Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren

by Silvana G Sánchez

  “Looks like Jiao’s already celebrating,” Elizabeth said.

  “Yeah… He won’t win.” Phillip sniggered, pulling over.

  “Why are you doing this, Phillip?”

  That was an unexpected question.

  He wanted to tell her how thrilling racing was, that he discovered his inclination for speed the first time he laid a hand on a 1920 Stephens Roadster... “I enjoy it,” he mused. His eyes fixed on the road ahead. “It makes me feel free.”

  “Free, from what?” she asked.

  Phillip pursed his lips. “My regrets.”

  “You're such a successful man... What could you possibly regret?” she said, intrigued.

  “I lost my mother to a car crash when I was nineteen...” Why was he telling her this? “We quarreled before the accident. Had I not challenged her, she wouldn't have gotten in that car. My regrets haunted me for years before I realized I couldn't conquer those demons... but at least I could outrun them.” A sour smile.

  “I'm so sorry...” she whispered. “I shouldn't have asked—”

  “That's all right,” he said. “It was a very long time ago.”

  “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she said.

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Yes, we are.”

  Phillip drove past the parking lot and made it to the highway. He pulled over next to Jiao Long’s imperial blue metallic Camaro until both cars stood side by side.

  There was no sound but the roaring engines. He lowered the window and met Jiao's hazel eyes.

  A female vampire stepped in front of both vehicles. She wore tight denim shorts, a black rock-themed cropped top, and tall black leather boots. She removed the hot pink scarf tied around her hair. Raising her hand, the scarf swayed with the wind.

  “Ready,” she yelled.

  “Hold on tight, sweetheart,” Phillip said. The vehicle’s overpowering engine growled.

  Elizabeth’s legs trembled. She might have been anxious, or maybe it was just the car's vibration. Whatever the cause, she fastened her seatbelt and pulled it tight.

  “Set!” waving the scarf in the air.

  Phillip held his breath. His fingers curved around the car’s gearshift knob. He focused on the road ahead. His heart raced, thrilled by the challenge.

  “Go!” The scarf came down.

  Phillip entered the gear and pressed the gas pedal. The rest of the world disappeared. All that mattered was crossing that bridge.

  He gained a good head start, leaving Jiao’s Camaro miles behind. He swiftly changed lanes, passing other vehicles with amazing finesse, never presuming he would win because the odds were in his favor.

  Elizabeth lowered the car’s window. The harsh wind drifted inside and played with her hair. She yielded to this newly discovered freedom. All layers of propriety went outside the window along with her blue blazer.

  Well done, Elizabeth.

  The bridge lay straight ahead. Phillip entered another gear and took the car to its highest speed yet. The engine’s response pumped the adrenaline in his bloodstream, leaving him breathless. He passed two more vehicles before reaching the finish line and—damn! A powerful blow rear-ended them. Phillip’s head jerked and banged hard against the steering wheel which now turned by its own volition. He gripped the wheel and fought to redirection the car. Useless. The Lamborghini spun on the highway, again and again, in a never-ending cycle set in slow motion.

  Looking through Elizabeth’s window he knew that within seconds they would crash against the concrete barrier. Time fragmented and every damned second of it turned incredibly long.

  Elizabeth’s hands shielded her face, her body moved away from the window. She screamed. The car crashed against the median strip, shattering the window into a thousand shards of glass that rained inside the vehicle as it flipped upwards several feet high. Gravity kicked in and pulled the Lambo down with great force. The car headed to the street below the bridge, a few feet short of the marshland.

  The strident clash of metal muffled Elizabeth’s screams.

  Then it stopped. Silence and stillness prevailed. A heavy dark curtain fell before Phillip’s eyes.

  He was out.

  I crashed? How’s that even possible? There was no way he would have—wait. His heart froze.

  Elizabeth.

  Unable to focus, Phillip reached over the passenger’s seat. “Arg!” A shot of pain through his arm and chest. He touched the silken fabric of her blouse. Reaching further, he sensed her shoulder. “Gah!” Another sharp bolt of pain through his neck.

  “El…?” he mumbled. Not a sound came in reply.

  Phillip blinked and adjusted his focus as much as he could. She was there all right, but she was unconscious, her face covered in blood and her blouse drenched in blood as well.

  This is bad.

  “Elizabeth…” he said. Phillip removed his seatbelt and reached over the—“Fuck!” The pain came again, and this time it had been bright and blinding like a lightning bolt. Phillip’s preternatural body rarely suffered. This accident must have been grave indeed.

  He needed to see her regain consciousness. He needed to... A lousy headache pulsed with deafening pain, like a portentous gong beating again and again inside his skull. The gong blinded his senses. Phillip couldn’t bear it.

  Again, he was out.

  The rhythmic beat of a beep brought him back. The white glare surrounding him hurt his eyes. Every limb on his body ached, but the pulsing headache was the worst pain of all.

  Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light. There were handrails on both sides of the bed—it was a stretcher. He was in the hospital.

  Connected to his arms and chest were several tubes and cables, stuck into a monitor and an IV pump.

  I don’t want this on me. I don’t need it!

  He sensed a large bandage on his forehead and pulled it off immediately. The gauze was drenched in blood—his blood.

  Fuck.

  If this had happened to him—a powerful member of the Undead—then what were the odds of survival for that lovely woman, Elizabeth?

  Tears loomed in his eyes. There was no chance for her whatsoever, Elizabeth was dead.

  Ivan

  “Phillip, what the hell?” He stormed into the room.

  The poor fellow looked pretty roughened. Was it the concussion or was that shocked expression a natural reaction to his presence?

  “Ivan,” he said, still in awe. “What are you—? How did you know I was here?”

  “Thomas Novak called,” Ivan replied. “He’s Chairman of the Board. They found my number on your cell phone. He said your condition was critical. You arrived with multiple fractures, severe chest injuries, and a serious concussion.”

  Phillip hinted a smile. “Well, as you can see…” he pointed at the cast on his leg. “It’s only a fracture and some stitches, which I’m certain will heal very soon.”

  “Don’t you dare laugh about this, Phillip!” The fiend his fledgling was, mocking the seriousness of his damned condition. Ivan leaned against the wall and sighed. “I’ll never get used to it.”

  “It’s not what you—”

  “Oh, but it is. This has everything to do with your racing.” Ivan paused. “I’ve told myself many times that your love for danger was a phase, that it would end up boring you one day… But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Please, no more lectures…” Phillip said.

  Would he ever stop defying his vampiric nature? Ivan wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him hard, drive some sense into his stubborn self. But Phillip’s shimmering eyes warned him this was not the time.

  “What is it?” Ivan finally asked.

  “The girl, Ivan…” Phillip wept. “The girl…” He covered his mouth with the back of his hand to prevent himself from sobbing.

  “What girl?” Ivan leaned closer, unable to part his eyes from the many bruises on his arms and legs. Phillip would recover, of course, and sooner than any mortal. But this time, Ivan
had truly feared for his fledgling’s life. That dreadful phone call had rattled the very depths of his polluted soul.

  Phillip healed even as they spoke. The larger wound on his forehead turned into a mere scratch right before his eyes.

  “I think she’s… dead,” Phillip mused. How transparent was his fledgling’s heartbreak!

  “Calm yourself,” Ivan whispered. “I’ll find out everything I can about this girl. But for now, you must rest. We’ll get out of here when you’re ready.”

  Phillip grabbed his hand. “Elizabeth Sharma…” He winced. Oh, poor Phillip. The pain must have been excruciating. Not the one caused by the injuries, but the pain of his unnatural body’s accelerated healing. Were his tears caused by the pain? Or maybe, they rolled for this woman—this Elizabeth.

  Wait a moment.

  “Elizabeth Sharma?” Ivan frowned. “Wasn’t that the contact I gave you to—? Never mind. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  In the hallway, Ivan stopped and leaned against the wall. What was this? His hands trembled. Was Phillip's close encounter with death responsible for his shaking hands? No, it was the hunger. He hadn't fed, and it was getting late.

  The sooner we walk out of here, the better.

  Finding the woman meant no difficulty to Ivan’s preternatural skills. He scanned between the myriad voices within the hospital until he got lucky.

  “Her name’s Elizabeth Sharma,” a nurse said. “She’s in 104 in the ICU…”

  Playing a little trick of persuasion at the staff got him into the Intensive Care Unit easily.

  She found her unconscious, surrounded by monitors and other medical devices. Blood drained out of her chest through a transparent tube. She breathed through a respirator.

  Ivan pulled a chair and sat beside her.

  “Elizabeth…” he whispered. “You must be something special, Phillip aches for your condition.” Her skin was pale as alabaster, large auburn eyelashes, delicate nose and plump lips. Beautiful, even as she stood a step away from the abyss of death. No wonder Phillip cared so much for her.

  “My, my… What shall we do with you?” he said under his breath.

  The mechanical beat of the ventilator was almost hypnotic. Ivan listened to the woman’s heartbeat. Her heart pumped blood with a strong weary pull, the kind that always announces death.

  Perhaps he could help her? Something about the woman appealed to Ivan’s better nature. And then, there was Phillip. Ivan would never hear the end of it if she died.

  “Listen to me, Elizabeth…” he whispered. “I’m going to do something for you. I know you can hear me.” Ivan slipped his hand under hers. “If I am to help you, I must remove this tube from your mouth. Is that all right?”

  Elizabeth lightly pressed his hand. Ivan peeled off the tape from her mouth. “This might hurt a little…” He gave a quick tug to the tube and out it went. The woman coughed. The pain brought her back from her stupor. She opened her eyes.

  “You must do as I say…” Persuasion. A wonderful vampiric trick. Ivan bit his wrist until the blood poured, he placed it over the woman’s lips, and let the Dark Blood drip inside her mouth. “Drink,” he said.

  Reluctant at first, Elizabeth swallowed the first mouthful of his preternatural vital liquid. After that first drink, the wheezing of her breathing stopped. No more blood poured out of the chest tube. A slight pinkish hue tinged her cheeks.

  Elizabeth gripped Ivan’s arm tighter and pulled it close to her mouth. She took another drink, and this one she actually enjoyed. Her heartbeat raced with a vigorous rhythm. The stitched wounds on her brow healed.

  That should do it.

  “Enough,” Ivan said, retrieving his arm. “You will recover, Elizabeth. And you will forget this ever happened.” One final trick.

  “How on earth did you get out of there so fast?” Ivan met Phillip at the parking lot. His fledgling stood by the Ferrari looking spotless in jeans, a pristine white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Where had he gotten those clothes? “The cast, the stitches…? The tubes stuck to your arms?”

  “You’re not the only one endowed with the dark gift of persuasion.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less of anything, but his eyes told a different story. “Well…?”

  Phillip’s fears hindered his speech. If there were bad news to be told, he didn’t want to hear them.

  “She’ll live,” Ivan said dismissively while opening the door. “Let’s go home.” His body ached with the dull pain of hunger, but it was too late to hunt. They barely had any time left to make it to Villa Belle Vedere.

  Phillip’s countenance regained its color. The news thrilled him, though he showed little enthusiasm because of his blood loss. Surely, he was famished as well.

  Ivan pulled out of the driveway. At the end of the day, Phillip had survived this entire ordeal, and that's what truly mattered. Had his head been chopped off during the accident, this would have been a very different story.

  “Now, please… Don’t say a thing.” Phillip reached inside his jacket.

  He frowned. “What? Why would I—?” Oh, Phillip… Ivan's smile was unstoppable now.

  Out of Phillip’s jacket appeared a pair of plastic bags filled with a warm crimson liquid. The label read: AB Rh Negative. Property of Saint Paul’s Blood Bank.”

  Ivan laughed all the way through the Golden Gate Bridge. He took the blood pack off his fledgling’s hands. With a quick bite, he pulled off the seal and then took a sip.

  “So tell me, Phillip. How are you enjoying your Kid’s Meal?” Laughter and more laughter. How precious to catch his fledgling trapped by his own words.

  Phillip opened his blood pack and sucked it as if there were no tomorrow. He finished the whole thing within seconds. His fledgling’s wry expression kept Ivan more than satisfied all the way home.

  All Hallow’s Eve

  “Okay, then…” Antoine gave a quick drag to his cigarette. Why the hell was he so nervous? He turned off the car’s ignition. He could have avoided this completely by not coming here.

  He had called her the very next day after their last fight. She had accepted his apology with little to no recrimination, which seemed odd at the time. Antoine still felt unsure. Cassie’s possessive nature oftentimes betrayed her. But theirs was a relationship tinged with passion and fury, and Antoine loved this ferociously. Their fighting without end was always followed by the most delicious reconciliations.

  “I’m going in…” he mused, heaving a sigh.

  “Go get her cowboy!” Frank said, pumping up the stereo’s volume. Ethan and Isabella laughed.

  “Shut up!” he said, turning back as he stood on the porch. He then walked around the house to the backyard, where he stopped below her bedroom’s window.

  “Here goes nothing.” He climbed the bougainvillea vine and entered the room without making a sound.

  Lying on the bed, she read an old leather-bound book. Cassandra wore the shortest white dress hemmed in trimmed lace.

  “Bon soir, chérie.”

  “Quoi?” Startled, the book fell from her hands. The second she noticed him, she grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. “Don’t do that!”

  A wicked laugh escaped from his mouth. “I’m sorry.” He sat on the bed. Like driven by a magnet, his hands wandered up her thighs. Antoine leaned closer and kissed her lips. She wore the strangest stone around her neck… “What’s that?”

  “It’s my black tourmaline,” she replied.

  He reached for it to examine it. Cassie slapped his hand. “Don’t touch it!”

  Antoine laughed. “All right… Why aren’t you dressed for the party?”

  “Because,” she said, “I’m not going… And neither should you.”

  “Not this again,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to fight. Please tell me you’ll come.” Was this jealousy going to be a never-ending hindrance between them? “If it’s because of Ivan—”

  “And what if it is about him?” she said in a defying tone.

 
“I’ve had enough of this, Cassandra,” getting on his feet. “When will it end?”

  Putting the book aside, her furious gaze landed on him. “Why, it can stop right now. Choose him. You’re a grown man, you know what you’re doing…”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Antoine hands landed on his hips. “Is showing the slightest civility towards my friend too much to ask?”

  Cassandra sat on the bed. Her eyes filled with tears. “I know,” she said.

  “What do you know?”

  “I know the kind of mentorship you seek in Lockhart.” She paused. “You must be the most foolish man in the world to want to become a blood drinker.”

  Antoine’s blood froze. “Well, you’ve said it and I won’t deny it—wait. How long have you known he’s a vampire?”

  “I’m a witch, remember?” Getting on her feet, she folded her arms over her chest. “But that’s not the problem here, Antoine… You lied to me.”

  “I’ve never lied to you, chérie!” He paused. “And now that it’s all in the open, why would you have a problem going to Ivan’s soirée? Can’t we all just get along?”

  “You’re so self-centered, Antoine…” she muttered. “You think you can have us both!”

  “Merde!” He stopped for a deep breath. “All right, Cassie. I messed up. I should have told you everything right from the start. But I wasn’t sure you’d understand… and well… I was right, wasn’t I?” Antoine sniggered. “Can you make an effort and cast those things aside tonight? This soirée is the event of the year. Do you know how many business contacts I’ll be able to make there? It could mean turning millions into billions.”

  “Oh, my sweet Antoine…” Cassie sighed. “Since when do you care so much about money?”

  He frowned. “This is who I am now. It’s my new world and I all I want is to share it with you—can’t you see that?”