MPOV

It’s been many years since I’ve lost my wife and companion. My mate, my life, my everything. Every 100 years or so I get a little stir crazy. With nary a word to my brothers, I leave for a short time, usually no longer than a few months. Just long enough to clear my mind. I take only one guard with me, someone who can communicate back at the castle if I am needed. Then I leave.

            I love Italy. It truly is beautiful. I found myself heading towards Rome for no particular reason. There, I stayed in the shadows, observing, attempting to look normal though the curious stares followed me wherever I went.

            And then I saw her. She was lovely, perhaps in her 30s. Her hair was a rich brandy with sparkling blue eyes I could see glowing from across the slightly deserted street. It was late, the sun having already set, and she was alone. It was obvious she was well bred and came from society by her dress, but that didn’t explain why she was alone, though I searched in vain for anyone – a guard, a footman, anyone to protect her. Unwillingly, and truly before I knew it, I was across the road, hoping I had at least gone at a human like pace. I wasn’t normally out with humans so I was a little rusty trying to act human, but for her, I would make any exception. Her blood called to me, but more still was her body. She was exquisite, and I felt the gentle tugging on my heart, between us. We had a connection, that much was obvious by the glowing thread between our bodies. However, there was another thread, fainter than ours, but still there, stretching far away. Ah. She had a husband, most likely. And children, as there were three more bright threads heading in the same direction. Yet none were here.

            “You look lost, my lady,” I said smoothly, my voice husky from slight misuse. “May I assist you?”

            She looked up at me through thick, dark lashes. “Thank you, I seem to have been separated from my party.” Her voice was rich and sultry and I inwardly shivered, though her accent told me she was British.

            “Are you staying somewhere?” I asked, taking her hand in mine like any proper gentleman would, thankful that the current fashion, though I detested such things, were for gloves and she would be unable to tell how cold my hands were.

            “Yes, with friends. They live in the square, in the center of town. I fear I’ve forgotten the address. We were all at a party together and I felt faint.” She turned to me, looking me dead on. “Would you assist me back to their house?”

            Ah. She was feeling the same I was then, as evidenced by the thread changing colors between us to a rich red. “It would be an honor,” I bowed. Together, we traveled on. I kept the conversation light, asking about her travels, what she had done, where she was from while at the same time never asking about who I know was in the back of both our minds – her husband. I did not ask and she did not tell.

            When we arrived at her friend’s house, she seemed relieved and yet reluctant at the same time. “Thank you very much, sir. It is rare to find just gentlemen these days.”

            I bowed slightly. “I am always at your service, whatever you should need.” I watched as she flushed slightly, then nodded and turned toward the house. At the top of the steps, she paused. Turning slowly, she looked back at me. “Would you care to come in? For a glass of port or something?”

            It was the way she blushed when she said “or something” that set my non-beating heart to race. “Of course, my dear.”

            We sat quietly and awkwardly in the salon for a few moments while she poured me a glass, the servants already abed for the night. I thanked her and looked like I was sipping before putting it aside. She fiddled with her glass as she sat on the settee beside me. I decided I must make the first move, so I gently brushed a wayward curl behind her ear. She turned and looked at me, and our eyes locked. Gently, I leaned forward, brushing my cold lips against hers once, twice, again. It wasn’t long before our inhibitions, among other things, were shed and I was as warm as could be against her naked and flushed body. Few words were spoken throughout the night and I left before the dawn, slipping out her window while she slept, though I stood watch as she packed up her things the next day and set out for home. Through eavesdropping I learned she was the Duchess of Setchfield, visiting friends on holiday. He husband was a powerful man and had refused to leave London and Parliament during this time and she had traveled without husband and children as all her boys were in school. She turned faintly out the window and for a moment I imagined she could see me, though I knew it was impossible. She set off for the next boat back to England, while I stayed in Italy, back to Volterra. After a few months, something nagged at me and again I found myself leaving, heading to England, to London, to the Duchess, just to see. And what I saw I was not prepared for.

            There she was, my Caroline, as she had whispered to me between kisses, round with child and due any moment. The thought that it was my child was fleeting as it was impossible as far as I knew. But I stayed, always in the shadows. As predicted, not three days later she gave birth. Her husband came in, kissed his wife on the forehead and pronounced her a failure for the young girl in her hands. However, he went on, he did have his heir and spare and one more, so they should be fine. And Caroline, my fiery yet sweet lover, merely nodded a ‘Yes, my lord’ and went back to attending to her daughter.

            When she was alone, just her and the baby, I jumped in through the window. “Caroline,” I muttered softly and she turned, gasping.

            “Marcus,” she breathed, her heart beating faster, my heart rejoicing as she said my name. “What are you doing here? I thought you lived in Italy?”

“Something told me to come here. I see now what it was.”

Caroline shook her head. “She is Setchfield’s daughter. She has his blonde hair.”

            Looking with my own eyes there was no denying she spoke the truth, however, she could not see the small blue thread connecting myself and the baby. “What is her name?”

            “Anne,” Caroline said happily, rocking and cooing at the baby. “Marcus, you must leave, if anyone were to find you-”

            “Of course. I just needed to see you one more time, my love.” I leaned forward, unable to help myself, and kissed her again. Anne fussed in her arms and she looked down. By the time she looked back up, I was gone.

            I stayed away from London for 40 years, and no one was the wiser. My brothers never spoke of the incident, though I had to tell them. Aro knew immediately when he welcomed me back. Caroline was always in my mind though I knew it was impossible to make her a part of this world. I’d had my mate for this lifetime and I had failed her. Why, how, could I subject another to this life?

            It took only a few well placed questions in a local gaming hell to find out about my sweet love. Her son, the duke’s heir, had died, leaving the young grandson as Marquess.  The other children had married, and young Anne was married to the Earl of Ravenwood. Together they had a son, age 18, and years later, a daughter, aged 6. I learned of where they kept house in town and ventured out. I heard movement in the house, the soft laughing and a kiss and then – “Goodnight, Marcus.”

            I almost fell from the tree I was perched in. Caroline’s daughter, my Anne, had a son she had named after me. Did she know the truth? I contemplated, though there was no way to ask. Caroline would certainly notice something was amiss about the fact I had not changed in 30 years.

            I watched Anne through the windows and she moved to another room. It was there that I smelled it. The unmistakable smell of a vampire though muted. Yet, I could hear a heartbeat as well. This child, this young girl, was part vampire? Could it be possible? There was no arguing with the scent, soft, like sunshine and rain at the same time mixed with flowers. But how? Why now, a generation later? The boy had no such scent to him. Why this girl? What was so special? What had triggered it?

            I watched them the next day. The girl, Isabel, was remarkable. Her skin was pearly white, almost luminous. Her hair was long and jet black, her eyes a vivid blue-violet. She was perfection in everything she did. Her movements were graceful, her reading suburb, her dancing divine – everything was lithe and perfect as some of the most experienced vampires.

            As she sprinted through the meadow, outrunning a boy beside her that looked a few years older than her, I watched as she tripped on a dug out hole, twisting her ankle along the way. Before she could cry, her brother was out the back door and into the garden. “Isabel, is your ankle okay?”

            She sniffled slightly. “How did you know?”

            Marcus picked her up swiftly. “I always know when you’re hurt. I hurt, too.”

            I sat, stunned, watching as they entered the house. Perhaps there was more to the boy than I had first seen.

            I stayed in London for several weeks, watching and observing. There was nothing more to be done now, I must wait and bide my time. I returned to Volterra, wishing there was someway to keep this to myself yet knowing it was impossible.

            Sporadically I went back to London throughout the years, keeping track of my family, as it were. Caroline had died not long before my second trip and I mourned her. Isabel was a young woman at this point and would soon meet someone to marry. Though it was obvious to me she would choose Alexander Cavanaugh, the fourth son of the duke next door. The bond between them was stronger than any I had seen before.

On my next trip I was pleased to see I had been correct and the Isabel, or Izzy, as many fondly called her, was round with their fifth child, the first having sadly died before being given a chance to live and the second and third being twins – each one a replica of their mother in personality. Mercedes was a miniature of her mother down to the eyes and curly raven hair. She was a proper and distinguished girl who loved parties and fashion. Ella, on the other hand, was a replica of her father’s dark mahogany hair and deep brown eyes, taller than her sister though still as thin. She was Isabel’s other personality as I had learned to love as she grew up in the country – tomboyish, climbing trees and rocks, jumping into wading pools, excelling at archery at even a young age. I wished, not for the first time, to be something different so I could be a part of their family instead of hiding in the shadows. 

It was during that trip I had learned that my dearest Anne, along with her husband, had both been murdered just after Isabel’s first season. Marcus had joined the Home Office in London to aide with the war with France, now years past, and during that time had hunted down his parent’s murderer. I was pleased with how he had grown as well.

My fourth trip was my hardest. Isabel was now older, though she didn’t look it. Her children were all married now, the last just weeks ago. I watched her through the trees as she left to visit with an old friend.

I moved closer and inadvertently caught the attention of one of her carriage horses, spooking the gelding and causing it to bolt. Unfortunately, the driver wasn’t prepared and I watched in horror as they careened around a turn, missing the corner and heading straight for a rocky mass.

Instinctively, I reached through the carriage and saved my granddaughter. She was dazed and surprised and obviously confused. Reluctantly, I told her my story, quickly, and knowing I had no other choice now that I had revealed myself as what I truly was, bit her swiftly on her wrist.

Her transformation was, mercifully, quick and relatively painless, lasting only minutes. Though she kept many of her features, including her eye color, parts of her were now more defined and her senses sharpened. Reluctantly, I led her to an abandoned house a few miles away where I sat down and told her my whole story, which she took in stride. After seeing her grow up, Caroline had taken her granddaughter aside one day and revealed what had happened that night so many years ago and revealed her suspicions.

Isabel excelled at her new life as a vampire and met every challenge head on, far surpassing my expectations. She was also more powerful than I could have imagined, having multiple gifts. However, she became depressed because of her husband she was forced to leave behind. Seeing the bond between them was still stronger than any I had encountered, I allowed her to visit, to peek through the windows.

Not surprisingly, Alex joined our little vampire family a few months later, though his transformation was infinitely more painful than Isabel’s had been. We decided then it was best to leave England. Besides, I knew my brother’s would be interested in their niece and now Princess of Volterra.

When we arrived, it was only slight chaos at the news. Caius, as usual, was angry, but really had no choice. Aro was more calculating and I didn’t like the way he eyed my granddaughter. It was only a few days before he tested her powers. Repeatedly. She learned to block her mind from him almost immediately which pleased me and infuriated him. After the first time she defeated his guards he became more wary, however when she and Alex actually desecrated some of his favorites he had sent to test her true powers, he backed off and didn’t touch her again.

Alex, it seemed, had powers of his own. Isabel had remarked he’d been charismatic and charming in real life and always somehow made people do what he said – a gift that traveled with him to his vampire life as well. Alex had but to speak a command and one would do what he’d say – even the most powerful. Isabel made Aro promise to stop testing them and she would in turn promise that Alex would never use his gift on him or his brothers. Aro agreed and a pact was made the day that Aro realized Isabel wanted nothing to do with our little empire. In fact, she detested the way we took human life and refused to drink from humans. I had a guard kill and drain a human when it was time to feed and make sure Alex and Isabel were giving the blood in glasses. It wasn’t as bad, Isabel admitted, when she didn’t have to see them die before her, but she had to drink.

And then Carlisle Cullen made his appearance at our humble castle.

Two months later I watched him walk out with my granddaughter and her husband, the only family I had. Though I would never admit it, and never showed it in public, I loved Isabel like crazy, and would do anything to see her happy – including letting her go. Volterra was crushing her spirit and I could not allow that to happen. We had a tearful – on her part, and heartfelt – on my part, goodbye and then she was gone. She sent me letters as she traveled and hearing the smile in her words was enough to assure me I’d made the right choice all those years ago. For once, I had somewhere to belong – in the heart of my granddaughter.