waited for the light.

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