by Byron Thorne
Jules made it back to her place and the parking spot was still empty. She could get around town pretty quick when she needed to. Although she had expected a note waiting for her wedged in between the door jam, there was nothing there. Maybe her landlord headed out of town for the weekend. The day was close to getting better and better if she could just get rid of the fog that was smothering her head.
She ran inside the apartment and put her crossbow on the counter before throwing her jacket on the bed. She threw on some yoga pants and a tank top before pulling her hair back. Just in time, too. She had heard those two knocks at the door enough times to know they were Daniel’s. When she opened the door, he had that kind of mellow smile on, the one that meant he wasn’t in a bad mood.
“Whoa, you’re all ready to go,” Daniel said, a look of surprise overtaking his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I don’t take my commitments seriously? Because if that’s the case, how dare you.”
Daniel laughed. “No, it’s just…ah, never mind. I’m just glad you’re ready to go.”
“Good, then let’s do this,” he said.
Daniel’s place was only a few miles away, but thanks to LA traffic it always took way longer than it should have. The two of them probably could have walked faster than the car was rolling, but then they’d be out of the air conditioning.
“I’m glad you want to get back into it,” Daniel smiled.
“No days off. You know me. I want to do something fun, though,” Jules said.
“Fun? That’s not really the point of it. Is any of it actually fun?” Daniel shook his head. He was mostly right. Picking up heavy objects and setting them back down was about as banal as it could get. Running on the treadmill wasn’t much better. Hitting stuff, on the other hand, was.
“Well maybe if you would make it more fun. Let’s fight each other. I got some aggression I need to take out.” Jules made fists with her hands and jabbed at the air.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. You don’t play nice. We also don’t fight. We spar, remember?”
“Whatever you want to call it. What do you say?”
“Yeah, alright, whatever you want. Just not the face.”
They found some parking on the street and walked into the ivy-covered apartment building. Jules always thought his place had potential, with its high ceilings and classy art deco accents. The mountains of clothes that sprang up everywhere took away some of the charm. Empty protein supplement containers and jars of peanut butter took away the rest of it.
“Daniel, this place is a wreck,” Jules said as she held up an unidentified piece of clothing between her thumb and forefinger. “You gotta get a maid or something.”
“Hey, gimme a break. I’ve been busy,” Daniel said, and he started combining piles into one master pile to make space.
“Obviously not busy cleaning,” Jules laughed.
“Very funny. Toss me that bag,” he pointed at a duffel bag that was roughly the same size as Jules. She could lift about half of it, and there was no way she was throwing anything.
“What’s in this thing,” she wheezed as she hoisted it up, “cement?”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, pretty much, actually.” Daniel grabbed the bag like it was nothing, lifted it over his head and hung it from a chain on the ceiling. Jules looked at it, confused. “What? It’s a DIY punching bag. We gotta warm up, you know? Give me your hands.”
Daniel’s paws engulfed her hands. She could feel the years of training and hunting all over them. He grabbed a roll that was sitting on the coffee table and proceeded to unravel it around her palm and over her fingers. He was surprisingly graceful as he made the cloth tighter around her hand and then moved onto the next one.
“Don’t want you to mess up your hands,” he said as he continued wrapping them for her. “This bag can be a little rough.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Jules answered and slammed her fist into the bag. “I think I'll be alright.”
Daniel went on the other side of the bag and put his weight into it. “Obviously you're ready to get started. Let's see that left hook. Pretty good, but use your body. You can get way more power out of your legs. Yeah, there you go.”
Jules took a breather. “You just want an excuse to look at my legs.”
“It's purely for fitness reasons. I'm just trying to help you get better,” Daniel smirked.
She got back into the rhythm of hitting the bag. With every punch, she felt her head clear a little bit more. “That's pretty good,” Daniel said. “You're getting way stronger.”
“Who needs a stake? I could whoop a vamp with my bare hands,” she slugged the bag again.
“Please, don't ever try that. But I feel bad for anyone that tries to cop a feel from you in public.”
“Ha! They can go ahead and try it, see what happens,” she said.
“What would you do?”
“Wanna find out?”
Daniel took her invitation literally and casually reached out as if he was going to grab her. In one swift motion, Jules grabbed his arm and pulled with all of her weight. She slipped her leg under his and he tumbled forward, his arm now bent backwards behind him.
“Ow, take it easy,” Daniel whined. “I never should have taught you that move.”
“But I'm so glad you did,” Jules said, a victorious smile on her face. “You give up already?”
“Hardly,” he said as he took his arm back. The two of them fell together and Jules landed on top of him, but he had her arms in his hands. “You forgot the most important lesson. It's not over until it's over.”
“Pretty sure I'm in control of this situation,” she said and tightened her legs around him. The look in Daniel's eyes told her she'd won the fight, but it also made her realize that maybe it wasn't about the fight anymore.
“What are you doing, Jules?” Daniel asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and intrigue.
“You mean besides showing you who's boss?” Jules smirked.
“Yeah, besides that. You know what I mean.”
“I don't know.”
Jules had never really acknowledged that sensation that existed between them, either to Daniel or even to herself. She realized for the first time that maybe deep down, she always knew it was there. They spent almost every day together, but it took them being physically close to make her actually see it. She could see it in Daniel's eyes. He had looked at her that way before, but she'd ignored it. His eyes told her what he couldn't say out loud. Daniel loved her.
Maybe it was the actual heat between them, or maybe it was just the remnants of the vamp blood that still swirled around inside of her. Either way, she couldn't deny the urge any longer. She brought her lips to his and squeezed her legs tighter. They laid there for what seemed like forever, lips and limbs locked up together.
If Daniel would have flipped her over right there, Jules would have let him take her. But he didn't. Instead, she pulled away from him and they stared at each other for a moment in an awkward silence, both of them waiting for the other to speak first.
The kiss didn't feel wrong. It didn't feel perfectly right, either, and really only filled Jules with more strange emotions. She couldn't decide if she was more confused or aroused. Ultimately the fact that she couldn't tell was enough to answer her own question.
“Uh, Jules? You're kind of crushing me,” Daniel said.
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” She got off him, her face red. “I don't know what came over me.”
“I didn't say it was a bad thing,” he said and sat up. “In fact, I think maybe we should add that to our workout routine. I've been meaning to talk to you about something.”
Jules didn't know how to feel about it, and the prospect of diving into a deep emotional conversation wasn't super high on her list. In fact, she starting to lean more towards forgetting it happened in the first place.
“I'm sorry, Danny, I don't know what I was thinking. There's nothing to talk about. I've already got
too much going on in my head right now, clearly.”
“Come on, Jules, you can't just kiss me like that and then shut me out. I feel it and I know you do too.”
“I don't know, Daniel, you're my best friend. I'd kind of like to keep it that way, you know?”
“Maybe you should have thought about that five minutes ago. You know, before all that jumping on top of me business. It's Sam, isn't it?”
Sam didn't have anything to do with it this time. It didn't make it any easier hearing his name. In fact, it made the whole situation worse. “No, Sam's got nothing to do with it.”
“He was my best friend, Jules. I know for a fact he would want us both to be happy. I care about you, and I want us both to be happy too.”
“That's not it. Look, I should go. I'm sorry, Daniel. I just need some time to think.”
“Alright, Jules. Fine. You want to just put that wall back up, that's fine. I'll be waiting for you when you figure it out.”
Jules had never given a fair thought to the prospect of Daniel as anything more than just a friend. While she walked home, that was the only thing she could think about. He was a great guy. Handsome, caring almost to a fault, and her best friend. So why did that kiss feel so wrong? More importantly, why did her mind keep going back to Morgan instead?
15
Unwanted Guest
Morgan could not concentrate, but that was nothing new. He'd spent too much time at the Coven gatherings lately. Listening to Jericho, the vamp noble who ran the meeting, drone on and on at the podium wasn’t making it any easier. Morgan's regular booth made it easy for him to stay behind the action, as did his age. Even amongst his so-called peers, he preferred to remain in the shadows, and most of them left him alone.
The conclave was typically reserved for older, and in rare cases, young but ambitious vampires. Morgan stood out as being amongst the oldest in the room, which was a fair bet for oldest in the city.
His mind kept wandering back to Jules. It was something about the way she tasted…or the way she carried herself. It was crazy enough that he left a hunter alive. But there was no way that he could have killed such a beautiful and fascinating creature. Even within the dream they shared earlier that day, he only wanted more of her. He needed to see her again. Perhaps he would try and find her after the Coven conclave was over. On the other hand, it was just as likely that she would find him.
Morgan might have had more of a soft spot for humans than most other vampires, but most of them- all of them- did not have any kind of power over him. This girl, Jules, caused such strange and forgotten feelings inside of him. There was the desire for more, and the taste of her, although that could be found in any high-class blood. The lust for the rest of her was something that felt novel. Yet, when he brought the image of her green eyes into his mind, it calmed him down. That in and of itself was the most infuriating aspect, since the last time he looked into those eyes she had apparently fully intended to kill him.
Jules, he thought to himself. Come away, into the night with me. And please leave your crossbow at home. For the moment, all he could do was wait for the business to conclude, despite the fact that he would not play an active role in it.
There was a time when Morgan had completely removed himself from the rest of the vampire world. It was a period of his life that he wished would leave his mind altogether. Yet, the memories still appeared in his mind to torment him, whenever they wished. Things might have been bad inside of the coven. A long time ago, they used to be far worse.
He still had nightmares of his metamorphosis. It was the first years after the change that caused him so much grief. Morgan remembered his life, too, but any happiness that occurred during that time only made his condition seem that much worse.
The coven was an inevitability. In many ways, it reminded him of the time he spent on the ship Midnight Galley. He was much better off following his orders rather than thinking too much about them. The only reason he even ended up on the ship at all was to find a way to provide for himself and his family. His time in the navy was over, but his knowledge of rigging and his even better aim made him a perfect candidate for the crew. He knew even before he’d boarded the ship that the captain and the crew of the Midnight Galley were anything other than respectable merchants. However, Morgan figured if he just kept his head down and stayed out of trouble, he would be rewarded.
His plan worked, for a while. Morgan even formed somewhat of a bond with some other members of the crew. He began to see them, and himself, as victims of circumstance rather than the murderous, thieving pirates that they might have been. Still, he was able to stay removed from any of the decision making. He considered his hands tied- he was only going along with the orders given to him by the captain. He was only doing what he had to do for his family.
Sometimes it was impossible to turn that filter off, and the lies that Morgan told himself to make it through the months at sea rose to the surface. What was the justification for sinking a foreign ship, leaving 50 other sailors floating in the middle of the sea? His justification was that his captain had ordered it. Every action was only a matter of self-preservation. If they let the ship sail back to port, it would return with reinforcements. It was kill or be killed.
At least, that’s what Morgan told himself then. The vampires of the Coven viewed things in a similar light. They banded together out of a necessity to survive rather than a desire for prosperity. As it started, any devious act was only looked at through the lens of group survival. Killing wasn’t necessary, until it was. The longer a vampire had been alive, the more adept they had become at the concept of self-preservation. At the same time, if the group benefited, so too did the individual vampire. It wasn’t the faces of his fellow pirates he couldn’t stand to see. It was his own face in the mirror.
Morgan had tried several times to go his own way. After he turned he refused to listen to what he had become. Perhaps if he would have listened, things might have been…no, there was no point in asking that question anymore. The family’s death was inevitable. He would have caused it either way. After the massacre, he stole away into the night. He had nowhere to go and no one left. He might as well have been dead. It didn’t take long to realize that’s exactly what he was.
In the time after his turning, Morgan moved throughout the countryside, doing his best to avoid detection from not just humans, but the vampire who made him. She terrified him more than anything else. He saw her every day in his dreams and felt her presence each night, but despite how much he looked he never did see her. The loneliness was devastating, but his loathing for what he had become was worse. Both paled in comparison to the hunger he felt on a nightly basis.
It was always the same struggle. He tried to resist it, thinking maybe if he refused to feed- than either he might cease to be a demon, or he might cease to exist altogether. At that time, death didn’t seem like the worst punishment. Ultimately, neither happened, because the hunger always won out. Morgan learned the hard way to listen to the voice of the monster inside of him. When he didn’t, he always drank too much and ended up killing his prey.
It would take countless lives lost, completely drained of blood by him, before he would learn to control his feeding and leave survivors. In the meantime, he became something of a mythical beast to the country folk. They would only whisper warnings about him, and maybe even about others like him. He continued to move forward across Europe, afraid that staying in one place too long would result in the deaths of too many and himself included. The only thing that kept him wandering and feeding was the hunger inside of him. It controlled him nearly completely.
As nights turned shorter and the days longer, it became more difficult for Morgan to travel and to find safe refuge. He discovered this after overstaying his welcome on the outskirts of a village in Germany. The townspeople let him know by a brilliant show of torches and pitchforks. Unable to return to his sanctuary, he had no choice but to press forward.
An experienced vampire woul
d never misjudge the timing of the sunrise. Back then, he was young and barely able to maintain control of his body. The sun was the least of his worries, at least until he had been forced out of cover. There was nothing but torches behind him, and uncertainty in front. As the sky turned from black to grey, he found himself in the middle of a great field of rolling hills in every direction. Morgan tried to find peace in the thought of the sun ending it all, but the hunger inside of him would not let it happen.
Morgan pressed onward until he came upon, of all things, a stone monastery. With nowhere else to turn, he pounded on the wooden door. As the sun began to crest over the hills behind him, the door opened and he fell to the floor inside. He laid there, face down, covered from head to toe in his cloak. He had survived once again but was gripped with exasperation rather than relief.
He heard first one woman’s voice, and then another, and another. It took all of his strength to lift his head and see who had let him inside. It wasn’t a church. It was a monastery full of nuns.
“What’s wrong with him?” the first asked.
“Is he sick?” cried out the next.
“Will he survive?”
Then, a calm, reasonable voice took over for the rest of them. “Everyone calm down. God has nearly broken this man, but has delivered him to our care. There is nothing we can do for him, other than to give him a place to rest. Help me take him to the quarters downstairs. You, fetch some water.”
Morgan awoke later that evening, alone and in a small bed. A cup of water sat next to him, untouched. He sat up, the pain of hunger burning throughout him.
“You are alive,” the woman in the chair next to him said. Morgan hadn’t heard the sound of his own voice in so long, he wasn’t sure if it still existed. He opted to stay silent.