The next several days passed uneventfully. Pierre slowly healed, and I finally managed to convince him to reluctantly agree, more for my safety than his own, that we should indeed go and visit with Isabella for some time. Our affairs were quickly set in order, and arrangements were made for a coach by which we were to travel to Cornwall. We were to leave London on the Thursday at sunset; accommodation along the way had been organised, with a messenger having been dispatched to such end. He was to then continue on to Cornwall, to the town of Bodmin, to advise Isabella of our pending arrival. 

We had stayed closer to home for the last few days, feeding as quickly and unobtrusively as possible so as not to draw unwanted attention.  

Thursday morning found us tired, expectant and just a little saddened at leaving the house that had been our home for the last forty-five years. Pierre drew me close into his arms, nestling me safely in his lap while nuzzling gently into my neck and hair, breathing warm endearments against my skin and sending thrills of pleasure coursing through my body.

After a short time he carried me to our chamber, his skilful lips not losing contact with mine as he teased forth moans of delight and longing. 

Our lovemaking was slow and sensual, gentle; filled with all the love and devotion we felt for each other. His competent hands slid tenderly across my body, his lips brushing kisses and whispering soft words of love as they traced the path set so recently by his fingers. As our bodies melded into one, our eyes locked and volumes of poetry; exquisite words of worship and dedication were spoken silently. When the overpowering sensations became too intense, our eyes closed in an agony of pleasure and completion. Snuggling closely to his side, I drifted into a peaceful slumber, relishing the feel of his long sensual fingers running gently through my hair as the world faded into blissful dreams. 

Hours later we wakened, the sun dipping slowly toward the horizon. Feeling rested and relaxed, we began our preparations for the departure that was soon to be upon us. I was in our chamber gathering together the last of my possessions when I heard the sickening crash of splintering wood from below; the door to our home had disintegrated under the powerful ministrations of the Slayer. She had found us! How? To this day, I do not know! 

Fear clutched at my heart, icy cold tendrils of dread racing along my spine as I realised that Pierre was in the parlour collecting our belongings in anticipation of the coach’s imminent arrival. Gathering my courage, I made my way silently to the staircase, craning my neck to peer carefully down to the lower level. ‘He will be alright!’ I just kept telling myself this: Pierre was a master vampire, 285 years of age, a skilled warrior trained at the courts of King Philippe IV and later King Louis X of France, he must be alright!  I strained each of my vampiric senses, seeking out the presence of both the slayer and my sire. 

I could feel Pierre; he was, as I had suspected, in the parlour. Try as I might, I was not able to locate the slayer; though a sickening tingle of danger raced along my spine, warning me that she was close, I was unable to pin her location down to anywhere specific. Shaking with fear, I made my way slowly and silently down the stairs, every sense alert to the danger awaiting me.  

Outside I could hear the rattle of wheels against the uneven cobbles of the street. Closer, a sudden cacophony erupted from my left—the parlour! I watched through the limply-hanging remains of our door as the coach pulled up in the street outside. At the same time, sounds of a fiercely-fought battle drifted out to me from the parlour.  

I continued down the stairs, making my way steadily toward the door and freedom. Picking up a small bronze statue from its place on a pedestal, I edged my way towards the parlour door; I was determined, despite my terror, to help my love escape. A moment was all he would require; a moment for us to flee out the door, to the waiting coach and away. We would leave behind the evil menace which stalked us, seeking out our death for no more reason than sport and malice. 

As I rounded the door into the parlour, I saw Pierre trapped at the far end of the room, his back against the wall as he fought desperately to keep out of reach of the slayer’s killing blow. His eyes briefly registered my presence as he dodged a kick which had flown too close, missing his face by mere fractions of an inch. It was taking every ability he possessed, all his strength and skill, to keep the small woman from closing in on him. I moved towards the fighting pair, arms raised above my head, hands clutching the heavy bronze tightly.  I meant to bring its crushing weight down upon the slayer’s head; if I could stop her, even for a moment, we would be able make good our escape.  

Some instinct prompted her to turn, her attention still locked upon my sire while she took in my presence with her peripheral vision. With a chilling growl, she turned her attention fully on me, leaving Pierre exhausted and clutching at the wall behind him for support.

I felt a numbing fear beyond anything I had ever known grip my being.  Evil death had set it sights on me, and I knew it was a matter of mere moments before she closed the distance between us, bringing with her my demise.  

Gathering every ounce of his remaining strength, Pierre launched himself at the slayer's back, his eyes locked on mine speaking silent words of love. She spun as he launched his attack, her hand coming up to plant a long cruel stake into the loving heart of my sire. His face filled with love and desperate appeal as he urged me to flee to freedom. Silent tears poured down my face as I watched in horror while Pierre disintegrated, agonisingly slowly, into a thousand motes of dust.  

Wrenching myself away from the sight of my love's destruction I turned and ran, flying through the door and into the waiting coach, screaming desperately before the door was even closed for the driver to move. The coach lurched into action as the driver whipped the horses into a gallop at the sound of my hysterical cries. 

The slayer rushed into the street, her booted feet pounding on the cobbles behind the carriage as she tried in vain to catch up.  

I was free, I was safe; I was alone for the first time in forty-eight years. Pierre had sacrificed himself in order to save my life, and with every fibre of my being I longed for his strong arms around me, rocking me gently and soothing away my pain and fear. Never again would I know my gentle lover’s touch; with this realisation I curled tightly into a ball and lost myself in the overwhelming waves of misery and grief which enveloped me. 

Death had called that night, taking with it my love, my security, my happiness, and my naïveté. I learned something that night; when death calls, you cannot fight it.  When it sets its evil intent upon you, the best you can do is hide or flee, and pray that it does not find you or any of those whom you hold dear.

the end