The Vampire's Consort

by Caridad Piñeiro

  He shook his head and stepped away from her, all traces of emotion gone from his features, except for his eyes. They were a stormy grey, giving evidence to the turmoil beneath the calm surface.

  “I don’t remember,” he said, but it was a lie.

  They both remembered all too well how they had come to this point in time. How they had both come to be so miserable.

  Ireland, 1811

  There was a timelessness about the place that somehow made being an immortal easier to bear.

  Rolling waves of thick sod were a green so deep they were almost blue. The ocean of grass was broken up here and there by the charcoal grey of stone fences lining the drives, the spots of white from the herds of sheep and a moving blur of brown as a horse ran freely across the landscape. Luckily it was overcast, with clouds thick as cotton, which blocked the worst of the sun’s rays, allowing them to travel during the late afternoon.

  Home, Adrian thought, although it had been nearly a century since he’d set foot here. While the countryside might not have changed all that much, his people were long gone.

  “Still beautiful, isn’t it?” said his friend, Jamie Fitzgerald, as they rode along the byway to town. They’d met over fifty years earlier while working the nightshift on the New York City docks and had bonded as Irishmen far from their land, and as vampires.

  “Gorgeous,” Adrian replied, the lilt of a brogue returning after the two weeks they had spent roaming the countryside, trying to recapture what had once been theirs. America had been kind to them and they were both flush with cash and immortality.

  “Aye, Adrian. I’m glad we did this,” Jamie replied, gently nudging his horse with his boot heel and urging him into a slightly swifter pace in his haste to reach the nearby town.

  By the time they arrived at the quaint village, dusk had settled in deeply, creating shadows along the streets. Many of the shops along the main avenue were closed, but several pubs were open and ready for business. But first they headed to a small bed and breakfast located along a street so narrow most wouldn’t even call it an alley. The lane was barely big enough for their horses, who pawed the ground nervously at the confined space.

  In the middle of the street, however, an arched doorway led to a large open courtyard where they tethered their animals. Another vampire friend had mentioned the innkeeper was known to be discreet, and as they entered, it became clear why: the lady behind the counter was like them.

  They were quickly assigned rooms and the mistress of the house arranged for a stable boy to care for their horses and get them settled.

  “Here’s the rules of the house—no feeding, fighting or fucking in my place. It’s how I keep it safe for our kind,” the innkeeper said in a tone that brooked no disagreement. And as if to make sure her guests kept her rules, she was only too accommodating in providing them the names of places where they could go to fight, fuck and more importantly, feed.

  The pub where a sip of sustenance was available was set well off the main avenue in an area where he and Jamie had to sidestep redolent refuse and the occasional drunkard lying in the gutter. The homes here lacked the care of the others they had passed earlier, with shingles that sagged in need of repair and dingy grey exteriors begging for a fresh coat of paint. The faces of the people that peered out from behind a window or lingered on a stoop were as dismal and hopeless and bland.

  Maybe it was that dim light of humanity that permeated the area that somehow made her stand out as they entered the pub.

  Her bright red curls were caught up with a ribbon as green as her eyes. Creamy skin bore a sprinkling of freckles, like cinnamon dusted on whipped cream. She greeted one patron with a smile so bright and welcoming it yanked a similar smile from the vampire, providing a display of deadly sharp white canines.

  She seemed unfazed by the revelation and continued with her task, placing a glass with something crimson before her customer.

  Blood, Adrian knew from the smell that wafted through the air along with the hum of power he sensed coming off those in the establishment.

  With a tap on Jamie’s forearm, he motioned to an empty table close to where she was working, hoping she would come and serve them.

  He was not disappointed.

  No sooner had they sat, she appeared, the scent of her as clean and fresh as the laundry his mother had used to hang just outside her door.

  “What can I get you?” she asked, clutching a small serving tray to her midsection. She was petite and thin with a bright flush along her cheeks. Too thin, Adrian thought and as he opened his vamp senses, the static in her life force registered. She was not well.

  “What have you got, a chuisle?” Adrian asked.

  The endearment made her flinch, like a whipped dog who had unexpected kindness from an abusive master.

  “Beef, goat and pig blood, or if you’ve got coin,” she said and rubbed elegant long fingers together, “there’s human, including fresh from one of the girls.” With a jerk of her head that freed some smaller wisps of hair along her temple, she gestured toward the side of the pub where an assortment of women preened for attention. A vampire approached one and, after an exchange of money, the two walked through a door into a private section of the pub.

  “Beef will do,” Jamie jumped in, slamming some coins on the scarred oak surface of the table.

  The young woman scooped up the payment and walked away to fill their order.

  “Why do you think a girl like that is here?” Adrian wondered aloud, earning a loud guffaw from his more boisterous friend.

  “Did you not notice, Adrian? Open your senses, boyo. The taint of death is all around her.”

  He had noticed, all right, but he had not wanted to believe. But as she waited for their drinks to be filled, a bout of coughing seized the pretty young woman. It was so powerful she doubled over and grabbed a nearby towel to cover her mouth. When she was done, she slowly straightened, her skin paler than before but with an unhealthy flush along her cheeks. Bright blotches of blood stained the towel in her hand and drew the attention of the vamps in the room.

  “She’s got the serg, Adrian. No ordinary place would want one of her kind.”

  Consumption. It would take her soon, Adrian acknowledged sadly, recalling the thrashing of her life force. Like a dying fish attracted sharks, vampires could sense that weakness in their prey.

  He made no additional overtures as she served them, but in the days that followed, he found it impossible not to keep returning to the pub for another glimpse of her and a little parry of words. He’d found her wit to be sharp and that smile that came so readily lightened the long nights filled with memories of what had once been there for him in Ireland.

  On their last night in town, when he had gone for a final taste of her unique essence, she was not there.

  “Is Eliza working tonight?” he asked the pub keeper while he craned his head around to see if he had maybe missed her.

  “Eliza won’t be coming back, lad. Best you not waste your time on what can’t be,” the man replied. “Where can I find her?” he pressed, earning a sharp rebuke from Jamie.

  “Adrian, you heard the man. Nothing you can do will make a difference,” his friend warned.

  Adrian had watched his entire family die from a fever that had swept through the town. Something in his gut refused to let Eliza die now that he could offer a choice his family had not had.

  Jamie seemed to understand what he would do, and after Adrian had gotten Eliza’s address and left the pub, his friend stalked after him, warning of the lunacy of his plan.

  “You barely know the chit. You plan on being stuck with her for eternal life? What about all the other women for you to enjoy?” Jamie went on and on and on, hot on Adrian’s heels until they were at the door to Eliza’s home.

  Adrian hesitated there and Jamie misunderstood. “Thank the Lord, you’ve come to your senses.”

  But instead, Adrian looked his friend squarely in the eye. “We’re rich now, Jamie. I’ve got a f
ine house and it would be nice to have a consort to keep it and me.”

  “Not a woman, Adrian. Especially not a woman like that. One who will tempt you with every beat of your undead heart.”

  Adrian said nothing. He just walked up the steps and knocked on the door of Eliza’s home, his mind made up.

  Chapter Three

  “Do you regret the choice you made?” Adrian asked, stroking his thumb once again along the perfect dent in her normally resolute chin. Wishing he could reach up and trace the edges of those full lips that had tempted him for so long.

  “I was not ready to die, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said with determination and a hint of the brogue that always rose up when her emotions were frayed.

  Was that what he was asking, or was there more he needed to know? Adrian wondered. “I’ve treated you kindly, have I not?” he pressed, the Irish awakening in him as well.

  “You’ve been a thoughtful and honorable master,” she replied, ducking her head down to avoid his gaze, almost as if she was afraid of what he might see there. What he wanted to see there.

  He once again tilted her face upward. “Is that all I am? Your master? Not a friend?”

  The perfect little tongue he so wanted to taste darted out nervously and licked her lips. She stammered, obviously discomfited, and for a moment, a glimmer of something he had hoped to see flitted through her gaze.

  “Aye, Adrian. You’ve been a friend. That I cannot deny,” Eliza replied a trifle breathlessly before she stepped away and ran her hands down the sides of her robe. She clenched her fists there tightly, as if restraining herself before she said, “I’ll get your meal so you can rest.”

  “I’ve already fed. I had to get the taste of her out of my system,” he confessed, somehow feeling sullied by his latest adventure. Swiping his tongue across his teeth and lips as if to erase the last of his companion from his being and mind.

  A flare of color stained Eliza’s cheeks. “If she disgusts you so, why did you fuck her? Do you not have any self respect?” she lashed out, her Irish temper flaring up.

  Jealousy? he allowed himself to wonder for only a moment before he spread his hands before him and offered up the only answer he could.

  “What more does a man like me have?”

  * * *

  You could have me, Eliza thought, but bit back that retort. It would only complicate things between them, and considering they were bound together forever, unless Adrian released her from her duty, it was best not to make things unpleasant between them.

  Turning on her heel, she left him standing there, hands outstretched as if in pleading. A hangdog look of misery on his too-handsome face.

  While his “day” would soon be over, her day had just begun. Besides making sure Adrian would have enough blood bags for another feeding, she had to prepare for her date tonight with her very mortal boyfriend.

  Unlike Adrian, whose vampire needs kept him from a normal life, she had other possibilities if he released her from her servitude. She would be human again if she was freed, something she kept reminding herself about as she went about her daily chores. Hating that each and every task brought memories of her vampire master and the fact that he was alone in that big empty bed.

  That no longer being his keeper meant she would be away from him. That Adrian would be more alone than ever. Guilt washed over her at that thought but she drove it back. She had chores to do, and she couldn’t let herself get distracted.

  * * *

  Jamie slammed the shot of Irish whiskey before Adrian and nudged him in the ribs with a meaty elbow. “Drink up, boyo. It’ll help you forget last night’s mistake,” Jamie teased.

  Adrian smiled and picked up the shot. Downed it in one quick flip of his wrist before slamming it on the surface of the bar and signaling for the barkeep to refill his glass and Jamie’s. But despite his actions, he said, “Do you not remember drink is what led to that mistake?”

  Not that he was being entirely truthful with his friend. Vampires had an incredible tolerance for liquor, so being that far in their cups to lead to such a bad choice would have been difficult. But it was easier to blame the alcohol than to admit the truth about last night’s disastrous assignation.

  “You never were a good liar,” Jamie replied as he swept up the fresh shot of whiskey in one big hand. Taking a smaller sip, he peered over the rim of the glass at Adrian, resolve in his golden gaze.

  Adrian recognized that stance after so many years of friendship. He knew that Jamie was like a pitbull when he latched on to something, yet he tried to steer his friend away from the discussion that was long overdue.

  Adrian swiveled on his stool—his regular spot in the Irish pub they frequented when they wanted to avoid the vampire clubs—and looked around for Jamie’s latest squeeze. “I don’t see Moira tonight.” “She’ll be here later.” Jamie took another, almost thoughtful sip of his whiskey.

  Moira was a vamp like them and if she wasn’t here now it meant she was out for a bite and maybe more.

  “If it bothers you, why don’t you blood bond with her? Offer her your protection?”

  Jamie laughed harshly. “You know these modern women. The last thing Moira wants or needs is my protection.”

  “Aye, I know, Jamie.” Moira was a youngster in vamp years, having been turned less than a decade ago. With that youth came ideas far removed from those of their times. It was a generation gap far beyond what whoever had coined the term might have imagined.

  “Have you asked her?” Adrian continued, wanting to help his friend through his romantic plight.

  Jamie shook his head vehemently, sending the curly locks of his sandy hair into motion. “And scare her off? I’d rather be miserable.”

  Which was something Adrian could well understand and accept and so he left it alone, content to just sit and sip the aged Irish whisky with his dear old friend. Enjoying the pub and its fare, which brought memories of home and of Eliza.

  No, not Eliza, he battled with himself as he finished yet another shot and finally began to feel a slight buzz of lightness. Although he was Irish and understood misery well, it was time to put his consort out of his mind once and for all.

  Chapter Four

  John never questioned why they always had to return to Eliza’s quarters after a date.

  John never questioned much of anything, Eliza realized as he plopped down on the sofa in her section of Adrian’s immense mansion. Eliza had her own area in the building, which took up half a city block on Central Park West. Adrian had outfitted it sumptuously and had kept it updated over the nearly two centuries they had been together.

  No one could ever accuse Adrian of being a stingy employer.

  That explained the immense 3D television before which John had settled himself. “Can I get you a beer or some wine?”

  “Beer would be great, hon,” John answered, his attention already ensnared by the large screen.

  As Eliza went off to the kitchen, she wondered if this was the way of it once couples got comfortable with each other. She and John had been dating for nearly a year now and they had slipped into a predictable pattern.

  Dinner. Possibly a movie or drink at the pub. Come home and have sex.

  She didn’t know why the routine of it bothered her. Most women would likely be pleased by a man they could not only consider reliable, but who was as nice, handsome and well-hung as John.

  Eliza had never been “most women.”

  When her mother had become too ill to work, Eliza had gone to work at the age of ten so her younger brothers and sisters would not go hungry. After the serg had settled into her lungs and she’d been tossed from her job, she’d found another and worked it as long as she could.

  So why would she settle now?

  Grabbing the beer from the fridge, she placed the bottle on the kitchen table and decided on just what she had to do to break the routine.

  She quickly undressed and neatly folded her clothes and undergarments. She placed the
m in a tidy pile on one of the kitchen chairs. Snagging the neck of the beer bottle, she sauntered back into the living room, adding a saucy little roll to her hips.

  John shot her a quick look, but then his gaze returned to her and his mouth dropped open as she approached and stood before him, waggling the beer in front of his face.

  He took it, but quickly placed it off to the side, his gaze greedily roaming up and down her body. “This is…unexpected,” he said in low tones and laid his hand on the curve of her hip. His hand was so big, like the rest of him, that his thumb rode close to her navel while the rest of it wrapped around to nearly midback.

  “Do you like?” she teased, shooting a look down to his jeans where a large bulge confirmed that he did. Bending slightly, she covered that bulge with her hand, stroked the hardness with her hand. “I guess you do.”

  He urged her forward with a gentle tug on her hip and she sat in his lap, straddling his legs. As she worked the buttons on his shirt, he cradled her sides, his work-rough palms sliding up her ribs until he could tease her nipples with a swipe of his thumbs.

  They hardened instantly beneath his caress and he chuckled. “I guess you like as well.”

  “I do, John. I like,” she admitted as she finished unbuttoning his shirt and ripped it off to expose the broad plains of his shoulders and chest. He was a mountain of a man, his body rock hard from the physical labor he did. His skin was tanned to a golden brown because he liked to work with his shirt off during the summer months. The sun had also bleached the sandy brown locks of his hair and beard with streaks of gold.

  He leaned forward and rubbed the bristly hair of his beard all along her breasts, teasing her before taking one of her nipples into his mouth while pleasuring the other with his fingers.

  Between her legs she grew damp and she hastily undid his jeans, pulled them and his briefs down so that flesh met flesh as she settled over him.