by Kallysten
Her eyes lit up when he walked in, and after putting the book down she opened her arms to him. He didn't think for a second before going to her, carefully lying down with her on the sofa so that his cheek rested upon her breast.
"Poor Childe,” she cooed. “You'll never learn, will you?"
Closing his eyes, he smiled. He should have guessed she would know. “Apparently not,” he replied quietly. “I seem to be the same hopeless romantic I was a century ago."
Her hand started stroking his hair, gently, as though he had been a child. For a long time, she remained silent, and he let her petting soothe him. For as long as he had known her, she had always been a very physical creature, craving contact as much as she did blood. Sometimes, she just wanted to hold or be held, just like now. Sometimes, it was hours upon hours of touching and fucking until they were both too exhausted to move anymore. He had always given in to her needs, whatever they were, without a second thought; now though, he was content that she didn't want more than this comfortable cuddling. If he had cared what anyone thought, he might have wondered what humans would have made of them like this, two predators curling around each other like kittens.
"This town has become boring,” she said at last. “Too many vampires, too much intrigue and maneuvering. I was approached by another Master tonight. He wanted us to become allies of his clan, and I have a feeling he'll be insisting until we accept or leave. What would you think of going away? We haven't been back to Europe in decades."
She had been hinting about the same thing since that night she had taken him home and asked him to think about abandoning his vow. He did not answer this suggestion, just as he had never answered the others, unwilling to disagree so openly with his Sire but unable to comply either. She would know what his silence meant. They had had this discussion many times since he had been turned.
She sighed when he didn't reply. “Sometimes, I wish I had been a more demanding Sire. Then I wouldn't feel like I have to get you to agree with my decisions."
In truth, she was that demanding sometimes, and made her words an order rather than a suggestion. When it happened, Matthew bowed and followed wherever she led. They were rare occurrences however.
"But maybe if you were so demanding I wouldn't love you as much as I do."
She snorted at his teasing words. “What love? You've been mooning for months after a woman you'll never try to get in your bed, and paying too little attention to your poor old Sire in the meantime."
With those words, he understood that she was teasing him back. She had never asked for his respect or obedience, even when the demon inside him had been ready to submit to her every wish. Vampire clan customs did not seem to concern her much, and if they had not socialized with other vampires, Matthew might never have learned about most things that now guided his existence. He wouldn't have known either about the history of vampires, and the reason why they had been created in the first place.
Matthew had found that out from a Master who had been several hundreds of years old if not more. He had claimed to have witnessed the Great Death, that supernatural event that had wiped out most vampires and put an end to the alliance of vampire clans and villages. No such event was recorded in human history books, of course. Yet everything he had said to explain how vampires had once looked after humans and protected them from bestial demons had resonated inside Matthew, ringing with the deep clarion sound of truth. He had asked Diane about it, and she had admitted not caring much about the story one way or the other. But for Matthew, it had been a revelation, and an answer to the discomfort he felt when thinking about the humans he had once known. The desire to take care of them—of Helena's family—had only been second to the sheer need of it.
Diane had listened to his decision as though to a child's foible, at first, and Matthew had known that she didn't really believe that he intended to see things through as long as he could. As time had passed, though, as he had insisted that they remain where Helena's daughters and grandchildren lived, or that they visit the new places where they had moved, Diane had understood that he meant his vow, and that there was nothing she could do to make him go back on it. She could force him to move away from the ones he called his girls; all she needed for that was to give him a simple order. Most of the time, however, she let him do as he pleased, as long as he remained with her.
"We'll stay a little longer, then,” Diane sighed again. Long minutes had passed since she had last spoken, but she picked up the discussion as though it had been seconds. “But this one seems to trouble you more than the others, and I do not like to see you hurt."
Swallowing a sigh, Matthew closed his eyes and slowly allowed himself to drift into a half sleep. Claire danced through his mind, her features blending into those of Helena, then back again. They were so similar, sometimes he wasn't sure anymore which one he could see in his mind's eye. They shared the same high defined cheekbones, but Helena's nose had been just a little smaller, as had her mouth. Or maybe it had only seemed smaller because her smile had always held the reserve that suited a lady. When Claire smiled, her entire face lit up and seemed to glow. Helena's hair had been long, even longer than Claire's had been until a few weeks earlier, and she had always held it up in a tight bun high at the back of her head. Matthew had once loved pulling the pins away, one by one, until her hair cascaded over her shoulders and he could run his fingers through it. He could still feel, right at his fingertips, the softness of Claire's hair when he had tucked the stray strand behind her ear when they had talked. As soft as Helena's, and her lips had been as supple beneath his, her skin as silky, her mouth as succulent...
When he woke and Diane asked him, he couldn't tell her which of the two he had been making love to in his dreams.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
On the other side of Claire's desk, the woman was sitting on the edge of her chair, her brow furrowed as she read over the paperwork before signing it. Claire took a moment to observe her. Her reddish hair was gathered at the nape of her neck in a sloppy ponytail. She wore an apron over her dress, having explained that she would go straight from their appointment to her nightshift job at a restaurant just a block down the street. From what Claire had gathered, she loved the job and the people she got to meet while doing it.
"Few ever realize I'm a vamp,” she had said on a tone of confidence. “That's nice. They're not as scared as they'd be otherwise."
If Claire hadn't known herself, she doubted she would have guessed the true nature of her client. Unlike the diner's customers however, she needed to know that Alice Calipua was a vampire; the investments she was going to set up in her name took that fact in consideration. When she retired, Alice could expect, barring accidents, to live for a very, very long time. She would need something safe and solid to support her, especially with the traveling she intended to do.
The light scratching noise of the pen on the paper announced that Alice had finished reading. When she looked up and thrust her hand toward Claire, she seemed almost relieved.
"Thank you so much, Miss Sheer. I don't know what I would have become without you."
"I'm just glad I could help you. I'll be in touch with you before the end of the week to finalize those investments."
With another round of warm thanks, the woman stepped out of the small office, clutching her portfolio to her chest. Claire accompanied her to the door and held it open for her before watching her go. She smiled. Her first customer, and she had actually been able to help her make sense of her finances rather than arrange for the biggest commission possible. She could easily get used to the feeling.
"Found your marks, huh?"
Leaning against the doorjamb of his office, Mike was watching her with a satisfied grin that pulled at the wrinkled corners of his mouth and eyes. He had been working for her previous employer for the best part of his career but had quit seven years earlier, for the same reasons Claire had. He was the first person she had called when pullin
g out her contact notebook; as soon as she had explained that she wanted to find a different way to do her job, he had offered her to join his partnership.
She had heard through the grapevine that it specialized in helping vampires, both newly turned and older, finance their unusually long lives. The challenges raised here were unique, and Claire hadn't been so interested in what she did in quite some time. The fact that the other part of the office clientele consisted of people with modest incomes rather than the executives Claire had been used to work for was just bonus. It had to have been the best work decision Claire had ever made, and the knot of guilt in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't found a way to stop Jonas didn't feel as tight when she thought of how she'd be able to help good vampires have more comfortable lives.
"I've found more than my marks. I found myself. You have no idea just how good that feels."
He laughed quietly. “I know what you mean, believe me. We thought we'd treat you to dinner to celebrate your first customers. You're up to it?"
"It'd be great! That's very kind of you."
When Mike had said ‘we', Claire had imagined he meant himself and his wife, Mary, who was one of the other partners. As it turned out, he had meant the entire partnership. Ever since she had been interviewed by five people seated around a table barely large enough to accommodate them, Claire had started to realize they were a tight-knit group. So far however, they had gone out of their way to make her not feel like an outsider, and she could only be grateful to all of them.
At Claire's suggestion, they walked together to the restaurant where Alice Calipua worked, chatting along the way, sharing anecdotes about their customers and their past adventures in the corporate world. They laughed together, and griped about their past bosses and the quotas they had imposed on them, and the evening started in a beautiful manner.
As their orders arrived however and the conversations began shifting toward families, children and home improvement projects, Claire had a harder time keeping a smile on her face. Two of them were a couple, the other three told of a wife, husband or partner they would introduce to Claire at the first opportunity, and despite the conviviality of the dinner and the laughs they all shared, she started feeling lonely.
She had lived by herself after college, and never minded it, appreciating instead the freedom it gave her. But after living with someone for eight years, being among people her age or a few years older who all had families made her acutely aware that she would go home to an empty house. She hated it—and she hated even more that she now needed someone in her life to be happy. She tried not to show her discomfort, however. She wouldn't repay her colleagues’ graciousness by ruining the good mood.
Things turned for the worse when Claire noticed two new patrons entering the diner, the man's hand resting at the small of the girl's back as they followed a waitress to a table on the opposite side of the room.
"Friends of yours?” Mike asked Claire, having undoubtedly noticed her stare. “Would you like to invite them to join us?"
Looking back at her plate, Claire shook her head and tried a weak smile.
"My ex. And no, I'd rather not invite him over."
Embarrassed silence fell over the table at her words, and Claire wanted to kick herself. She should have lied and said she didn't know the couple, and everything would have been just fine.
Little by little, the conversations resumed, but they were hushed, now, or at least they felt that way to Claire. She tried to keep her gaze and attention on her colleagues, but now and then, they both drifted to the couple of the other side of the dinner, and the way their fingers danced together on the table, or how the girl laughed at something Jonas said. A girl, yes, she was nothing more. She had looked young on those dark pictures, but she seemed even younger in the full light of the dinner, with her blondish hair pulled in a ponytail and the Special Enforcer gear strangely out of place on her. Jonas had mentioned she was fresh out of the academy, a few months before Claire had left him. She couldn't be more than twenty, which would make her fifteen years younger than him—and fifteen years younger than Claire, too.
Something else bothered her even more than Jonas’ choice of girlfriend, however. His gaze kept sliding across the restaurant, always coming to rest on Alice. It wasn't a pretty girl he was seeing when he looked at her, though, Claire was sure of it. It was a vampire. Someone—something—he could kill.
She wanted to take Alice to the side and warn her, but really, what would she have told her? To be wary of her customers? She would have laughed if someone had given her the same advice. Still, if something happened to Alice and Claire had done nothing to prevent it, she'd never forgive herself. After she had brought the check to their table, Claire drew her to the side and pointed Jonas to her as discreetly as she could.
"The man, over there, sitting with a girl? He's a Special Enforcer."
Alice watched her, an eyebrow raised, clearly refraining from saying that anyone could see what he was; his attire and the stakes at his belt were a plain enough sign.
"I know him,” Claire continued, now a little hesitant. “And I know he doesn't always wait for proof that a vampire is a killer before staking him. Or her."
She tried to put in her eyes the warning she didn't give in so many words, and Alice's smile wavered slightly. She glanced in Jonas’ direction, then back at Claire.
"I am always careful,” she said, very quietly. “But thank you."
Claire took her seat again, wondering if what she had said would help make a difference or not. She hoped, sincerely hoped, that it would.
While Claire was talking with Alice, her new partners had divided the check between them so that she found herself a little embarrassed but thankful when she returned at the table to find that they were ready to leave. Making sure to thank each of them, she started walking with them toward the door and winced when she realized that her party and Jonas’ were going to meet by the door. Her efforts to trail behind did not help anything. Jonas noticed her and paused, meeting her eyes, his look inscrutable.
"Still getting too close to vampires, I see,” he murmured as he passed by her.
His girlfriend followed him out after giving Claire a blatant once-over look that left her smirking.
Claire felt as though someone had just punched her.
Fighting to keep smiling, she walked back to the office with her colleagues, answering distractedly when they addressed her. She felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the fresh air of the evening. She had read Alice's death in Jonas’ eyes when he had looked at her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She had gone to the police and nothing had happened. If she went back, still without proof, and tried to convince them, they would only see a spurned woman trying to take revenge on her lover. No one would believe her, not any more than the first time, and Jonas would be free to keep killing innocent vampires.
Almost by itself, her car found its way to a parking lot a block away from On The Edge. It was the closest club from where she was, and she knew she could easily find a cab from there after she was done drowning her guilt in sweet wine and loud music. Her guilt, and maybe more, too.
Four months had passed now since her break up with Jonas, and she had thought, until this night, that she had healed from that pain. In a way, she had. Seeing him had proved to her that she did not miss him, or was jealous of his new girlfriend. What she did miss, what she was jealous of, was the companionship these two had shown, their closeness. She was coming to the point of wondering if she and Jonas had ever shared anything of the sort, or even if she had ever shared it with anyone at all.
It felt like a lot more than a mere two weeks since she had been there when Claire stepped into the club. She could feel curious eyes on her as she walked to the bar; her business suit was hardly the standard attire of the club's patrons. She shrugged off the stares and walked to sit at the bar.
"A glass of wine,” she asked the bartender when he asked what she wanted.
&n
bsp; It wasn't Leo, and she missed his smile and flirty banter, but the wine he served her was just as sweet and pleasant—even though she didn't notice as much until she had downed her third glass and the edges of the world had started to soften around her, the music and pain and remorse and fear muted to a quiet buzz. She barely noticed the man who sat next to her.
"Want another drink, sweetheart?"
The voice was different, but the words and tone were just the same as she remembered them, thick with honey and innuendo. She didn't turn to look at the man, but nodded. That small movement seemed to ring bells in her skull.
"Are you a vampire?” she asked, slurring the words a little.
"I might be. You don't have anything against vampires, do you?"
There was a bit of laughing in the voice, as though he had been mocking her, but Claire did not care, not when a glass of wine had been placed in front of her again. She picked it up, resolving to drink it slowly this time.
"What is a sweet thing like you doing all alone, then?” the vampire asked.
A flash of hurt disappeared with a gulp or two of wine.
"I'm not alone,” she pointed out. “You're here."
This time, his laugh rang like a flash of lightning, fast and blazing. “Very true."
The bottom of the glass was there, already, and Claire tilted her head back to catch the last drop on her tongue.
"Lovely,” the vampire practically purred, leaning in so close to her that his lips almost touched her ear. “Lovely mouth, and pretty pink lips. They look so very soft, sweetheart. I bet they would feel heavenly against my skin."
He pulled back to talk to the bartender, and Claire missed both his nearness and his words. A shot glass appeared in front of her, filled with something as clear as water; the taste, though, was something else altogether. It burned a trail of fire down her throat and straight to her belly. She closed her eyes for a second, and this time, when the vampire leaned back toward her, his hand settled high on her thigh, his fingers stroking lightly.