The Greatest Obsession

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Man who Lost his Religion (Part 2)

Dearest Cousin,

It is highly unfortunate that you should have suffered in my absence. I cannot help but worry for you, yet there is nothing I can do. Oh, the terrors that plague my mind! I apologize greatly for my lack of response. Between the company and girls birthday, I'm far too occupied to do what pleases me most: write to you.

Be lonely not, for I shall be returning on the twentieth of September with my wife, Winifred, and Rosalie. The little ones are obnoxiously excited to meet their Uncle Eli, though I cannot be still in my own excitement. This is your wedding, cousin, and I would not miss it for the world. Then we will hopefully speak of your troubles and all the strange happenings at home. I look forward to hearing them. I look forward to seeing you, Irina, and finally being sober enough to be fully acquainted with Lord Snow. It all pleases me, greatly.

We will be staying with my parents, so you needn't be bothered by us too frequently. Oh, how I miss you. I long to embrace you and kiss your face against your will, like the brat that you so affectionately call me.

Sending you all of my love and blessings,

Arthur K. Marks

Elijah sat at his desk, reading the letter with a fondness that spread from the deepest recesses of his heart. What Elijah wouldn't give for Arthur's kisses, his loud voice, his boyish attitude. Arthur may have been a man four years older with a wife, company, and two daughters but he was such a child. Elijah smiled. It was the first smile he'd experienced in almost three months that had nothing to do with his situation--a smile that was utterly normal.

"God blessed me with having you, Artie," he said aloud to himself as if his cousin would hear him.

He set the letter aside after he folded it at the crease and eased it back into the envelope from which it came. With the letter tucked under the inkwell for safeguarding, Elijah pressed the back of his head against the chair, closed his eyes, and inhaled. The smell of parchment and Irina's perfume clung to his nostrils, trying not to die off at the sudden poignant aroma of oranges that whipped his face with the blow of the night breeze.

Haydn was here.

Elijah's hands dug into the armrests. His brows drooped and he smacked his lips. Elijah knew they needed to talk, to sort things out and decide their course, to dock and abandon ship or sail with a proud flag, but to do that he'd have to look at him or get up from his chair.

The man chose to see. The lifting of the lids and a swift turn to the window let the vampire dominate his vision in his usual black tunic with a red and purple sash poorly tied over his left shoulder that hung limply by his waist. Elijah had never seen it before. Judging by the extremely tattered, muted condition it was in, one couldn't deny its age. A small collection of blood smeared Haydn's lip.

"You've fed already?"

Haydn nodded and crossed his arms.

"Our original arrangement has fallen through the cracks, hasn't it?"

"That isn't the only thing, and I would advise you to keep small talk to a minimum."

Elijah gulped before he stood from his chair and shuffled to his bed. He plopped on the side of it and folded his hands in front of him, looking up at Haydn. His eyes blinked away tears he knew would get him nowhere, and the ones that did form he ignored.

Haydn tilted his chin high, displaying a sense of pure masculinity Elijah so rarely saw in him. This was not the ethereal being that swayed seductively while twirling a braid or the cunning vampire of the night using androgynous beauty to claim victims. This was a man broken by time and age.