The Vampires Torment

The Return of The Mistress

Finn Wilde gazed out of the bedroom window, watching quietly as the redhead in a grey pantsuit talked to Marcus. Her face was hidden from sight. She was early. Most of the therapists Marcus had interviewed didn’t even make it to the Manor. A few would arrive at the little village below but were quick to turn around once they realized that indoor plumbing and signal connection would be a problem. It was their fault really. The first time they advertised, they should have mentioned that.

The search, however, was long and tiresome. Miss Smith was the only candidate that had shown an interest despite the downside. The woman had good credentials, a fact that made Finn wonder why she would take the job. He had overruled the money part when he had seen her resume.

It had taken him half a year to find another therapist, and whatever the case may be, he would not be letting this one go. At least not yet anyway.

After the other one had, unfortunately, spooked out of her wits, he had no one. Rachel, the last therapist he had, had seen him for what he truly was. The unfortunate event happened when he had decided during the night to wander about his home and go into his kitchen to quench his thirst—by thirst, he meant his bloodlust.

The poor woman had been silently staring at him all that time, watching as he drank a full pitcher of blood. Unfortunately for Finn, he hadn’t noticed her; he was too busy fighting with his demons that sneaked within him at night, coiling deep into his mind. He had been lost in the past until the woman screamed. Horror-stricken, she ran away, shouting and screeching like a banshee. The sixty-four-year-old grandmother of two ran out of the kitchen and hid in the lounge. He wanted to follow her but thought against it; humans tended to freak out if that happened. So, he opted to wake Marcus up to deal with the mess of a woman who was quivering, whining, and whimpering under the table.

The night had been a long one; on that same night, he had been woken up with a stake through the heart and his room on fire. Both a nuisance really. Rachel stood at his bedroom door with a makeshift cross.

“In the name of the Father, I condemn you, beast, die!”

She had continuously shouted and barked at him, her face flushed and stained with tears and snot, her grey hair a messy bird's nest atop her wrinkly head. For a tiny old woman, she was brave, Finn had to give her that.

He contemplated his existence as he lay in his bed, flames surrounding him, sparks of embers dancing around him, and a wooden stake deep in his chest that had now caught fire atop the tip. If only he were able to die.

He’d never been afraid of death but of an empty life. A life without adventure, happiness, love, and a life without her. Though a stake to the heart won’t kill him, it still hurt. His body had a natural tolerance for a stake to the heart; after all, he was staked over five hundred thousand times in his life. But the fire was a different matter; he couldn’t stand it. It was too painful and would take a rottenly long amount of time just to heal, a week to be exact.

After knocking out the old human and extinguishing the fire, he had found his servant passed out on the staircase with a large bump on his head, no doubt a battle wound courtesy of the old female. It had been the most interesting thing the old woman had ever done; pity they had to get rid of her in the end.

He wanted company, not the company of a woman, or a friend nor even of family. But the company of a familiar stranger. Marcus had always been there for him, always waiting on him, tending to his every wish. But he also saw him as his master. Everyone saw him so, the immortal vampire. His reputation had preceded him; he was exalted, lifted high, he had the world at his feet yet felt so utterly alone. He doesn’t even know who he is anymore. He wanted someone to listen, someone who would look at him as a fool. As a complete stranger, a person who won’t judge his desires, fears, and won't betray his vulnerability. He needed a human therapist.

He walked calmly down the stairs, his hand gliding along the dark wooden stair rail, down the staircase ever so slowly. He wanted her to hear his footsteps echo through the manor. He didn't want to scare her, not yet anyway.

He instinctively ran a hand through his short dark curls, trying to straighten it a bit, then to his white linen shirt. Perhaps his shabby appearance will aid him with the shock of seeing him. His face hasn’t changed, neither did his body. He looked as much as he did when he had been but a young man at the age of twenty-five, young, vibrant, and full of life before he had made a deal with the devil. He had been alive. However, the fire in his eyes had died down a long time ago, his sun-kissed complexion replaced with a milky white glow that sickened him.

They were in the living area. She was seated on one of the armchairs by the fireplace in the middle of the room with a cup of tea in hand and Marcus talking to her. She was marvelous, a thing of beauty, her red hair the reflection of a firestorm, her skin like caramelized chocolate, her eyes a pale grey that stirred something within him.

She was absolutely gorgeous, a rare beauty, but she was also familiar, so familiar it pained him to stare at her. She looked like her, and that haunted him.

Her eyes met his for a brief moment.

“Master. The therapist is here.”

“Thank you, Marcus.”

Marcus bowed low and made himself scarce, disappearing behind the double doors toward the kitchen, leaving his master and his new therapist alone.

“Hello, you must be Miss Anna Smith.”

“Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She said, holding up a hand to shake his. He stared at the outstretched hand, the vein drumming beneath the shallow cover of skin. Hidden moments of time past flooded through.

It is you, It's always you, I've found you again.

“Unfortunately, I am quite busy as of now, but Marcus will be sure he can help you with anything that you may require, so if you'll excuse me.”

He was practically running out of the room, his steps fast and quick. Within a few minutes, he had locked himself in his study, back against the door breathing heavily. She looked the same. He had been a fool. The red hair should have been the sign; his lips trembled and his eyes burned hot with the fresh roll of tears trying to overflow.

“Marcus!” He half yelled, trying to focus on control but it was becoming harder every time his head wandered back to the beauty who’s sitting in his living area.

Marcus appeared shockingly fast, his eyes wide and body trembling slowly as he saw his master’s poor state.

“Master,” Marcus whispered as he walked towards him, guiding his beloved master to the chair by the large window overlooking the overgrown rose bushes in the garden.

Marcus knew that his master would have reacted badly to

the woman’s appearance. She had looked like the mistress; even now, her picture was displayed in the master’s bed chambers. He desperately wanted the pain that his master endured to go away but he was just a troll, and the last time he had tried, he had also been cursed and lost his love. They were both tied into this endless cycle of torture.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Yes, master.”

“Her aura is different,” Marcus said as he stared out of the window; he had originally made the garden for his mistress and his beloved. Now the weeds grew.

He had felt the shift in the manor's magic before he had even opened the door; somehow, he knew that it was her, and it was. Then when he saw her again, he smelt it all over her, the change he couldn’t quite place.

Her aura was brighter, almost blinding; she had a hint of a magic smell on her, but it was faint and mixed with a strong human smell.

“There’s a trace of magic; it’s not a lingering aftereffect but... but it seemed like it was coming from her,” Marcus said.

They stayed there for a while, both in their own thoughts. It had been a quiet few decades in seclusion. He knew his master had given up after the last time and opted to run away. Now trouble had stepped through the doorway and into their lives again, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something is different this time. The hope he had locked away for centuries had threatened to bloom within him, and he would let it.

“It won’t change,” Finn whispered.

“Master, something’s different this time; there’s magic in her. Perhaps this time it will end differently.”

“Perhaps, Marcus. Perhaps."