Chapter Four

Andras watched Owen stagger toward the hearth and return to the cot with a pan of warm water and a clean cloth. "Allow me to cleanse your wounds."

"I'm the physician," he replied with a sardonic chuckle. "I assure ye; my wounds will heal without fuss."

Andras scanned the one-room shelter. A crude portrait of a middle-aged woman, another of a fly-cart drawn by a sway-backed horse, and a cross made from wheat stalks adorned the walls.

"The cross belonged to my mother." Owen said following his gaze.

"The woman in the portrait?"

"In her younger days, painted by a villager with a keen eye." Owen set the bowl down on a crude table and seemed to have difficulty meeting his eyes. "Will ye remove the jerkin and shirt and allow me look at the shoulder wound?"

Andras shrugged. "Ye doubt my word? Very well." He removed the clothing and watched Owen's eyes widen.

"’Tis as ye said. No blood and little injury to speak of now." Green eyes scanned his bare chest before Owen reached out and touched his warm flesh. "The wound has healed as if the breath of God whispered over it."

"Not God. Diawl perhaps."

"No, ye are a kind man, Andras, not one marked by the devil."

"At one time, perhaps, before Traherne found me in the woods."

Owen licked his bottom lip and looked into his eyes, the pungent aroma of sweat and heat engulfing them. "Is that how it happened. . . Traherne turned ye?"

Andras nodded, aware of the unfathomable allure filling the empty space between them. For too many years he'd watched Owen, waiting, hoping one day the sin eater’s son would recognize the enigmatic magnetism. Everything about the young man mystified him—the deep, chestnut hair falling in a wild tumble about his shoulders, the deep green eyes that shone like precious stones, mostly his gentle, unassuming nature.

God, how he’d tried to dispel the feelings, more so after the night Traherne set upon him in the forest. How many times in the last five years had he laughed over the perverse irony? Under normal circumstances, the odds of Owen sharing his same carnal desires were nonexistent, but him loving a vampire, out of the question.

"He allowed ye to live?"

"Accidental." Andras struggled to dispel the gruesome visions. "He thought I’d bleed out on the forest floor and that would be the end of his dilemma."

Owen released a long, audible breath.

"Your eyes hold many questions."

"Aye, too many to notch on the trunk of a wide-girthed yew."

Entranced by his presence, Andras found himself studying the angular planes of his face. "Ask, and I’ll do my best to appease your curiosity."

"What is your age?"

He smiled. "Are ye not the same as Carys, twenty-five summers?"

"It must be true, for twenty-one summers passed before my tad died four years ago."

"And are ye good with numbers?"

He nodded. "Fair."

"Carys was ten summers when her parents passed and I was twenty summers when I took her in."

"Thirty-five," he said with a smile. "Ten years my senior."

"Correct, now what else do ye wish to know?"

"What brought ye to the shire?"

"Ah, when I finished my schooling, I had a desire to ply my trade near the sea. Wdig and the neighboring village of Abergwaun seemed the logical choice. They had great need of a physician and I had great need to serve."

"Carys accompanied ye?"

"The choice was hers. She could have remained at Sycharth Castle in north Wales, my childhood home, but finds my foppish, eccentric Uncle Maxen a wee overbearing."

Owen took a quick intake of breath. "One of the noblest houses in all of Wales?"

"At one time, aye, but few know of my origins and I prefer it to remain thus."

His eyes darkened with pain. "Who would converse with a sin eater?"

"Me," he replied wishing he could erase the defeat in Owen’s voice.

Andras’s heart took a perilous leap when the emerald lights of his eyes shifted. "Why do I feel this powerful connection between us?"

He knew the question would arise one day, and a thousand times he’d rehearsed his counter. Now the inopportune time was at hand and he struggled to find the words. "Are ye certain ye wish to hear the answer?"

Owen nodded but held his ragged breath.

"I knew your father."

"Everyone knew of my father, but few acknowledged him. Unless they required him to draw out the vestiges of evil from a loved one’s soul, free the corpse of its attachments to earth so it might enter the Kingdom of Heaven."

"Sin eaters deal with the living too. Did your father not teach ye souls can be damaged in different ways?"

"Aye," Owen said. "My father said no matter what others do to us, there’s a proper way to behave to preserve our morality."

"Yes and your father spoke of other things—that humans are often victims of shameful acts and carry guilt which is not theirs to bear. It’s this burden of guilt and shame of the event that causes wounds to the soul."

Closing his eyes, Owen looked at the floor. "I grow weary of wearing the heavy yoke of a sin eater; long to believe there’s more to life than the legacy left by those who went before me."

Turbulent emotions gripped Andras. The need to hold Owen in his arms, to comfort him, refused to die. "Is it not true the sin eater saves the dying from Hell, but also ensures they won’t roam the earth as apparitions? Do they not perform a service for the living as well?"

"Yes," Owen whispered. "But ye didn’t answer my question. How do ye know what my father spoke of? In what way did ye know him?"

"After I was attacked by Traherne and left to die in the forest, the sin eater found me."

"My tad?"

"Aye."

Through the window, the soft rustle of trees penetrated the stillness. A fresh wave of desire coursed through Andras. The dull ache of need he’d lived with so long whipped around him like a lash until he couldn’t breathe. Once he told Owen the entire truth, what would he think? Would he believe his vigilance, nay, his obsession, to protect him from all things was nothing more than duty, a sacred oath to a dying man?

He stepped into his answer with care. "He could have finished me off, perhaps should have. A merciful man, your father."

"He took your sins as his own?"

"My mortal sins, and then he saved me, knowing I would rise a vampire." Andras drew an exasperated breath, preparing for the rest of his confession. "He bartered for my immortal life with two stipulations."

Owen blew air through his lips. "Tell me."

"I vowed to never drink the blood of humans and gave my oath to watch over ye when he passed."

Hurt masked his eyes, but not fear. "Because of your vow to my father, ye have now become a vampire hunter and the keeper of his son?"

"Nay, neither." Andras cupped his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "I’m not a vampire slayer, but a physician."

"But ye killed Traherne?"

"Aye, he left me no choice. I gave my word I’d watch out for ye, and have kept my oath to your father."

Owen bolted from the chair, tipping it over in the process. "Leave. I don’t want to hear the rest."

"Ye must hear me out." He rose from the cot and reached Owen in less time than it took him to pull the latch. Andras spun him around, pinning him against the door, their bodies separated by their clothing. Duw help him, the world spun and his body hummed like a lightning fork. "I’ve watched ye from afar, held ye here." He placed a hand over his heart.

"Because of a vow ye made to my father!"

"Nay." Andras shook his head and drowned in the wet, moss-green eyes. "Despite the vow, I’ve cared; have watched ye stumble through the pain of loneliness and despair." Owen’s heart thrummed a mad tempo against his chest, and raw, primal need washed over him. Not now, not like this. "Owen, ye don’t have to remain a sin eater."

Anger came sudden. "Ye are not the only one who swore an oath to my sire!" He snorted. "Born a sin eater, I’m unsavory, destined to lead an afterlife in Hell carrying the sins of others. Visions of death haunt me night and day"

"Speak. What kind of visions?"

"Muddied prophecies. I don’t know who, only that death stalks Pembrokeshire."

"’Tis not too late for ye to walk away from here, leave."

"Aye, ’tis too late," he whispered. "’Twas the day ye arrived in Abergwaun."

He shouldn’t have spoken the words. Andras’s resolve faded like stars in the morning sky. Owen’s face swam before him, paler than usual because of what he’d witnessed this night. His eyes searched his face as though looking at it for the last time. Scents mingled: the damp earth, a scant aroma of wild herbs, and restrained desire.

Beneath the candle’s sputtering flame, Andras saw the pulse beat in the hollow of his throat. Owen’s hand slid up his arm; stopping near the ridge of the wound he’d earned fighting Traherne.

The unsteady gasp of Owen’s breath fanned his lips. So close now he couldn’t have turned away if a tidal wave capsized the meager abode. A force more powerful than Duw’s thunder heaved between them, and then it was too late for Andras to stop.

Owen’s touch on his arm, the taste of his lips melding with his, sent a jolt of unbearable pleasure rushing through him. The sin eater’s fingers wound their way into the hair at the back of his neck and Owen drew him deeper into the kiss. Andras parted his lips with his tongue, evoking a breathless moan and a defenseless surrender of his body against Owen’s.

His manhood swelled and ached, the surge of blood rushing to the head almost unbearable. Duw help him. If Owen took it in his mind right now to seek out the hard shaft, Andras’s release would burst forth the instant he touched him.

The kiss deepened, Owen converging on him like a starved beast, his mouth devouring his, his tongue giving back what it took. There was nothing in the world except Owen, no brutal visions, no vampires. He tasted like summer rain and Andras couldn’t slake his thirst fast enough.

He longed to feel his hot skin against Owen’s, pull from his lips another moan and another, but it couldn’t happen. Owen’s all-consuming vulnerability frightened him, and oaths, dying wishes and resultant repercussions flooded his senses.

Andras broke from the kiss and stepped back, his breaths coming hard.

"No," Owen said, still writhing against him, his hands clinging to his shoulders.

"We mustn’t, not like this." He reached up and removed his hands. "We are entering very dangerous water here, and I feel ye―"

"Do not feel, do not think. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long."

"Ye are lonely, vulnerable. It would be a grave mistake to take advantage of ye without allowing ye time to think of all we’ve talked about, digest everything that happened this night."

His eyes were shut, his breathing erratic. "Traherne turning ye doesn’t change my feelings for ye. I don’t care about any of that."

"I care, Owen. We don’t know what will happen now. Above all, I must keep ye safe. If Dagan thinks to get to me through ye, he’ll not hesitate to act upon it."

Owen opened his eyes. "Dagan? Who is this ye speak of?"

"Traherne’s son. He’ll come to satisfy his lust for revenge."

"And ye will fight him?"

"Them, Dagan and his followers." The aching tenderness of Owen’s kiss remained on his lips, making it hard for him to think. "I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect the villagers...and ye."

"How many followers?"

"I don’t know, perhaps a handful."

"One against so many? Ye’ll die!"

"Ye can’t know that."

"I know this. My father said a long tooth’s powers are measured by his years. Tell me he was wrong."

"He spoke the truth."

"Ye said Traherne was the oldest vampire in the universe and so his son must also be old, but ye have five years as..."

"Monster, demon, nesuferitul. Why don’t ye name me for what I am?"

"Let me help ye, Andras. Make me like ye and I’ll fight by your side."

He placed a finger over Owen’s lips. "Don’t ever speak to me of this again. I took an oath to save lives, not take them."

"I want to be like ye." He whispered the words as though the pain of the world resided in his voice. "I want to be...with ye."

Andras shook his head. "There are things ye don’t know of."

"Tell me, help me understand."

"Although Traherne turned me, I won’t become wholly vampiric unless I feed on another human. Heed me well, Owen. Have ye any idea how I struggle with these bestial cravings, long to sate my lust on blood, a human’s blood." He narrowed his eyes and drew the words out. "Your blood."

"Forgive me, I had no idea."

"’Tis the one thing I have left, a shred of my former self. A curse of the worst kind—undead and yet not living, walking in darkness and longing for daylight." He walked to the cot, plucked his shirt and jerkin from the mattress and dressed.

"Where are ye going?"

Andras looked through the window. "I must leave now." He nodded toward the pale light of morning. "Don’t fear, the long tooths will not return this day."

"That’s not what I fear," Owen said his voice shaky. "I fear ye will not return."

The sexy mouth smiled, and the deep silver eyes shone like moonlight. "That fear is unfounded."

His cherished words split the quiet confines of the cottage and then the vampire fled through the door as silent as a thief in the night.