Redeemer of Shadows

by Redeemer Of Shadows(Lit)

  "You will, my hungry friend. I will not be here to witness. I cannot kill a human marked by one of my own tribe. But you could easily have found her wandering about." Jirí motioned to Lamar to join him. Both of them disappeared into the shadows as if they had never been there.

  Vincent smiled, alone with his food. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground. When her feet touched, he called out cheerfully, "Wake up, love."

  Hathor slowly opened her eyes to look at him. Her lips moved, but no sound came forth. Her head pounded. Blood trickled over the side of her face. She heard them talking about her as if listening from a dark dream. Unable to find words, her eyes drifted closed again.

  Vincent frowned, shaking her harder so that her head whipped violently on her neck. His voice was enigmatic, as he expressed bitterly, "I said wake up. I have a few questions for you, human."

  Hathor laughed. Her voice rang in near hysteria. Her lungs felt as if they filled with fire. Her lips barely moved, as she spat, "Go to hell, vampire. I will tell you nothing."

  "Oh, you’ll speak," Vincent assured her. His eyes turned red as his mouth leaned down to claim her. Baring his teeth, he let loose a breathy growl. "And I will know everything."

  * * * *

  Servaes lifted his head from the neck of his victim. The woman moaned lightly and tried to move. He held her steady, turning his ears over the night. His eyes darted around him. Then, feeling the woman’s feeble hands reaching for the grip in her hair, he quickly turned and finished drinking from her neck until she fell lifeless.

  Dropping her, he left her on the ground. Quickly he dashed through the night, his ears straining against the wind for the sound that disturbed his meal. His heart beat wildly, thinking of Hathor. It had been several nights since she banished him from her side. Every eve he awoke, longing to go back to her, but he respected her wishes and left her be. When he slept he would dream, a rare thing for one as old as he was. And the dreams were always about her, dancing in his arms, laughing up into his eyes without fear.

  He thought about taking her blood, killing her so that she could no longer haunt him. More often than that, he thought about taking her and giving her the gift of a dark rebirth. Though, in truth, after a century of loneliness he could no longer convince himself that it was a gift he possessed, but a curse.

  But if she were with you, he would think, arguing against his years of judgment, then you wouldn’t be lonely. She would be with you. And you could take her from this damned city full of hate and human garbage. You could find a way to live without killing.

  There were rumors of those who fed in the basements of blood banks, drinking the stale blood each night from a plastic bag. There were others still said to have whole estates filled with humans that served them, feeding off of them a bit each day, rotating them in turns so that none died. There it was said the humans didn’t fear the vampire because they knew they would be protected. And the vampire that lorded over them would take care of them, giving them the healing power of his blood if they became ill.

  Servaes! Servaes froze, stopping in his progress. The sound was clear within his brain, calling to him for help. Hathor was in trouble. She needed him. She cried out for him.

  His heart pounded and twitched. His body moved with greater force now that his hunger was satisfied. Trailing over the streets, jumping over the rooftops, flying within the shadows, he moved through the night air. The closer he came to the Vampire Club, the louder her shouts became. Then, suddenly, they stopped.

  Bounding over a rooftop, he lifted his face into the air. He caught the aromatic scent of her blood on the night. With a growl, he dashed over a brick wall to a narrow passageway. Landing with a heavy thud on the ground, he darted forward with supernatural speed.

  Hathor hung limply in the air. Vincent pawed and chewed at her neck as he drank sloppily from her throat. The young vampire’s teeth gnawed and slashed at her neck, tearing her open like a wild dog. Servaes saw the pale line of her face, her features contorted in pain. Slowly her eyes opened, her mouth moved to say his name. No sound came forth. Unexpectedly, she smiled a sweetly woeful smile. Her eyes found him instantly, growing warm before rolling back into darkness.

  Servaes’ face contorted and bent in anger. His nose wrinkled, his eye veined red with blood. He slammed into Vincent, pulling the man’s head sharply away from Hathor’s neck. Hathor fell into a heap, her neck gouged and bleeding. Servaes opened his mouth, baring his fangs at Vincent who looked up from the ground, stunned.

  "Get out of here! She is my indicium! Can you not smell my mark, you fool?" Servaes shouted. His voice resounded like the thunder of a thousand galloping horses. Vincent crossed back easily on the palms of his hands, his back still facing the ground. A smarmy grin crossed over his lips as Servaes came over him to grab him up.

  Vincent laughed as Servaes vaulted him high into the air, only to turn and slam him into the ground. The paved road broke and cracked with a hard clunk. Vincent laughed harder, not bothering to defend himself. Servaes let him go with a growl, knowing he needed to get to Hathor before she drew her last breath. Once she was dead, there was nothing he could do for her.

  "If I knew you were coming, brother, I would have saved you some of her sweetness." Vincent stood. His lips dripped with Hathor’s blood, his chin stained to crimson at the messy drinking.

  "You know you are not supposed to kill outside the club. I could ban you for your carelessness," Servaes spat.

  "For how many years? One hundred? Two? What is it to me? I can wait forever. But your human, she’ll still be dead. Can’t you hear her heartbeat growing weaker?"

  Indeed, Servaes could hear Hathor’s heartbeat becoming faint. When he turned to Vincent, the vampire bowed mockingly and disappeared into the night, blowing away on the wind.

  Servaes went to Hathor. He could feel the life draining from her limbs as he took her pallid face in his palms. Her cooled skin matched the temperature of his flesh. She was weak, too weak to move. Suddenly, her heart stopped. Lifting her pliant head onto his lap, he slit open his wrist with a gnash of his teeth. He didn’t stop to think. His blood dripped and spilled on the ground, staining the already dirty linen of her white shirt. Without reservation, he pressed his wrist tightly to her mouth.

  The warm blood met with her cold, blue lips. Squeezing his fist, he forced his life down her throat. For a long eternity of seconds, her heart didn’t beat. Her lungs didn’t lift beneath his hand. Then, like the whispering caress of a butterfly’s wings, he felt her lips began to move, delicately drinking what he offered. And he encouraged her, hushing to her in old French, words she couldn’t understand.

  Her heart again started to pound -- frantic and wild and strong. A moan rumbled unwaveringly in her throat. The wound at her neck closed and disappeared. After a moment, her eyes opened with a gasp. The blue orbs filled red as she leaned forward to grab his wrist. Clutching desperately at him, she drank of his power with the oblivious selfishness of an infant.

  Servaes’ mouth opened with a painful gasp as she drained him of his blood, replacing her own. Feeling his own hunger returning to torment him, he grabbed Hathor by the hair and pried her away. For a stunned moment she stared at him. The red blended and faded in her eyes, the whites soaking it up into their widened depths. The confused storm of her blue orbs shifted around. Her mouth opened with a desperate shrill for air. Then, giving a painful surge for him, she fell into his lap -- motionless.

  Servaes unceremoniously pushed her aside and stumbled to his feet. His body swayed in frail weaving patterns, like a drunkard leaving a pub. Sensing an old familiar presence over him, he looked up. Above him on the rooftop was Jirí. A smile graced the vampire’s lips as he nodded down at Servaes in greeting. Servaes watched him, powerless. His arms were trapped limply at his sides, his body vulnerable. He weakly wondered what the old one was about.

  Jirí reached behind him, lifting up a mesmerized human from the top of the roof. The vampire smiled, a sad smile lacking any type
of calculation. Then, with a toss, he gave the elderly man to Servaes. Servaes caught the gift, sensing instantly the human’s sickly penchant for young pre-teenage girls.

  I knew you wouldst want one that was tainted. Eat my friend and then begone from here. Do not let the others find her. Let Vincent tell them she is dead for they will sense the truth soon enough.

  Servaes heard the words distinctly in his head. He was too weak to utter his thanks. Jirí disappeared into the night. Servaes’ eyes rolled in his head. Desperately, he fell to his knees and latched onto the man’s awaiting throat. Then, having drunk every drop but the last from the man, he left him in the alley.

  His strength somewhat restored, the wearied vampire gathered Hathor in his arms. He sent a message with his mind to a human familiar within the club to remove the body from the streets. Before the human could respond, Servaes whisked Hathor away, disappearing into the dark city night.

  Chapter Seven

  A strange and monotonous beat echoed all around the chilled cavern. It was the only sound beyond the frantic drumming of Hathor’s heart. Or was it in fact only her chest, thudding low in constant rhythm? As she tried to open her eyes, she couldn’t discern the difference. She threw open her mouth, merely to draw in a ragged gasp for air. Her lungs felt as if they had shut off, not needing to draw breath.

  Unfamiliar sensations drifted throughout her limbs, a power and strength she could never possess on her own. She didn’t move, not trusting her senses for the moment as they all spun out of control. Her skin prickled wickedly, feeling very alive to the world around her. Even the hard stone seemed a seductive press into her backside.

  Then, in amazement, she realized that her eyes were open, opened wide as they ventured around her. The thudding faded back into tapping until she made out the impression of water dripping steadily on stone. The dank smell of stale, musty air filled her nostrils, burning them with the lack of ventilation.

  Still, her body didn’t move from where it lay, her neck didn’t turn. Staring up, she noticed her breathing echoed back to her ominously. Her body lay widespread, as if she had been dropped without care onto a jagged, dusty floor. Her arms fell to her sides, away from her body. Her legs lay limp.

  Gradually, her fingers twitched in fear. Without making a sound, she turned her palm to the ground and drew it over to her side. She was on stone -- unevenly notched and unforgiving. Her hand traced the patterns of cracks to where they disappeared beneath her shoulders and back.

  Her fingers flexed only to recoil in pain. Then, hearing a distant squeak of a rat, she flew forward in the darkness lifting without effort until she was sitting. Her legs drew into her chest, her body oddly sore but not in any great deal of pain. Remembering her attackers, she felt her neck for the vicious bite she could clearly recall. The skin was smooth and unharmed. Could she have imagined such a thing? Could she have imagined the painful, un-enchanted tearing of Vincent’s slashing teeth?

  No, she thought. It was too terrifying not to be real.

  Her heart beat louder and became more frenzied until she realized that it wasn’t only her organ that pounded. There was someone with her -- within her yet separate. She wasn’t alone in the darkness.

  "Who are you?" she whispered in nervousness, though her words came out bravely. The sound echoed back at her in hollow resonations. With the rumbling of her voice, the beatings lowered and finally faded. She shivered as she heard the footfall of rodents running about with a temperate squeak. She hugged her knees tighter. "There is no point in denying your presence. I can feel you in here. Where have you taken me? What do you want?"

  The hairs on her neck stood up like the feel of a cold, caressing hand. This time she knew she wasn’t crazy. She could feel him all around her. She could smell his earthy scent. The air stirred slightly by her face. Her lids fell slowly over her eyes. She leaned forward. Nothing was there.

  Hathor waited. She detected the air to stir by her arm. Concentrating on everything around her, she froze. Then, with the quickness of a striking snake, she grabbed at the darkness. Her eyes shot open in surprise when she felt cloth. The cloth didn’t move, not even to stir in breath, but stood firm over a masculine chest. She had found the beating heart.

  Gazing steadily at her hand in the unyielding darkness, somehow unafraid, she voiced, "Turn on the lights, Servaes."

  The chest beneath her palm chuckled. She could feel the beat of his heart steadily under his warm shirt, giving her comfort. She could smell the familiar scent of him like a wave of remembrance. Her body knew him well, though her mind didn’t. She couldn’t explain it. But the realization sent chills over her. Yet, stranger still was that she could feel his every subtle movement within her as if she was moving along with him.

  "The rats are far away from here, chéri. Do not be frightened of them." Servaes’ voice rang out over her like a gentle caress.

  Hearing his words, she tumbled forward into his arms. She dug herself into the folds of his chest. Her arms wrapped around the protective strength of his neck. She clung to him like a child, scared and lost.

  Servaes jolted in surprise, but quickly enfolded her in the safety of his embrace. His low accented words wrapped her in a cocoon, as he whispered, "It is all right, chéri. You are safe. The others do not know you are here. I will not let them harm you."

  "Where am I? I can hear the rats. They feel like they are all around me about to crawl over my skin." Hathor’s voice trembled. It brushed over his neck in a whisper.

  She stirred against him, refusing to let go. He was her anchor in this troublesome world. She could feel the press of his fine body holding her with ease. She hugged him closer, needing to feel the realness of his form. The strong folds of his chest pressed into her softer skin. His arms held her near. Turning her face up, her lips brushed accidentally by the side of his jaw. Servaes stiffened. She didn’t turn away. Her skin was alive with the feel of him, sensitive and trembling.

  Hathor’s blood lit with the hot fire of longing, as her knees fell open, urging her to draw him to the floor with her. Her fingers itched to tear at his clothes and her flesh begged to be free of all constraints. Her lips parted with a moan, but she suppressed the sound with a pained gasp. She wanted to cry, but no tears fell from her eyes. "What has happened to me? I feel different yet somehow extraordinary."

  "Shhh," Servaes soothed, stroking her hair from her face. Her nipples hardened and poked through the linen of her shirt. He felt their seductive outline against him. He smelled her passion building between her thighs. Her fingertips trailed tenderly over his lips, urging him to press them into her womanhood to test the fire of her response. Murmuring along her hair, he said, "Everything will be fine. You are safe."

  And then slowly, as his hand drifted over her eyes, she remembered. Whimpering against his palm, her lips brushed his flesh, as she said, "You saved me. I thought of you, and you came to me."

  Her body shivered in fear. Gasping, she pulled away to search for his eyes. Her fingers rose to touch the handsome curves of his face, finding first the line of his masculine nose. Desperately, she rushed, "They wanted me dead. They said they couldn’t read me. That I knew too much, and then I realized that you didn’t lie to me. And that you are what you say you are. I’m sorry for not believing you --"

  "Shhh," he whispered again.

  Servaes’ hands roamed over her hair to touch her neck. He felt his blood inside of her where his body wanted to be. She didn’t stop his hand as it moved down to lie on the top curve of her breast over her heart. Her chest arched slightly towards him, urging him to continue his exploration. With a moan, her breast thrust itself up into his fingers. The peak sought the heat of his palm. She rubbed herself against him.

  Servaes held back, knowing her to be in a delicate state. It was the sensations his blood caused in her skin that made her so passionate. He didn’t want her doing anything that later she would regret. But, as his blood stirred excitement within her, his body responded. Her chest rubbed him
more insistently. Her hips began to search the darkness for him.

  He watched her face, her eyes closing with a moan of desire. Her body was drugged with him. Her head rolled back, exposing the long line of her neck to his kiss. His lips parted, painfully needing to taste her skin, wanting to feel her pulse beating beneath his probing tongue. Huskily, he inquired, "What were you doing in the alley? You shouldn’t have gone there. I tried to block the way from you."

  "I was looking for you," she admitted weakly. Hathor felt the danger in him. She felt the constrained beast. She didn’t care. Her hands trailed over his chest digging into the neckline to touch his skin. With a pant, she grew very serious and turned to earnestly look for him. Her hands stopped their exploring, coming out to rest over his shirt. Licking her lips, she felt his hand still on her breast, cupping her. Slowly, she said, "I wanted to say I was sorry. It seems stupid now, but I was going to tell you if you wanted to pretend to be a vampire and only visit me at night, then I would let you. I missed you. I know that sounds foolish, but I did. However, now that I know what you are, I don’t know what to think. There is so much I don’t understand. So many questions I want to ask, but can’t remember."

  Servaes felt a wondrous sensation jolt through him at the confession. She had been coming to him -- willingly. He let his hand fall from her chest, knowing that sunrise would surely interrupt anything that he might want to start. For her, he would require a whole night and more to fulfill his need.

  "What did they mean when they said they couldn’t read me? They acted as if it was a great thing," she whispered, scared anew.

  "They meant that they could not read your thoughts," he whispered. He knew she sought answers, but this was no time to discuss it. She was too fragile. "Or control them."

  "Why am I not dead? I felt myself dying." Then, when something terrifying occurred to her, she drew away from him, crawling back. Shakily, she accused, "You gave me your blood. You made me one of you, didn’t you? I mean, that is how it works. You drain us and replace our blood with yours and…. That is why I am here in the darkness. I’m trapped here with you, in this world of blood and killing. You made me one of you, didn’t you?"