He reached the table before even realizing it. “You shouldn’t be here, Elizabeth. It’s dangerous!” he all but hissed.
Across her sat another woman—a midblood. Her curious eyes scanned him head to toe while she took a drag off her cigarette.
“Stay with us, vampire…” she suggested in silence with a tantalizing smile.
Elizabeth avoided his stare. She slumped in the chair. Involuntarily, she shared with him a series of images which Phillip caught easily: This wasn’t her first visit to The Devil’s Coven, she had grown close to a vast majority of midbloods. She had even fed off a few Coven vampires…
Phillip’s blood set on fire. He shook his head, shutting off the psychic connection between them.
“Come on,” he said, gripping her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Phillip… I—” She actually hesitated.
“Right now!” he roared, tugging her hand.
“Do you come here often?” Phillip smoothed both hands over her jawline, checking every inch of her face. Not a day passed that he didn’t think about her since the accident. Phillip had convinced himself that keeping his distance was the only way to protect her from his lethal desires. But he wasn’t so sure about that now. “Are you all right?”
Elizabeth gave him a quick nod, still avoiding his stare.
A gentle tilt of her chin bathed her face with the streetlamp’s mercurial light. The change was undeniable—her brightened eyes, the pale gleam of her skin…
“Why would you do this?” he whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Phillip,” she said in a soft voice. “I know you’re a blood drinker.”
He bit his lower lip. “Forgive me… I couldn’t find it in my heart to—why are you here?” with a frown. “You’re not thinking of the consequences of your liaisons with these vampires… They’re selfish, ruthless beings. They care only for their primal needs. They’re viciousness knows no limits!”
Elizabeth stepped back. “I know what I’m doing,” she muttered, flicking her hair back with her hand.
“You don’t.” Phillip pursed his lips. Although installed deep as a midblood, Elizabeth enticed him still. An overwhelming desire to take her in a vampiric embrace burned in him from the minute he laid eyes on her. “This reckless behavior has to stop… Don’t you know how much it hurts me—seeing you like this?”
“Hurt you, Phillip?” her voice breaking, tears looming in her eyes. “I guess you’d know about that. After all, you hurt me first!”
“I would never—”
“You disappeared from my life without so much as saying goodbye!” Impassioned as she spoke, Elizabeth’s muscles tensed. The blue shade of her jugular vein emerged on her neck… Phillip took a deep breath.
“Stop…” he murmured.
“You were an illusion, a dream that shed light into my heart one evening only to leave it in darkness by morning!”
Her racing heartbeat echoed in his ears. Each pulse, a beckoning call for him to sink his fangs deep into her neck…Phillip closed his eyes. “Please, stop!”
Elizabeth stood inches away from him, her lips a breath apart from his. “You make it stop.” She unbuttoned the top of her shirt. The recent cuts on her neck were the result of a common practice between midbloods. “Finish what you started. Make me like you.”
Shaking his head, Phillip stepped back. He ran his fingers through his hair, staring away from the tempting sight of her pulsing jugular vein.
“You mustn’t say such things…” he said.
“Why not?” Elizabeth took one more step, defiant.
Unable to restrain his hunger, Phillip seized her wrists and drove her against the wall. His heaving chest pressed against her; his hand smoothed along her arm and reached her neck.
Phillip leaned close to her ear. “Is this a game to you?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Do you not realize how I long to rip your precious skin with my damned fangs and drink your blood?”
“Then do it,” she said.
His eyes filled with tears. “I can’t…” releasing her from his hold.
“You can’t… or you won’t?” she pressed, backing him into a corner.
“Dammit, Elizabeth!” he roared, moving aside. “I will not end your life… Not again.” Phillip clenched his fists, and looking up, a tear slid down his cheek.
“Phillip, I never meant to—”
“Don’t ever ask this of me again,” he said. A second later, he vanished right before her eyes.
Eirik Bjorn
Eirik wrapped his arms around her waist. He leaped in the air several miles off the ground, rising more and more, until the nasty borough became a speck of light beneath their feet.
His preternatural body soared in the evening’s breeze, granting him a wondrous sense of freedom. And then it occurred to him—where would he take her? He had dreamed of this day for too long, but the setting of their meeting had escaped his plans.
Where to go? It would have to be somewhere far away from the city, a remote location, devoid of any human presence. The Farallon Islands came to mind, but the relentless growling and grunting of the sea lions would be most irritating… It would not do. A silent atmosphere was imperative.
The top of Bernal Hill provided a beautiful panoramic of the city. The place reminded him of home. The city lights mirrored in the foggy sky, creating an industrial version of the Northern Lights. But no, Bernal Hill lacked the intimacy he desired.
His feet touched the ground.
Eirik opened his eyes. They stood in the middle of a courtyard. Tall trellised stone walls dappled with warm light surrounded them, along with a dozen Italian cypresses that conveyed the privacy he so cherished.
An exquisite Carrara fountain sat in the center, sculpted in the shape of a tree. The branches spread across the courtyard, water dripping through their myriad leaves. The sot rippling of the cascading water eased him into a quieter frame of mind.
They walked through the Oriental stone archway where dimly lit gardens with cobblestone footpaths led the way to the manor’s entrance.
The corner of his lips curled into half a smile. Closing his eyes, Eirik sniggered. This was his castle. There could be no better place than this.
He stopped by the terrace, his preternatural gaze drifted to the horizon, capturing the darkened blue of the Pacific Ocean. A minute later, Eirik turned, and with a genuine smile, he opened his arms, welcoming Marianne to his home.
She stepped back, struck by the magnificence of Eirik’s lair. Marianne’s bold fingers reached up to touch the tree’s branches. She stood quite still for a moment, with a vacant stare as she smeared the water with her fingers.
“The Tree of Life,” she mused.
Eirik drew closer. “Yggdrasil,” he said, pleased with her discovery.
“Yggdrasil…” Marianne paced around the fountain. “Eternal life… We are this tree.”
“No,” he said with a gentle tone, clasping his hands behind his back. “Not the Tree, but Nidhug, the dragon that clings to its root and feeds off the blood of the dead.” He paused. “It matters little… In any case, we’re here.”
“Is this your home?” she asked, breaking away from her abstraction.
“One of many.” With a simple hand gesture, Eirik invited her to join him by the stone balustrade.
Marianne stood next to him. She leaned on the balustrade, her fingers intertwined gracefully as her chin landed on them. By the clear moonlight, Marianne’s eyes gleamed like bright amethysts, and her crimson lips parted but she uttered no sound. She was ethereal, magical, and mystifying.
She turned, giving him an inquisitive stare. “I didn’t know we could fly.”
“It comes with the territory.” Eirik sniggered. “Perhaps someday you might fly as well,” he suggested with an innocent look.
Marianne returned to her taciturn demeanor. “Why did you bring me here?”
Eirik smoothed his fingers over his lips. “There are so many other quest
ions in your mind… But we may begin with that one, if that is your wish.”
“You’ve seen my questions, so you have answers to them all?” she said, and for a second, she sounded almost defiant.
“I have answers to the questions in your mind…” He nodded. “And I have answers to the questions you have yet to construct—but you see, I am more than that. After two thousand years of roaming this good earth, I’m certain there’s more to me than an endless book of answers.”
“Two... thousand?” Marianne’s eyes flew open.
Eirik leaned closer, adoring the intimacy brewing between them. “You’ve never met a millenary blood drinker before,” he said. Then, recovering his poise, he continued. “I can see the reason for the Brethren’s disdain towards you.”
“Oh?” she said, tilting her head slightly.
He slipped his hands into his jeans pockets, refraining from his desire to touch her delicate face. “You’ve found grace within our curse—as did I, long ago.”
“The Blood didn’t curse me,” she was quick to reply. “If anything, it blessed me.”
He was taken aback by her words. “What is this you speak, child?” It rolled off his tongue. “By all the gods, would you regard this as a blessing?”
“I would have died, if not for the Blood,” she simply stated.
“Oh, death…” he said, heaving a sigh. “Why refuse it? It would have been a sweet release from this world.”
Marianne did no effort to conceal her disapproval. “If that’s what you truly believe, then I doubt you’ve ever been close to dying.” She frowned. “Trust me, there’s nothing on the great beyond other than darkness and silence. Oblivion is too good a word to describe it. The Big Dark Void would be a more befitting term… A sweet release, you say—that’s a romantic understatement.”
It shocked him to hear her rebuttal. Not the words as much, but the manner in which she’d addressed him. Had she no clue of whom he was? True, Eirik’s appearance could be misleading—his casual clothing, the smoothness of his tanned skin, his youthful face… If not for his ice-blue eyes gleaming under the moonlight, Eirik would have easily passed as an ordinary mortal (more like an extraordinary one). No… He couldn’t blame her for not regarding him as a powerful millenary vampire.
“I shouldn’t have said that…” Marianne blushed.
Eirik smiled, dismissing the entire incident. “I see,” he said. “You’re one who looks forward to the ever-spinning wheels of Time. You find pleasure and rejoice in this blessing as you call it.” His hand landed on the balustrade, inches away from her hand. “I will say this: I faced death more than once in my mortal days. But you must understand, back then, death meant no more to me than the final destination—a place of everlasting feast and endless battle. This concept runs deeply in my blood, so much so, that not even two millennia have been able to erase it.
“And perhaps I spoke out of boredom. This century has been nothing but unappealing to me. It has certainly made the notion of death most alluring.”
“Is this why I’m here, then?” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re bored and hope to find in me some entertainment?” She stepped back. “Do I amuse you?”
Eirik concealed his mischievous smile with the back of his hand, and once he recovered his neutral expression, he spoke. “As I’ve said before, I thought we should meet.” He moved away from the balustrade. “Tell me, do you see yourself as a survivor of the ages, like me? Is this something that appeals to you?”
Marianne narrowed her eyes. “You’re playing games.”
“I assure you, I am not.” He almost took offense of her suspicious demeanor… almost.
“To witness the world’s changing tides, the shift of the collective human mind… of course it appeals to me.” Leaning against the balustrade, she sighed. Her gaze drifted towards the ocean.
Eirik unknowingly tapped into her thoughts.
“The Coven’s vampires… They worry you.” Astonishing. She didn’t seem to mind being followed by them. But perhaps deep inside, their twisted games had haunted her all along. “You are too precious to them,” he said. “A rare gem amidst a heap of coal. They want you. And what they cannot have, they must destroy.”
“I don’t know what it is about me that they find so precious,” Marianne said, meeting his gaze. “Why would they want my blood? If I were them, I’d covet another vampire’s blood—probably yours.”
Her honesty made him smile. “They do want my blood,” he said. “But they know they’d be sealing their doom if ever their thoughts were to precede any action.”
Marianne pursed her lips. “I’m not sure I get what you mean.”
“Perhaps someday I’ll show you why they fear me…” he mused, uncertain about whether he’d want that.
“Show me now,” Marianne said with a smirk.
It surprised him to hear that. “Such hastiness… You’re so young,” Eirik reminded himself.
“Yes, I’m young. But as you said before: In any case, I’m here.” She shrugged.
Eirik’s old heart raced, the warmth of his quickening blood spreading through his preternatural body with each beat.
“Very well, Marianne… I’ll show you.”
Evening set in Pescadero, a small town a few miles outside of San Francisco. Interrupting the stillness of a quiet night, bouts of laughter led them to a nearby pub.
Two, three… four teenagers gathered outside of the pub, only they weren’t ordinary men—they were blood drinkers. Feeble-minded, raised in the Dark with no guidance, clueless of their heritage… The sort of vampires Eirik despised. For them, he reserved a cute nickname—vamps—a light version of his Kin.
For months, these vamps had breached Eirik’s hunting territory, unknowingly signing their death sentence.
How they pranced in the desolated street, with their black garments and dark makeup… Vamps needed to be swept off the face of the earth.
Eirik took a step forward while Marianne remained concealed in the shadows.
“Will you look at that,” one of the vamps said. “Hey, Jim… What do you call a vampire’s dessert?”
“I don’t know, Sean. What do you call a vampire’s dessert?”
“A neck-tarine…”
The group looked at each other and laughed.
How flattering… These vamps actually thought Eirik Bjorn was a mere mortal. Had they known before them stood the legendary Skull Splitter, they would have fled in terror minutes ago.
“There’s no use running,” another vamp said.
“They never do.” Eirik smirked.
Confused, the vamp called Sean lunged at him in a foolish attempt. Eirik stretched his arm and stopped him with his bare hand. Struggling to free himself from The Skull Splitter’s powerful hold, Sean growled, revealing his fangs. Uncaring of the vamp’s menacing grin, Eirik closed his fist and plunged it deep into the vamp’s chest, gave it a quick twist, and then pulled out his beating heart gripped in his hand. Eirik crushed the vital organ, and rivulets of blood dripped on the street, draining into the gutter—where it belonged.
Two of the vamps froze with dread as they witnessed Sean’s execution, but one of them tried to escape. With unnatural speed, Eirik reached the coward and grabbed him by the shirt’s collar. He raised him off the ground high enough to make him shudder as Eirik showed him a glimpse of his fangs.
“Who—who are you, man?” the vamp said with a quivering voice.
Eirik smiled. “I am Eirik Bjorn, The Skull Splitter, The Unbeaten Scandinavian Warlord, one of the few millenary vampires, born into the Blood two thousand years ago.” He paused. “And you... are dead.” Eirik then leapt onto the vamp’s back, pushing him down on his knees. With both hands set on the vamp’s head, Eirik pressed his temples hard until the skull cracked open like an eggshell, splattering its watery contents on the street. He then scooped out the cerebral mass with his hands and splashed it against the pub’s windows.
The vamp’s arms wo
bbled like a dying insect as he screeched the most hideous noise. In an act of mercy, Eirik reached the vamp’s chin and gave it a quick tug, severing the head from its disgusting body. And at last, the vamp stopped whining.
“Two more to go,” he mused, getting on his feet.
One of them ran like a fool, miles ahead. Eirik raised his hand and extended it towards the disgraceful vampire. He then clenched his fist and turned it over.
A harrowing scream echoed in the desolated street. The vamp fell on the ground, groaning in absolute pain as the first spark appeared on his hands, followed by another on his neck, then his wrists, until his entire body burst into flames. It didn’t take long for the vamp’s scorched body to disintegrate into ashes scattered by the wind.
The last vamp remained. Weeping uncontrollably, his knees buckled and hit the ground. Eirik drew closer. No thoughts whirred in his mind, clouded as it was by the purest dread.
“You are wise to fear me,” Eirik said. “For this, you shall live.” He paused. “Run along, and tell the others what you’ve seen, and that Eirik Bjorn showed you mercy, but that he will spare no one else who dares trespass into his hunting grounds again.”
The vamp nodded and then vanished from the street.
“Well, well…” Marianne said, stepping out of her lurking spot. “No wonder you kept telling me I should not fear you.” She stopped to look around the devastating scene. “The Skull Splitter… You sure live up to your name.”
Eirik was perplexed by her reaction. Was she… terrified, impressed maybe? “I find no pleasure in this.” He shrugged. “They left me no choice.”
Weary, and even a bit disgusted at the bloodbath he now left behind, Eirik went to her. And as he avoided stepping on the trail of brains and blood on the pavement, he had to ask himself: Did his black heart truly not rejoice after destroying those vamps?
The thrill of the battle was null, for weaklings meant no challenge to his unnatural strength. Perhaps that was the reason for the bitterness brewing inside him.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 22