Men and Monsters (Nightfall, Book 2)

by Elena May

  “‘Are you lost, girl?’ he asked, pronouncing the Italian words in a strange, clipped way.

  “‘You are but a servant,’ I said and met his gaze. ‘I’m looking for your master.’

  “His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. A deep, warm laughter shattered the darkness, and a man came out of the trees and stepped into my light. I gasped and raised my foot to take a step back. Instead, I took a step forward.

  “I stared at him, at his raven-black hair framing a high forehead, chiseled cheekbones, lips curled in amusement, and twinkling amber eyes. ‘You’ve come here to fight me?’ he said.

  “He spoke Italian like someone from the big cities in the far north. Did he come from Venice or Milan? Perhaps Turin? Were he someone else, I would have been self-conscious of my Calabrian dialect. The travelers who ended up in our lands made fun of the way my family spoke, although I found their own speech ridiculous. They told stories about us—claimed that we were inbred, hideous, ignorant. I always felt both fury and shame talking to them, but with this man, this monster, I felt neither.

  “‘No,’ I said and took another step towards him. ‘I’ve come to ask for a favor. Take me and make me like you, or kill me. Either way, my human life ends today.’

  “He frowned. ‘A suicide by vampire? You think you’re brave, coming here to meet me in the dead of night? There is no bravery in seeking death.’

  “‘I’m not brave,’ I said. ‘Simply desperate.’

  “His frown deepened. ‘Tell me.’

  “My parents had drilled it into my brain how inappropriate it was to speak of my condition. I had only talked about it to the healers and the wise woman, but even then I had felt dirty and uncomfortable, the shame burning inside me, turning my face red. But now he was standing before me, looking at me with these warm amber eyes, and I told him everything, feeling neither discomfort, nor shame.

  “‘Human ignorance knows no bounds,’ he said when I finished, and his deep voice was thick with anger. ‘These healers are imbeciles. Your world is cruel to women. I wish I could change that, but, sadly, I once made a promise not to interfere in the affairs of humans.’ His amber eyes turned soft. ‘I’ve seen your illness in others, but I fear there is no easy cure. I could surgically remove your womb, but it is very risky and will have consequences even if all goes well. Would you like me to do this?’

  “I stared, uncomprehending. He was the vampire, the monster, who had come to terrorize our village and kill people, and he was offering to heal me? Tears pricked at my eyes, and I realized they were tears of joy. He had given me something I had never received in my life. Validation. My illness was real. I wasn’t mad. ‘I want no such thing,’ I said and walked towards him. I was so close to him now, I could touch him if I raised my hand. ‘I told you what I’ve come here for. Make me one of your kind, or kill me. Whatever you decide, but take me.’

  “He raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t usually find maidens freely throwing themselves at me.’

  “I looked at him, so tall, and strong, and magnificent. Indeed, offering myself to him meant death, but I could think of worse ways to go. I grinned. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’

  “He smiled back at me, and, although it was the dead of night, it seemed as if the sun had come down to kiss my face. ‘Turning you would indeed cure your pain—I’ve seen it before. Very well, I’ll do as you ask. I’ll either kill you or turn you. But which one should it be? I don’t take this lightly. I’ve lived for centuries, and I have turned only one.’ His eyes darted towards his blond companion, who was now glaring at me. ‘What do you think, Tristan? Should we make her one of us?’

  “‘No,’ the other vampire said.

  “‘No? So quick to judge.’ He looked at me again. ‘What is your name, my lady?’

  “My legs melted when he called me that. ‘Armida.’

  “His smile brightened. ‘Ah. Like in the poem.’

  “‘What poem?’ I said.

  “The one called Tristan snorted. ‘Can you even read and write?’

  “I met his gaze. ‘Give me a blade.’

  “His silly frown grew even deeper. ‘What?’

  “It was the black-haired vampire who took a dagger from his belt and handed it to me with a wink. I walked to the nearest tree and cut the bark, inscribing the letters one by one. Tristan is a grumpy old badger. I looked back at them. ‘Is my spelling correct?’

  “Tristan was gaping at me, but the other one, the beautiful one, the one whose smile was like sunshine in winter, was laughing. ‘It is correct,’ he said. ‘Sadly, the ability to write is not enough to make you one of us. In all my years, I’ve turned only Tristan and no one else. If you wish to join us, you’ll need to pass my test.’

  “Tristan grumbled something in a language I didn’t understand, but thankfully, my beloved didn’t care for his whining. All he cared about was his test, and once I passed it, my life changed.” Armida smiled and leaned back in her chair. “I had, supposedly, been a human until that point. But, once he turned me, for the first time in years I truly felt like a human being.”

  “What was the test?” Myra asked.

  Armida shrugged. “This is a long story for another time.”

  Myra stared at her. Seriously? Were all vampires alike in sharing bits and pieces of their stories, just enough to spark her curiosity, and then leaving the rest hidden? “Fine. So you’re telling me vampirism was good for you because it helped you overcome your condition and you felt like a human. You’re as bad as Tristan.”

  Armida laughed. “This is a serious accusation.”

  “You had a debilitating illness,” Myra said. “Many people live with that without complaint. And your solution was to turn yourself into a monster who hurts others. Vlad was right about one thing—nothing about what you did was brave.”

  “I never claimed to be brave,” said Armida. “But I have always known exactly what I wanted, and I always took it without hesitation. You should do the same.”

  “Oh? And what do you think I want?”

  Armida waved her hand in the air, indicating the room around them. “To get away from this. You complain about contaminated water, lack of nutritious food, vitamin deficiencies, cold. Becoming a vampire would solve all that.”

  “For me, perhaps,” said Myra. “But I wouldn’t doom others. And you can’t tell me you have no regrets. Doesn’t it bother you that you can’t have kids?”

  “Not at all,” Armida answered with a shrug. “This was never something I planned on. I mean, I see the appeal—to have these small creatures that are a part of you, to teach them your ways, to watch them grow and learn and discover and develop—yes, I do believe that would be fun. But it was never something I particularly dreamed about, and I wouldn’t call my life empty or lacking because I have no children.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that you don’t have the option to change your mind?”

  “It is not as impossible as you say,” Armida said. “My beloved and I have toyed with the idea of picking a human baby to raise as our own. Then we would turn her as she comes of age. Of course, there is no way to know what she would be like when she grows up, but we can do our best in selecting the biological parents. And we’re not in a hurry. We can keep trying until we are fine with the results.”

  Myra’s stomach turned. “Are you really doing this or just discussing hypothetically?”

  “So far, it is only in the realm of fantasy,” she said. “I think Tristan might be jealous if we do it. He likes being the only child.”

  “It’s funny you should say that,” Myra said. “He is older than you.”

  “In centuries, yes,” Armida said. “But in maturity—not by a long stretch. And, speaking of the devil, let us return to the others before our silver-haired marshmallow goes ballistic.”

  Myra followed Armida out of the kitchen, her thoughts running through the tale the vampire had shared. Vlad had made a promise not to interfere with the human world? But the Nightfall was th
e ultimate interference. What had changed? “So why did the Prince destroy the world, if he had promised to stay away from human affairs? And don’t tell me it’s because he thought our world was cruel to women.”

  Armida walked down the dark corridor, her boots clumping against the stones. “Perhaps not.” She looked at Myra sideways. Her hair caught the light of a lone torch and shone like spilled blood. “Though it might have played a role. Have you heard of a death by a thousand cuts? If I plunge a sword through your heart, you’ll die. But if I simply cut your arm, short and shallow, you’ll live. But what if I cut again? And again? If I cut enough times, you’ll die. It was the same for the Prince—many little things piled up to push him over the edge.”

  They reached the door to the Headquarters, and Armida stopped in her tracks. “He disliked how humans ran this world. Being a human is so difficult, always fighting to have food and clean water, a shelter from the cold and rain, and battling against diseases of the body and the mind. And yet, instead of uniting to fight it all together, humans always found ways to oppress each other and make each other’s lives even harder.”

  Myra narrowed her eyes. This was hardly an explanation. It was too generic, too impersonal. It sounded as if Vlad had wanted to save humans from themselves, just like the robots and aliens in those science fiction books she had read, but when she had thrown the suggestion at him, he had denied it. But if that was not the case, then both Vlad’s decision to destroy the world and his current desire to restore it seemed like the random choices of a madman. And if all he did was random, then what was stopping him from randomly deciding to betray them?

  No—there had to have been something specific that had pushed him to destroy the world. Something personal and logical. Or perhaps a thousand somethings, as Armida had suggested. And until she learned what it was, she could never trust him enough to fight beside him. Pressing her lips together, Myra placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Earplugs

  They stepped into the Headquarters, and Myra froze. The scene in front of her looked almost the same as before, and yet not quite. Tristan was still sitting in the same chair, leaning back, his feet crossed on top of the table. But now his injured right hand was resting in his lap, while he used his left hand to pull the lit cigarette out of his mouth. Lidia and Thomas were watching, red-faced, as the vampire slowly blew out a pale puff of smoke.

  “Tristan, you can’t smoke in here,” Myra said.

  He took another pull from his cigarette. “Your friends already said that much.”

  “We tried talking to him,” Lidia grumbled.

  “Tristan, I’m serious,” Myra tried again. “The ventilation here is poor, and children are breathing this air.”

  He blew out a perfect pale grey circle. “Then you need to improve your ventilation.”

  That cursed little vermin. Myra felt the sudden desire to pull the cigarette out of his mouth herself and stuff it down his throat.

  She did not need to battle her urge to maim him for long. The door opened and, to Myra’s relief, Vlad and Zack stepped in, both apparently unharmed. Neither of the two looked unhappy, but that changed as they beheld the scene taking place.

  Zack opened his mouth to speak, but Vlad beat him to it.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was so cold that Myra’s blood froze.

  Tristan shrugged. “Picking strawberries. What does it look like?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Vlad snarled. “Do you wish to cause further damage to your lungs?”

  Myra sighed. And here she was, for a moment thinking that Vlad was actually concerned about the humans’ health.

  Tristan blew out a lungful of grey smoke. “There can hardly be any further damage.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Vlad said. “The smoke may mask your pain for a moment, but the long-term consequences are worse. You have millennia ahead of you; perhaps you should put some thought into the long term.”

  “This is my life.” Tristan took another deep pull. “I decide where I put my thoughts.”

  “On second thought,” the Prince said, “perhaps you don’t have millennia ahead of you after all. One day my patience will run out, and I’ll stake you myself.”

  “See?” Tristan said cheerfully. “Problem solved.”

  Vlad’s fingers curled into a fist, but Armida put her hand over his and squeezed lightly, whispering something. The Prince glared at Tristan and said something in a language Myra could not understand. The silver-haired vampire sighed dramatically and threw the cigarette on the floor.

  “Could you at least not throw your trash everywhere?” Myra snapped, and Tristan threw her a look that suggested it was preposterous she had spoken to him at all. To her surprise, Vlad knelt down and picked up the cigarette himself. Then, ignoring Zack’s wide-eyed look, the Prince seated himself on the high chair at the head of the table.

  “Your leader and I had a talk,” he said. “And we have agreed to work together. Our Alliance will have three sides—you, Ila and I. In six days’ time, we will meet with Ila and go over everyone’s responsibilities in detail. I have to return to the Palace, but I trust your general will fill you in on all relevant details.”

  He kept talking as if everything was so simple. Zack and Vlad had reached an agreement? How, when Myra herself was unsure she could trust the Prince? Everything was so random—Vlad had promised not to interfere in the human world, then he had destroyed it, and now he wanted to bring it back. Was it all a game? What was the final goal? She could not in good conscience follow Vlad unless she knew what had led to all this.

  The Prince said his goodbyes and walked out, followed by the other vampires. Myra looked at Zack. “I think it’s my responsibility to escort them and make sure they actually leave,” she said.

  He nodded. “True. We don’t want them wandering around unsupervised. Go.”

  She hurried to catch up with the vampires and followed them through many chambers, cellars, and corridors, until they reached the passage leading outside.

  The last corridor they walked down was low and narrow, framed by natural rocks on all sides, and barely lit. They passed by a pair of guards who stared at them, one gaping and the other glaring daggers. Once the guards were behind, Tristan reached into his pocket and took out his pack of cigarettes. He fumbled at it with his left hand, but before he could take out anything, Vlad reached out, grabbed the packet, and crushed it in his fist.

  “Keep doing that, and I will break your other hand.”

  Tristan grinned, his face glowing in the meager light although his perma-frown was still prominent. “That would require another one of your ingenious escape plans.”

  “And that would require you getting captured again. Should we return and ask ginger boy if he would have you back?”

  Myra slowed down, letting the two bickering vampires walk ahead. She fell in step with Armida and gave her a sympathetic smile. “How do you put up with this?”

  “You know how it is,” Armida said. She lifted her olive-green dress as she jumped over a rock on the ground. “After centuries of traveling the world, I have at least managed to find a pair of really good earplugs.”

  Myra assumed it was a joke, but to her surprise, the vampire reached into her pocket and produced a pair of orange earplugs. “To be fair,” Armida said, “it’s usually not this bad. Now is a special case. Tristan is still mad at my beloved about the whole going-to-your-Headquarters-and-Ila’s-lair-all-by-himself business. He put on the cigarette scene to get back at him.”

  Myra stopped in her tracks. “Please, tell me you’re joking. You’re telling me that Tristan is mad at the Prince and is getting his revenge by harming himself? That’s beyond passive-aggressive. It’s insane.”

  Armida stopped as well, smiling. “Why are you surprised? Tristan was never the most psychologically stable of vampires. And I see his point of view. My beloved does something dangerous that we disapprove
of. Tristan wants to show him how that feels.”

  “Which is… very mature.” Myra resumed her walk, glaring at the pale blond hair gleaming ahead.

  “Again, why are you surprised? This is Tristan we are talking about.”

  “What about me?” Tristan called, turning back.

  “Ah, nothing, dearie,” Armida cried, laughing. “We were just saying how you are one exquisite stud muffin, and we want you covered in chocolate.”

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “Everyone says that about me. Try to be original.”

  “I didn’t know smoking could be harmful to vampires,” Myra said after Tristan had once again turned his back on them and gone back to bickering with the Prince.

  “Normally, it’s not,” Armida said. “But Tristan’s lungs are already in bad shape. Smoking could make it worse.”

  “How do you know?”

  Armida slowed her steps, letting the distance between them and the Prince and Tristan grow. “My beloved did some experiments on vampires with a similar condition.”

  “Yes, Tristan mentioned this,” Myra said, shuddering. “But how did the Prince find vampires in Tristan’s condition? I would imagine it’s rare.”

  “Oh, it was easy.” Armida made a wave with her hand. “All you need to do is find humans dying of tuberculosis, wait until the disease has progressed sufficiently, turn them, and voilà—you have plenty of vampires in Tristan’s condition.”

  “That… is monstrous,” Myra uttered. The air was becoming fresher with every step, but it did little to relieve her sudden nausea.

  “It is,” Armida said. “But as long as it is for Tristan, it is right and beautiful. Talk about a warped value system.”

  “I get the feeling you disagree?”

  Armida smiled. “Please, don’t get me wrong. I love our platinum cupcake and would do anything for him, but some things are a bit excessive.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Myra said. “But aren’t you also angry at the Prince for going to his enemies behind your back?”