Dark Rapture

by Hauf, Michele

  His fingers tensed upon her scalp, twisting thick cords of her hair in his grasp.

  “She came to me disguised as a lovely young woman. I remember distinctly the thick dark coils of hair that crowned her head and her long white fingers beckoned, and the glint in her dark eyes. I should have known right then,” he said, then paused. “I’ve never seen eyes so dark, so virtually colorless. It is not natural. Even my own eyes of black can still reflect the light. But hers…they did not. Though I thought no more than a few moments on this as I followed her into the shadows.

  “We kissed and held one another for a time. Time enough to rouse my body so my mind was nearly abandoned. But when I went to take her I saw that she had her cycle. This disturbed me. I did not think it right to take a woman at this time. Regretfully, I refused, saying perhaps we should wait until another day. She flew into a rage. ‘Why is it you cannot stand to have me in your arms?’ she yelled. I didn’t want to explain. I was embarrassed and did not want to offend her. Though it was too late for that. She turned and walked away from me. When she paced back I nearly screamed. Her face had changed. There were distinct lines about her mouth where once smooth skin had been. Her hair had lightened to a dull gray. I knew at once she was a witch.”

  Esmarelda clutched her husband tightly as she listened to his tale.

  “She started chanting. Saying something I know now to be a curse. She said she would cure me of my distaste for blood. At that very moment I fell to my knees and a piercing streak of white thunder ripped through my body. It was as if my very insides were fighting to take leave of my body. She sauntered over to me and looked over my writhing body as I struggled against this unseeable pain. ‘You like your women, do you my foolish boy? I’ll see to it you shall suffer all eternity for the love you so desire.’

  “She then cursed me with the need for blood, saying I was to become vampyre before the next full moon. I would crave the blood of mortals and need it to sustain my miserable existence. But there was one condition she put on me no other blood drinker carries. I can only drink the blood of women, and first I had to marry them. She, thinking I would not marry for anything but love, so I would know great loss over and over again as my wife dies by my hands.

  “Ah, but I learned quickly enough. I have not taken a wife in the name of love since the death of my first wife.”

  Esmarelda swallowed. He admits he has not loved another to avoid the pains of the witch’s curse. So I am just sustenance to him.

  “That explains everything,” Esmarelda muttered to herself.

  “The sun rises soon.” Adriano sat up and eyed his clothes strewn across the bed. He wore a cloak of misery across his shoulders. His sigh hit Esmarelda hard in the heart. “I must bare this curse for eternity.” He clutched Esmarelda’s hand to his chest where she felt the rampant pounding of his life. “You understand now it is not something I purposely sought for myself. I had no desire to ever become vampyre.”

  “Sí, my husband, I do. It is an ordeal you have to face each day as the sun sets on the horizon. I-I don’t know what to say. I wish to lessen your misery. But know not.”

  He pulled her hair across his fingers as if fine spun gold examined by a merchant. “You have already brought me the sun. Until the morrow, my lady.” He lifted his things from the floor and dressed quickly as Esmarelda silently watched.

  While listening to her husband’s brisk footsteps descend the stairs, she twisted the silver band about her finger. It was not new. In fact, it was quite worn. She noticed there had once been carving on it and now there were only shallow indentations. It had been worn before.

  Esmarelda’s head spun dizzily from the loss of blood. She was growing weaker. Her muscles were sore each day as she rose from her bed. Her teeth ached when she chewed her meals.

  And you too shall also be dead.

  “I love you, Adriano,” she whispered.

  Her eyelids closed over her teared eyes. Could she die for her love?

  “Yes,” her whisper slipped between her parched lips. “Before God I vowed to love and honor you. And I will not break my vow. I will die for you, Adriano, if only I may bring your tormented love to my grave.”

  ***

  Los Angeles, present

  Rico Bellange’s mansion sprawled across a ten acre lot set at the base of a lush green hill in Brentwood. The area was peopled with old money and nosy neighbors, but Rico had moved in three decades ago, and had established himself early on as a quiet man who wished to be left alone. And so he and his family lived in relative peace.

  Vince walked the stark white marble floors in awe. His jaw hung slack as his eyes took in the ornate majesty of the place. The furniture was lush and old, which Vince figured to be from one of those decadent centuries, judging from the ornate rococo woodwork and brilliant damask cushions of deep azure. A winding marble staircase led up to the second floor, most likely where the bedrooms were. On the walls hung paintings and lithographs by Dürè and Mucha. Vince was sure they had to be worth a fortune. And they were all, strangely, of the same subject; angels.

  So I am a wicked angel, Vince thought with a sly grin. Sounded kind of sexy. Wicked angel.

  He scanned the grand room, checking the balcony, seeing there were many doors upstairs. He wondered how many other vampires lived here.

  “There are a few others,” Rico said, seeming to have read Vince’s mind. “You’ll meet them later, I’m sure. They’re most likely hunting this time of night. Come. I’ll show you the recording studio.”

  Vince followed Rico’s swift footsteps. “So what is this place, sort of a home for wayward vampires?”

  Rico chuckled. “I’ve never thought to call it that before. No, I think of it as a haven, a place for my family to exist and survive without suspicion or inquiry from the mortal world. “

  Vince eyed another painting crackled into deep lines around the edges. Traces of dust had settled into the cracks. He dared not touch it for fear of brushing away the fragile paint. “You’re really into this angel thing, aren’t you?”

  Rico chuckled and stopped beneath the Carravagio Vince examined, which featured a rosy-cheeked cherub. “My tastes are quite eclectic, Vince. I live in heaven and hell at the same time. I’ve surrounded myself with angels and fine things and friends of my nature. This” —he spread his arms wide to encompass the room— “is my heaven.”

  Vince looked around again, thinking this luxurious house surely was a heaven on earth. No mortals. No Goths, or vampire-movie fiends in search of the true blood.

  “And at the same time,” Rico continued. “I live the vampire’s curse. Drinking blood, shunning the ignorance of mortals, and living an eternity without ever knowing my true destiny. This” —his hands clutched tight to his chest— “is my hell. Both of which, you will find, I am quite content with. Come along.”

  “So it’s only vampires allowed? That’s cool.”

  “Well…no. You’ll see eventually. We haven’t completely cut ourselves off from the mortal world. Unfortunately we do need them to survive.”

  Vince followed Rico. Yes, mortal blood. So sweet. Better than any alcoholic drink or drug ever created by the mortals.

  “Though I am surprised you get along so well in the spotlight, Vince. Does the job pay so well that it’s worth the flirtation with mortals?”

  Vince strode beneath a sparkling light fixture and jabbed a finger into one of the hanging crystals, causing it to tinkle dully. “Rock n’ roll never pays well, unless you’re one of the heavy hitters. It’s something I love to do. Singing, that is. But I don’t get into Wild Child’s music anymore. My life has taken a complete turn around since I’ve become a vampire.”

  “I understand,” Rico said placing a lit candle in a brass holder on the wall.

  “Yeah, I think you do.” Vince eyed Rico curiously as the candlelight flickered across his face. He was immediately taken aback at what he saw.

  Rico noticed his dismay. “My eyes? Most people are surprised or intr
igued.”

  “I didn’t notice before. It was so dark.”

  Vince tried not to stare but he was fascinated. Rico’s left eye flashed in gemstone blue, a brilliant azure that defied all depth, while the other was a dead gray. Vince swallowed and looked down at the man’s hands in an attempt to not be rude. The rings on his fingers were all silver, the one with the blue stone almost a matching eye to his colored one.

  “Whoa.” Vince staggered suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sneak attack.” Vince pressed his fingertips to his forehead and squeezed his eyes tightly in an attempt to erase the gaudy images that seeped across his vision. “Ah, it’s nothing.” He pulled his fist across his forehead, smoothing away the visions. His victim’s nightmares had finally come, though they were not as terrible as past experiences. “Well, it’s sort of funny actually. I just had this flash. A nightmare.”

  “Really?” Rico said with an amused gleam. “The girl in the alley?”

  “Yeah. It’s the most hilarious image. The chick I drained, she was sitting in front of the mirror crying, and there was hair all over the floor, like it had all fallen out or something. Can you believe that!” He chuckled. “A mortal woman’s nightmare. Oh, to have such a hellacious life. I gotta switch my diet from all those groupies, man. It’s just too weird some of the nightmares they have.”

  “Ha! I’ve had a few of those myself.” Rico spread out his arms to encompass the room. “So what do you think?”

  Vince scanned the room, finding the studio was equipped with the works. From what he could see of the control room everything was state of the art and digitally mastered.

  “Man, this is great. Does anyone ever use this stuff?” He reached up and flicked his finger through the dust that had settled on the microphone.

  “Well, I surely have no idea how to use any of it.” Rico scanned the assortment of equipment lined along the wall in the control room. “Blake, a friend of mine who lives here, has a band, of which I’m sure will interest you. Though I’m not sure he knows how to operate any of this fancy gadgetry either. Perhaps if you are familiar with the equipment you could help him out? I understand they still need a singer…”

  Vince nodded as he thought about the possibilities. It would be cool to work with his own kind. Lately Gary was more trouble than he was worth. If it wasn’t for his interest in Scarlet, Vince would probably tell Wild Child to take a hike.

  Scarlet. What was it about her? Vince knew she loved Sebastian, but—the way she had watched him tonight—she hadn’t been able to look away until his victim had slumped at his feet. She had been intrigued and more than a little curious.

  “Vince?”

  “Huh? Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Um, I was wondering if Scarlet made it home all right.”

  “Ah yes, the lovely green-eyed vampiress. You like her. I can tell.”

  “No, ah, well…yes. But as far as she’s concerned we’re just friends. She’s doing a favor for me. I’ve some diaries written in French she’s reading.”

  “Really? She speaks French?”

  “Yeah, she does, very talented chick. I found these diaries in the crypt in the basement of the mansion where I live. The mansion has been in the family for over a century. Anyway, I have a feeling that one of them may have a clue to where I might find my father. I’ve never met him, you see. Uh…I’m an in-born, my mother was mortal and my father a vampire. I really want to find him, to see what he’s like, see if there are any similarities between us and ask him why he’s stayed away all this time.”

  “In-born. True blood. How interesting.” Rico touched the edge of a candle, running his fingernail around the soft wax.

  Vince nodded. He would find his father some day. But hell, it was no rush, he had an eternity to look for him.

  “Well!” Rico clapped his hands together. His voice was a comforting whisper. “It is getting close to sunrise. You can stay here if you like.”

  Walls of polished steel reflected the candle flame in fierce waves of oranges and scarlet. As if they gave off a heat of their own, Vince’s body warmed and he relaxed. He was comfortable here.

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  ***

  Scarlet stood in the dining room, lighting the candles queued down the long glossy table. A table never used save for Sebastian spreading his sheet music across it. Certainly they never shared a meal here.

  Though tonight, she did have plans for consuming elicit delights. She ran a finger around the rim of the crystal bowl filled with red Jell-O. One eccentricity of Sebastian’s that Scarlet adored. He liked the color. He could sit for long minutes toying with the gelatinous substance, watching the light refract and reflect. Then he’d suck it through his teeth like a little kid.

  She was surprised from behind by Sebastian’s embrace.

  “And what is this? Preparing a meal?”

  “Lover.” She pushed her hands through Sebastian’s hair, kissing him so passionately he stumbled backward and caught himself against the table.

  “I see you missed me as much as I you, chèrie.” Sebastian ran his hands down Scarlet’s back and cupped her bottom. “I can not stand for one minute to be away from your lips or your bewitching eyes or your delicious soul.”

  “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Does it involve you and me and not a single strip of clothing?” “It could.” She reached around him and slipped her fingers into the bowl of cool Jell-O. A square chunk jiggled on her palm as she held it between them. “I made it myself.”

  “Chèrie, such a domestic vixen you’ve become. And tempting me with the food of the gods.” He pulled her hand up to his mouth and sucked the squishy red glob between his lips.

  Scarlet giggled, dropping the gelatin on the floor. “You’re tickling me!”

  Suddenly his smile disappeared and he was all seriousness. “You dropped the sacred food of the gods, woman. You are aware of what happens to those who blaspheme the Jell-O gods?” He reached back and produced his own handful of dessert.

  It was too hard to keep a straight face. Scarlet let loose her laughter as she tried to fend off Sebastian’s approach. His jaw was set, his hand full of Jell-O, and his mouth desperately trying to hold a straight line.

  “Torture to those who would desanctify this most holy substance!”

  The two of them tumbled to the floor amidst a spew of flying red gelatin. A flick of Sebastian’s fingers released the glass buttons on her silk shirt. A shiver ran over Scarlet’s breasts as her body was exposed. Cool slime slipped and oozed between his hand and her breasts as he began to paint her flesh.

  “I am guilty. Torture me as you see fit. But please, please don’t eat the Jell-O!”

  He pulled back, his dark eyes dancing. A wodge of gelatin clung to his hair. “Don’t eat it, eh? The woman is afraid of this foul torture?”

  “Oh, yes, monsieur. Please have mercy on me. Anything but that!”

  “You have committed a most heinous crime. I am sorry but you must be punished to the furthest extent of the law!”

  Thrilled she would receive the maximum punishment, Scarlet guided her torturer from one breast to the other. Sebastian’s tongue lapped greedily, nipping and sucking and bringing her to the edge of release. She wasn’t sure if it was the Frenchman in him, or just his centuries of life experience, but the man had a way of igniting every nerve ending with a delicious fire.

  Candleglow glinted in Sebastian’s dark hair, and changed little chunks of stray Jell-O into precious rubies. The room smelled of cherries and spice, and the need for fulfillment.

  Her fingers stained red with cherry flavored gelatin, Scarlet touched them to Sebastian’s lips. He sucked languorously as she shimmied her torso close to his until she was able to wrap her legs about his hips

  “I see the woman succumbs to torture well,” he whispered in a mock devilish voice. “Could it be she will now cooperate?”

 
; Scarlet reached down and pulled the top button on Sebastian’s jeans open. “If that is what I must do.” He was hot and hard in her hand. “Than I suppose I have no choice.”

  Chapter Eight

  Spain, 13th century

  The ascent from the bowels of the castle seemed to become shorter and shorter as the days passed. Leaving his wooden coffin behind in the darkened recesses of the castle, Adriano sprung up the hundreds of narrow steps en route for the tower room where his beloved waited his touch.

  But would she suffice with only his touch? What about the kiss she craved so dearly and had begged so innocently for him to grant her. A kiss. The single most passionate act of love. An act Adriano had foresworn decades earlier. For with the kiss came his downfall. Love.

  But oh, the temptation Esmarelda’s rose-petal lips offered!

  He pushed her chamber door wide and burst into the room only to find no one standing there with open arms.

  “Esmarelda?”

  He knew immediately. The garden. That was the one refuge she retreated to when he was not around. Paquita would not allow her to do chores or begin a routine as chatelaine. Adriano knew why. Paquita had never let any of his previous wives do the same. She knew as well as he it would not do to start something that would only last a mere month or so.

  What was it about this woman that captured his heart so? A heart hardened with rusting armor. Was it because she may have finally, after all these decades, discovered that there is a man behind the monster? A true man who was once mortal and had feelings like all others?

  “Ah, Esmarelda. If only I knew what it was, deep inside, that warms my soul in such a way I wish always to be with you. To touch your soft skin and to smooth my hands along your silken hair. Could it be?”

  Adriano’s shoulder jarred against the castle wall as he fell against it. He pressed his hand over his heart.